Friday, August 14, 2009

I Am My Parents

I think of them most when as a youth I last lived at home. They were middle aged showing the signs of aging and gravity, wrinkles, loss of hair, sagging skin beneath the eyes. They were conservative and frowned at my hair brained ideas of freedom and risk. Their words were often cautious. Too often they didn't understand. Now I see myself in them. Aches and pains and a face, only part of which I recognise. Who is that other creeping in whenever I look closely. More lines and more experience. I listen to a young man and ask him about jobs and self support and who will pay the bills. I encourage another to complete university. I never think there's benefit in all night parties and discourage anyone from becoming legless or losing their minds with drugs or alcohol. And why would you want to jump off a cliff into the sea and risk a broken leg? Does she really love you? I ask a love sick puppy. Where are you going to live? A day doesn't go by that I don't hear my self asking the inane questions my parents once asked. And sitting in church I remember them praying. And I sit in church and pray with them.

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