Parents

On the phone last night, SE and I were discussing a Christmas decor makeover. His new motif would be a color theme. In approximately his own words, 'the same kind of thing I used to make fun of my mom for.' I laughed as I said this is how we know we are grown up, we circle back and adopt the traits of our parents that we once made fun of. My mom prides herself in her razor sharp memory, and as age has necessitated that she write things down, I say that she is maturing into a better version of herself: me! I write everything down for fear of forgetting.

As I listen to Sandra Tsing Loh this morning, she is again telling a story about her incredibly cheap and eccentric dad. I feel she owes him a great portion of her career, I've listened to many a story about his hitchhiking and using a cereal box as a briefcase. Many people tell these types of stories about their parents. I tell the worst ones as a way of saying all this happened, but I turned out ok, right? You don't think my family's completely nuts, right? Asking for reassurance that I'm normal.

Maybe we tell these things to make peace with our childhoods. I did not know at the time that reciting my multiplication tables as quickly as possible, using the seconds dial on the dashboard of our Chevy Caprice Classic station wagon, was not a game. Though it sounds super dorky now, I know more of my 13 time tables than most people my age. If that is not something to be proud of, well, maybe we shouldn't be hanging out.

I love these stories because it shows me, that like our parents, age has softened me and taken some of the edge off of the memories; it's easier now to look back and laugh at that which may have upset or annoyed me. And just in case you were wondering, thirteen squared is 169.