My parents are very catholic. They are the people who go to every Sunday mass, follow every protocol. Once as a teen once I asked my mother “why are you here? What is the point of life?
Without skipping a beat and in complete earnest my mother replied, “To know God, to love God, and to serve God.”
Well what the heck do you say to that? That is the definition of true faith.
My parents are wonderful people. My mom carries the weight of the world on her shoulders with grace and ease. My father guides us every day to the positive way of thinking to lead us to accomplish our dreams.
These are good people.
My parents are proud of me for my accomplishments, with is very rewarding. I work very hard, and it is nice to know my parents feel rewarded by that.
I remember the first time I heard my parents were proud of me. It was at a family party, I couldn’t remember which. All I know is that people kept saying how proud my parents were of me, and after three people said that I was in tears.
I also have gotten letters from them saying so much since I’ve been here in NYC. And at this point I believe them.
My parents raised me very well. I was taught everything in the true spirit of Jesus. Love the sinner, the broken, the hurt, and the outcast. Whether it is the taxman, the whore, and the traitor. Love them for who they are.
The sweet irony is that if you love these people in this day and age the Catholic Church kind of rejects you.
My entire twenties were spent appreciating anyone and everyone who was an individual (and not easily defined by Catholicism). Because I see myself as a true individual I seek out and respect others who are special in their own way.
Sadly my parents were afraid of this behavior.
Not without reason. I jumped from job to job….flight attendant, bartender, optician, waitress… all the time just living for the moment. Celebrating life, be it mine or my friends.
This entire time I was celebrating a lifestyle that my parents could not condone nor understand. They wanted to support me as their child but none of my actions made any sense.
Which is pure irony. Because I am the person my parents raised me to be.
I love everyone; Really, I believe we all mean the best.
I forgive. Almost immediately. Grudges don’t come from me, others impose.
I want to help people feel accepted, and will go out of my way to make that happen.
I seek out those who don’t ‘fit in’ because they need my love more.
The most joy I get in any given moment of any given day is by making someone smile. Or laugh. (Making them belly laugh is better)
When I was in my 20’s and living as a waitress and whatnot spending my life as an alternative lifestyle my parents were concerned. Not for my mental health, but for my future. Who would take care of me? How would I retire?
Such irony. Knowing so many people has given me a wider safety net. If I am truly in need I have so many wonderful people to call upon that I trust.
I will say this in all earnestness as a compliment to my parents…everyone I meet loves me. Really, people just like me. Whatever they taught me they taught right.
Often though I wonder if my parents celebrate the true spirit of me, who they raised me to be. When I walk into a room I am well received because of my acceptance of others for who they are. That unconditional love Jesus spoke of.
Would they love me more if I were a ‘true catholic’ who was married with kids and my church friends? Or am I accepted for loving more?
Do your parents love you for how they describe you or who they wanted you to be?
I love my parents for who they are and who they want to be. I accept them and appreciate them for who they are. Really I only want the same.
The History Of Yoga
1 year ago