blarney104
07-23-2003, 11:52 AM
For some ungodly reason, I found myself tuning into the Oprah Winfrey show the other day. The show wasn’t Oprah’s typical self-promotion; rather, the premise of the show was that each one of us has a story to tell. Now the first thing I thought was, no way, I have no story to tell. My life, while wonderful to me, I’m sure to others is relatively boring and has zero entertainment value. Then, while driving home from work the other day it hit me. I do have a story to tell but it isn’t entirely mine, it is the story of my parents. I tell it to explain some of the reasons I love them so much, to explain why I know I am one of the luckiest people in the world because I have so much to be thankful for.
When my parents married on January 12, 1963, my mother was a mere 17 years old and my father was 22. While they did get married on that particular January day because my mother found out she was pregnant with my brother, they insist they always intended to get married anyway. Yes, they got married. My father didn’t run off – like some suggested he do! Not many people gave them a chance to make it. They were pretty poor and obviously very young and soon had another son – just 16 months after their first! By 1969, there were four of us, my sister then me, being the last. Yes, they had hard times, many of them in fact, but they and we worked through them together as a family. If you ever saw them on a dance floor looking into each other’s eyes like I have, you’ll see that even now, over 40 years later, their marriage and love for eachother continues to grow strong.
Now I’ve mentioned that they were poor but I only know that now because of the stories they tell, about rolling pennies to buy milk and having scrambled eggs for dinner night after night. I was never aware of ever being poor while I was growing up. I actually thought we were having breakfast (scrambled eggs) for dinner as part of a fun game! In the first 10 or so years of their marriage my father typically worked three jobs – one during the day, another at night and another on the weekends. My mother worked, too, typically at night when/if my father wasn’t. They never expected handouts or help from anyone, to them that is not the American way. All of their hard work and their penny rolling paid off because they were able to buy their first home in 1973. While my father grew up in a relatively middle class neighborhood, my mother lived in the projects of South Boston until her family moved to an apartment when she was 12, so home ownership was most likely a distant dream to her. When I think of all of the scrimping and saving they had to do and the sacrifices they made in order to buy that house I get a lump in my throat! I’m sure there were times when they wanted to succumb to be life long renters but they didn’t give up because it was so important to them.
While life did get easier for them once my dad started working for the company from which he would eventually retire, it must have still been quite a struggle. Yes, he now only needed the one job, but he always worked 6 days a week and often worked nights for the pay differential. My mother also continued to work full time as we were older and had my oldest brother to watch over us. I know that neither of them enjoyed their work but I don’t remember hearing them complain. Some days I call my parents upset because I’m not being challenged enough at work. I complain about being bored because things are so slow. After all of the crap jobs they’ve endured over the years to clothe and feed our family, my parents must want to just laugh at me and tell me to stop whining – tell me to be thankful for having a career. But, instead, they just listen and give me the sympathy I’m yearning for!
Many people look back at their childhood and analyze it to death. When they do this, they always seem to accentuate the negative, never the positive. I am sure my parents often say, “If we only did this or only did that.” I’m sure that sometimes they’ve blamed themselves for mistakes I’ve made and I think that’s a load of crap. Because when I start to think of things that I wish my parents did differently, I try putting myself in their shoes. I think about how every day was pretty much a struggle for them – living paycheck to paycheck, bringing up four totally different kids with totally different needs and personalities, and trying to maintain a marriage all at the same time! I think about the fact that we always had dinner on the table at exactly 5:00 and we were all expected to be sitting around it. I think about when I was 4 and they drove us all to Disney World (from Boston!) in my grandfather’s 1963 Ford Falcon – how we ever made it there in that car is beyond me. Actually, how on earth we all fit in the car is mind boggling. It was not the minivan or gigantic SUV of today’s day and age - picture driving a family of six (with 4 kids from ages 4 – 9) 3000 miles round trip in a 15 year old compact, something like a Geo Prism, and you’ll get the gist. I think about how they took in my grandfather after my grandmother died and took care of him until old age and ultimately cancer got the better of him. I think about the pride that shines through my dad’s garden. I think about my mother’s famous Sunday dinners that continue to bring the family together. Oh, I could go on and on! All of these things, and many others, remind me of how fortunate I am to be a part of the family they created.
