It’s amazing how you can know someone for your entire life, and yet know so little about them.
Take for instance, your parents (GASP!). I’ll use my dad as an example.
Growing up, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t that interested in getting to know my parents as people. After all … they were my parents, and that was that. It was so easy to cast judgement on them without listening to what they had to say.
But things have changed. Especially now that I am writing a memoir, for the first time, I’m interested in their past: the trials they’ve faced; the heartaches they’ve suffered; the joys they’ve experienced.
And so, this weekend while I was home for Easter, I asked my dad to start from the beginning.
Usually I’m great at interrupting him when he speaks, but this time I just listened to what he had to say.
For about two hours I soaked in the stories of my dad’s past. I watched his face grow solemn as he talked about his mom’s death. I watched a smile creep across his face as he recounted memories of putting a tractor back together. I watched his eyes fill with tears as he spoke about some of the hardest moments of his life. And as I listened, I started to understand my dad more and more. Read More