I wrote this for my parents, for Mother’s Day. I wish I had more time to make it better, but I’m already a day late.
Thank you very much for everything, mom and dad. I love you both so much.
When I was growing up, my mom and dad were a lot more emotionally composed and resilient than I was even remotely aware of at the time. Even now, I’m not sure I’ll ever fully comprehend the stress they endured and the sacrifices they made so that they could more than properly raise a family. In a word, they were tough.
Mom gave birth to Kevin and Holly – the bookends – in February 1986 and December 1990, respectively. They squeezed me, and then Ryan in (or out) in between.
That’s four children in less than five years, an ill-advised decision that meant there was a great deal of both maintenance and money required to keep us from being taken into care by someone like the principal in “Matilda.” So both of my parents worked very hard. My dad was in charge of that whole money thing, and since you can’t run an autobody shop with a bunch of half-naked kids running around with proton blasters (the toy from “Ghostbusters,” not our junk – I said half-naked, not full-frontal), he had to go to work during the week and my mom had to give up her profession as a nurse to take care of us. Continue reading