day 3, to my parents

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Day 3. Your Parents

Dear Sir and Madame,

I made pancakes this morning. I found a recipe. It said to leave them lumpy, and I did. I put it in the hot skillet. I'm not sure where it went wrong. They came out like k'nipplies. I decided to eat them anyway, but wait until tomorrow to try again and make them for Joe.

I sat on the floor to eat them and feel sad. Joe asked if I was eating scrambled eggs. 

The whole series of failures reminded me of you–not in the failing aspect, but I was trying so desperately to recreate a Sunday morning. I thought of Dad making his waffles and of me when I was little, getting sick every time I ate scrambled eggs. I thought of the feeling you get when you come home from Mass on Sunday, take your nice shoes off, put your sweatpants back on and wait for the smell of pancakes or cinnamon rolls or bacon.

I miss you guys. Being so far away has made me see my childhood and first years of adulthood in a different lens–put things into sharper focus. There are countless things that I'd like to thank you for. So many of them made this year possible. 

I haven't made it easy. Ever. But where would the fun have been in that? You always forgave me. More than that, you always told me you were proud of me. When I look at my life now–our courage in a foreign country; the amount we put into savings and make ourselves pay on loans each month; our constant search for new knowledge–I feel like I'm finally earning your pride. I'm finally putting what you taught me into practice.

Each time someone thanks me for my work ethic or compliments my cooking or tells me what a bookworm I am, I thank you. Each time I think about where the world could take me, I'm reminded of where I came from–a home with two parents determined to make their children the best they could be, through loads of personal sacrifice. I haven't missed that; I'm just beginning to realize what it really means.

Love,
Meg


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