Who Am I? :: May 10th, 2003 ::
Like most kids, I thought my parents were crazy when I was growing up. I especially remember modestly late on Saturday mornings, stumbling downstairs, and seeing both my parents in the kitchen, chipper and boisterious, acting as if they’d been up for four hours (they were acting this way because, of course, they had been up for four hours). It wouldn’t take long for them to go into a list of the things they’d gotten done while I’d been asleep — cleaned the car, mowed the lawn, swept out the garaage, gone grocery shopping — and they even had a their lists, with items crossed off, to serve as at least nominal proof for their activity.
At the time, I thought they were crazy, and I as I got older, I made a conscious effort to sleep even later on Saturdays, just to spite them. How dare they work when they didn’t absolutely have to.
Of course, there’s an ironic twist coming. Today Jessamyn and I got up at eight and had breakfast. We then cleaned out my car, organized our paperwork (mine was much more in need of organization than hers, which isn’t all that surprising) and stacked firewood. Then while she did the laundry and set up the clothesline, I changed the oil on two cars and got the lawn mower working again. There was a break for tea and book-reading, then more firewood-stacking and lawn-mowing. We’re tired now, to be sure, but we feel like we accomplished something pretty significant.
Oh, and the irony? Like most kids who spend their childhoods thinking that their parents are crazy, I’m finding it more apparent that I’m becoming more like them as I get older.
