Gratitude

Dear Mom and Dad,

I remember my first bike. It was red instead of metallic blue and it had a triangular black seat instead of a sparkly banana seat. I was not grateful.

I remember the year I had to have clogs because absolutely everbybody was wearing them. Instead of the real leather kind with the wooden soles and the braid up the front, you bought me a pair of beige imitation leather ones with faux woodgrain soles. I was not grateful.

I remember the year that I asked for a vest for my birthday. I wanted one that was real down with rainbow stripes. The one I got was fiber fill and it was baby blue. I was not grateful.

I remember those fashion boots I pined for. They were leather, of course, and laced up to the knee. They were to die for. I could almost smell them and hear the creak as I walked. The ones I got were real leather, but they zipped, and there was a flaw. I was not grateful.

I remember thinking that I would die if I didn't get a pair of R.D. Simpson's and a poet blouse. I got some toughskins with a heart embroidered on the pocket, and a knit batwing top with rainbow colored heart balloons all over it. It was cute, but it was wrong. I was not grateful.

I remember how we clamored for Intellivision or Colecovision. What we got was a Sears game console with generic versions of all the really popular games. We were not grateful.

I remember the class ring that I so carefully selected. It was real gold and was set with my birthstone and inscribed with my initials. The one I got was imitation gold with no birthstone. It turned black after a couple of years. I was not grateful.

I remember all the oversized blouses that you sewed for sister and me when we were in high school. They were beautiful, and far better than anything I could buy in a store. Our friends were all envious. But they lacked a designer label. So I was not grateful.

I was not grateful for goulash, or powdered milk, or generic peanut butter. I was not grateful for a warm winter coat and boots from Shopko. I was not grateful for our home, with the shabby carpet and cracked plaster. I was not grateful for your jobs, which were not glamorous or sophisticated.

What a shit I was.

I am raising my own children now. I understand what it is to choose between needs and wants; sometimes to choose between between needs and needs. I know what it is to wish with all your heart that you could buy your child that special thing. I know what it is to realize you can't. I know what it is to convince yourself it doesn't matter, that they will be better for not having everything their heart desires. And I think back to all those things I wanted....

I realize now, how you must have struggled. I realize now, that you tried so very, very hard to give me (us) the things we thought would make our lives happier.

I realize now, that I had the thing that maybe some of my friends would have traded their designer clothes and their fancy toys for.

I had love. I had a stable home life. I had two strong, positive role models who taught me about honesty, integrity, and the value of a job well done. I had parents who loved and respected one another. I had the bone deep certainty that you would always be there if I needed you.

And I am so so very, very grateful.

I'm sorry it took me thirty years.