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Reflections On My Parents

Ask any son or daughter to write about their experiences with their parents, and each of us could fill numerous chapters with memories that shift in tone and meaning as we grow older. Parenthood is an evolving journey, and the experience of a family's oldest child often differs greatly from that of the youngest. As the eldest of seven, my memories of my parents feel fragmented—like distinct but disconnected chapters in a book. They were good parents in the ways that mattered most. We always had a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes to wear, and the certainty that if we were sick or hurt, they would be there. I respect them deeply for their work ethic and their unwavering dedication to keeping us safe and secure. Yet, as the firstborn, my experience was shaped by the constant arrival of younger siblings. In my earliest years, I wasn't quite sure where they came from—other than the explanation that the stork had delivered them to the hospital. With each new addition, ...
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School Days

School Years: A Journey of Work, Learning, and Independence When I look back on my school years, I naturally divide them into three distinct chapters: my early years at Green Springs Elementary, my middle school experience at a Catholic military boarding school, and my high school days—an age my grandchildren are now reaching—in Utah. A common thread runs through all these years: I always had a job. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. As the oldest of seven kids, if I wanted anything beyond the basics—food, shelter, and clothes—I had to earn it myself. Mom and Dad provided what they could, and we always had a roof over our heads and gifts at Christmas, but "fun money" was scarce. If I wanted something, I worked for it. Learning the Value of Hard Work In my early years in Virginia, farm work was my introduction to labor. At seven, I was picking and shucking feed corn. By ten, I could drive a tractor and plow a straight line. As I got older, I started leasing...
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New Years Memories

Seventy-nine New Year’s Holidays consisting of New Year's Eve and New yours Day have come and gone. Unlike Christmas, where I can vividly recall special moments as a child receiving gifts— that first bicycle or motorized airplane— or as an adult providing gifts to my children— the race car set or the 4-wheeler dirt bike— under the magic guise of Santa Claus, New Year's memories are distant and vague. Other than trying to remember to insert the correct year on my checks, New Year's Eves and Days passed with little notice.   As a child, I recall that we did not celebrate New Year's Eve at all, or if the adults in the house did, we were asleep. I suppose we were still enjoying Christmas Day and playing with our gifts before we would have to return to school.    I don't recall any time that Mom and I went anywhere for New Year's dinner or a party. Our celebration was generally a glass of wine or some Jack Daniels ...
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