Parenthood
When Mom was being pedantic about the cleanliness of a seemingly spotless corner of the kitchen, I saw myself in her — I need my kitchen pristine too. When Dad connected with and inspired a talented, albeit young, chef, I saw myself in him — I, too, take the time to foster human connections.
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My hair is a lighter shade of my father’s eyes, my wit a tone darker than my mother’s. They hold on to remnants of my childhood — tiny toys, bracelets, clothes, books, photographs. To me, they are just a box of forgotten objects. To them, they are an instrument playing the melody of love and sacrifice, strength and sleepless nights, hopes and heartbreaks, laughter and innocence — the symphony of parenthood.
