Both of my parents have passed, as have my grandparents.  When this time of year rolls around, I can’t help but be filled with thoughts of those who raised me.  Don’t get me wrong, I think about them all the time, but at this time of year, I guess it’s just that some very specific memories rise to the surface.  Which leads to me thinking about them…and missing them more than usual.

When I was young, I thought that my parents and grandparents were terrifically unfair.  They didn’t understand, they didn’t get me, they were old, and their ideas were old fashioned.  They were mean, they sent us to bed early so they could have fun (okay, that one might have had some merit), they didn’t want me to have anything cool.  They did what THEY wanted and NEVER did what I wanted.

Yesterday, 6 hours were spent at the high school.  Three parents and six teenagers spent hours in the sun, digging through the kind of trash that can only be found underneath high school football bleachers.  Eventually, what was lost on Friday night was found and life went on.

Yep, those three parents were there because it’s how they wanted to spend their Saturday morning.

Just like my parents wanted to cart me here and there, to put their wants aside to do what I wanted to.

In both cases, the parents did it because it’s what parents do.  It’s what we sign up for.  It’s because we love those kids and we know that they’re watching and learning every moment.

Did I realize that that was what was happening when I was the kid?  No.  I only saw just how deeply I was being shortchanged or inconvenienced.

It’s times like this that I wish that I could tell those who raised me ‘I get it.  I see what you did…and what you didn’t.  What you loved me enough to do for me and what you loved me enough to let me do (and learn) for myself.’

I hope and pray that my children will eventually see the same thing…and do (and not do) for their own.