I guess it’s the time of year to be thankful. Maybe someone is trying to open my eyes or smack me over the head with the realization of how lucky I am. Two days ago it was a poignant experience with my youngest brother. Today I was blessed with an unneeded reminder I was born to two extraordinary, wonderful, loving, giving people. I say unneeded, and I mean it, I know my parents are incredible… but the experience is certainly welcome!
As I mentioned in my last post (about my brother stepping up on my behalf) I hurt my back playing Thanksgiving day football. Well, fast forward to this morning at work. I’m standing (leaning really) and talking to a co-worker (a truly good friend) and she said something along the lines of, “No doing extra work and doing my stuff for me!” after I’d mentioned how bad my back was at the moment.
To which I responded, “I can’t help it! If you have a problem with it, blame my parents!”
At this point my manager chimed in. “Blame your parents? I think you mean thank your parents! I wish they’d raised everyone in the world! Then everyone would have an incredible work ethic and be nice!”
Ok, I reveled in the inherent compliment there, I won’t lie. But my manager made an excellent point. Mom n Dad done did it right! If I’ve managed to make a good showing of myself, I certainly have them to thank.
Maybe I have a good work ethic. I like to think I do. I know I try. But I can attribute that to a thousand events in my life, most of which are directly linked to my parents. Maybe I’m nice, I try to be. But if you’ve met my family you know at my best I’m a poor, albeit striving, shadow to what my parents effortlessly exude.
-I wish your parents had raised everyone in the world-
… :) …
My dad often told me a story growing up, a story of his mother, of working hard and doing our best. To him, it was the moment that taught him to always strive for perfection. And it was a story that only confirms I’ve been blessed to come from a line of incredible people.
It was my dad’s family’s turn to clean the chapel. They went about cleaning the church. At some point they reached a point where there was a part of the chapel my dad didn’t believe needed to be cleaned. After all, nobody ever saw that part. But my grandmother, in the way that she always was, said something along the lines of (oh I wish I had my father’s memory of the event so I could get this right instead of paraphrasing an idea), “It doesn’t matter if anyone ever sees it. God can see it. God will know, and you should always give your best.”
Thanks, Grandma, you taught well. You raised a wonderful man, who in turn married a wonderful woman. Hopefully, somewhere down the line, someone will be able to say I was a fitting link in the chain of my incredible family.