30 years of marriage.
My parents married THIRTY years ago. They were such beautiful people. And
they still are – but you can see the 30 years on their face.
When I was a kid, I loved my mother’s soft hands. Mommy-hands. I could
see the wrinkles on them, yet the hands were so soft. They still are – mommy’s
stroke on my face is one of the best things in my life.
Now as we are both adult women, it happens rarely, but still does. Now
we show our love through other things – through words, kind deeds, smiles.
Just yesterday someone told me that I walk like my mom. Clearly – I’m my
mothers’ daughter.
When I was a kid, my dad used to take me in his hands and press his face
against mine, even though my face was covered with scabs and it wasn’t that
pretty. Dad said, he never cared and only saw how beautiful his daughter is.
Now he never does that. We hug only on special occasion. It makes them so much more valuable. Through the
years, my respect towards my dad has grown to the skies. I’ve been told that I’m
bold as my dad and that I’ve gotten the organizational and administrative
talent as well as guts to perform from my dad. I couldn’t agree more. Clearly –
I’m my fathers’ daughter.
As I’m older, I can see their marriage. They’ve had their struggles, as
everyone does. Yet I can see how they both love each other to pieces.
One thing that they both have – this selfless serving of others. Doing
the little and big things, either together or separately, without asking
anything in return.
I love my parents. Clearly – I’m my parents’ child. As are other five
wonderful people.
