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This morning in church, Pastor W was talking about parents and child-rearing. I've gotta say, there's a lot of advice flying around and about, and sometimes I'm tempted to give it all a, "Hel-LO! We know how to raise our kids! Spare the rod, spoil the child! I've heard that a MILLyun tiiimes." But then I realize that there's plenty of people who may be either hearing it for the first time, or only realizing the value of that advice and admonition for the first time. In any case, my parents sure spanked me (I remember it fondly) and I think I turned out alright. I mean, relatively. I also have to say that my parents are pretty cool as parents go. I know I've said it before, but it never ceases to amaze me that my parents are so darn normal. Bear with me though, because by "normal" I don't mean that they fit with the norm for parents. By "normal" I mean that they act like normal, level-headed, humorous people. I'm both thankful that they tanned my butt when necessary to promote and maintain their status as The Boss Of Me and that they also had the decency and wisdom to talk to me like I was (well, I am) a human being, and not just as my designated age bracket (e.g., Child, Teen, Young Adult, etc.). And they raised me with a lot of good humor and laughed at me when I needed to stop being self-absorbed and laughed with me when I did something stupid. I learned to take life seriously when it needs to be taken seriously, and learned to not take it too seriously all the rest of the time. Despite the Mediterranean temper that some of us inherited from one undisclosed side of the parental unit, we nevertheless learned that some things are important in the scheme of life, and many others aren't. I learned to let a lot of things roll of my back, and sometimes, when I feel unable to let them roll and I let them get to me (as happened the other day with the Sobbing Tuberculosis Incident), I feel very, very disappointed in myself for being so ridiculous.
Anyhow, I love my parents. I let them read my weblog, they let me sit and talk with them in rocking chairs in the library late at night. They're my very best friends, and they put up with a lot from me. And I'm a lot to put up with, as I understand.
Today, my longsuffering (gracious, kind, generous, time-sacrificing, etc.) father put my CD stereo receiver and a pair of new speakers I bought into my car, officially upping the value of the car the cost of an Alpine receiver that happened to come with my Buick when I bought it plus a pair of speakers that cost me thirty-five bucks at Circuit City. I think this brings my car value up to about 200 times the amount I paid for it - a loving two dollars. In any case, I had been suffering the effects of rattling, buzzing, and inadequate Toyota-manufacture speakers for too long, and after finally getting it all in, I decided to go for a drive to the bank, feeling refreshed in the lovely cool of the day.
This is what I love about my parents. They realize that they can't pawn my car problems off on my boyfriend, since I don't have one, they realize that I would probably cause my car to short-circuit if I did it myself, and they also realize that a simple pair of speakers brings the enjoyment level of my stawag-driving experience up one hundred fold or more. And it does. I just listened to some Massive Attack, cranked up the bass, and boy did it sound tasty-delish.
Hats off to you, Daddy-o. Maybe now Old Grey Bessie will attract some dudes.