As Beth said… we aren’t dead and I figured it was about time I wrote something to share with you guys. My title sounds a lot more ominous than it actually is but it’s a theme that seems to be recurring in mine and Beth’s lives almost every day.
When we are kids and growing up, being an adult is such an appealing thing. No more house rules, no bedtime, no being told what to eat, what to do, or anything else. I know as a kid I always wanted to be older than I was… but now that I am going to be turning a quarter of a century old (that’s 25 for those who had to stop and think) I find myself wanting to be young again. To sit at home and not have responsibilities. To play with stuffed animals, color, listen to kids bop (yeah I know… it’s horrible) and watch Disney movie after Disney movie.
Those were what the older generation calls “the good old days” for me. When I was able to just be a kid and not have a care in the world. But both Beth and I were forced to somewhat grow up really fast. Beth more so than me. My dad had back surgery when I was in third grade and so I was really asked to step up around the house and help with chores and cleaning and even asked to help with random odd tasks. However, I wanted that. I wanted to help (well when I was young. Teenage me wasn’t as helpful as I should have been) and I wanted to be around to see my dad back to full health.
Oh goodness that was so many years ago… 15 or so now. But i remember how much my dad tried to push the pain away so that he could do things to support us around the house, to be able to help with homework or sports or anything he could.
I remember moving to the apartments in St. Cloud and my first few years playing sports at St. John’s. My dad used to lay on the couch in our tiny living room and let me hit headers at him so I could practice aiming (which was funny because I was a goalie so I never needed that skill). And he used to help me with my softball batting skills by making me take practice swings in the still tiny living room.
But through all of that my dad taught me one very important lesson that I live by even now. Some Days are worse than others… Some Days are more painful, some days don’t make sense, and some days… Some Days will always be worse than others but it is the family and friends we surround ourselves with, the little things that happen and the moments that happen before our eyes that make every single second worth while.
Thanks for reading,