photo taken by my dad
I was born of goodly parents. Salt of the Earth types.
Hard working people. They love God, each other and their nation.
They are extremely predictable, never risk takers or booty shakers, but they are happy, and they taught me how to find happiness in my own life.
The blessing of such parents has a magnitude weighty enough to set a person firmly on the right path.
My mother taught me how to be a good mother. She has a knack for finding joy in life's small moments. She laughs at herself often and she's easy to please. She used the same wooden spoon to cook delicious hot meals and spank our bottoms.
My father has many interests and hobbies. He works hard at his job and harder at his hobbies. He's an aerospace engineer, runner, mountain biker, back country skier, photographer, kayak maker and at one point he was a world renown pigeon raiser. He also has a fierce streak of OCD and ADD.
With each passing year, I see the traits of my parents in myself. Some I'm happy about. Some I'm not.
But there's this:
Because they have lived honorable lives, and done the things which are right in the sight of God, there is an unspoken obligation.
It says that I am obligated to carry on the good name. I have no excuses. I've been taught. This obligation is a weight on my shoulders and the ground that I stand on all at the same time. It's strange. I hate having to live up to someone else's standard, but I firmly believe freedom is found in knowing who you are and where you came from.
I was born of goodly parents and I pray everyday that I can be one too.
It isn't easy.