Yes, to most, this story was just about a young couple that struggled to try to insure their children did not go without, a couple that struggled to make life better for themselves and their kids through their hard work and determination. But in my eyes, it is a story of true American heroes.
http://gopusa.com/iB_html/non-cgi/emoticons/usflag22.gif
When my parents married on January 12, 1963, my mother was a mere 17 years old and my father was 22. While they did get married on that particular January day because my mother found out she was pregnant with my brother, they insist they always intended to get married anyway. Yes, they got married. My father didn’t run off – like some suggested he do! Not many people gave them a chance to make it. They were pretty poor and obviously very young and soon had another son – just 16 months after their first! By 1969, there were four of us, my sister then me, being the last. Yes, they had hard times, many of them in fact, but they and we worked through them together as a family. If you ever saw them on a dance floor looking into each other’s eyes like I have, you’ll see that even now, over 40 years later, their marriage and love for eachother continues to grow strong.
Now I’ve mentioned that they were poor but I only know that now because of the stories they tell, about rolling pennies to buy milk and having scrambled eggs for dinner night after night. I was never aware of ever being poor while I was growing up. I actually thought we were having breakfast (scrambled eggs) for dinner as part of a fun game! In the first 10 or so years of their marriage my father typically worked three jobs – one during the day, another at night and another on the weekends. My mother worked, too, typically at night when/if my father wasn’t. They never expected handouts or help from anyone, to them that is not the American way. All of their hard work and their penny rolling paid off because they were able to buy their first home in 1973. While my father grew up in a relatively middle class neighborhood, my mother lived in the projects of South Boston until her family moved to an apartment when she was 12, so home ownership was most likely a distant dream to her. When I think of all of the scrimping and saving they had to do and the sacrifices they made in order to buy that house I get a lump in my throat! I’m sure there were times when they wanted to succumb to be life long renters but they didn’t give up because it was so important to them.
While life did get easier for them once my dad started working for the company from which he would eventually retire, it must have still been quite a struggle. Yes, he now only needed the one job, but he always worked 6 days a week and often worked nights for the pay differential. My mother also continued to work full time as we were older and had my oldest brother to watch over us. I know that neither of them enjoyed their work but I don’t remember hearing them complain. Some days I call my parents upset because I’m not being challenged enough at work. I complain about being bored because things are so slow. After all of the crap jobs they’ve endured over the years to clothe and feed our family, my parents must want to just laugh at me and tell me to stop whining – tell me to be thankful for having a career. But, instead, they just listen and give me the sympathy I’m yearning for!
Many people look back at their childhood and analyze it to death. When they do this, they always seem to accentuate the negative, never the positive. I am sure my parents often say, “If we only did this or only did that.” I’m sure that sometimes they’ve blamed themselves for mistakes I’ve made and I think that’s a load of crap. Because when I start to think of things that I wish my parents did differently, I try putting myself in their shoes. I think about how every day was pretty much a struggle for them – living paycheck to paycheck, bringing up four totally different kids with totally different needs and personalities, and trying to maintain a marriage all at the same time! I think about the fact that we always had dinner on the table at exactly 5:00 and we were all expected to be sitting around it. I think about when I was 4 and they drove us all to Disney World (from Boston!) in my grandfather’s 1963 Ford Falcon – how we ever made it there in that car is beyond me. Actually, how on earth we all fit in the car is mind boggling. It was not the minivan or gigantic SUV of today’s day and age - picture driving a family of six (with 4 kids from ages 4 – 9) 3000 miles round trip in a 15 year old compact, something like a Geo Prism, and you’ll get the gist. I think about how they took in my grandfather after my grandmother died and took care of him until old age and ultimately cancer got the better of him. I think about the pride that shines through my dad’s garden. I think about my mother’s famous Sunday dinners that continue to bring the family together. Oh, I could go on and on! All of these things, and many others, remind me of how fortunate I am to be a part of the family they created.
Yes, to most, this story was just about a young couple that struggled to try to insure their children did not go without, a couple that struggled to make life better for themselves and their kids through their hard work and determination. But in my eyes, it is a story of true American heroes.
http://gopusa.com/iB_html/non-cgi/emoticons/usflag22.gif