An Ode to My Parents

Last weekend I found myself sat on the foyer of a hotel at 4.30am, pizza slice in hand, in a conversation with a friend about my parents.

I was adopted when I was a month old, and I’ve known for so long that I forget that not everyone knows. It’s not part of everyone’s life.

So we chatted. I explained that, no, I don’t have any interest in meeting my biological parents, that my parents are my parents and I’m very much their child. In looks, personality and mannerisms.

But I’m not sure I’ve ever had this conversation with them, and I’m sure I probably should have done, or should do.

It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I’m pants at getting my words out unless I’m drunk, writing it down, or both.

My parents have put up with a lot – I party hard and always have. I’m crap with money and I lead a lifestyle I can’t really afford. My mother and I argue like hell. My dad is exasperated by me frequently. I sign up to stupid things and I drag them into all the various bits of gossip and drama.

They are frickin’ awesome. When I dropped out of college to go travelling they didn’t pressure me to make a different decision and let me get on that plane with nothing but a wave, a few tears and lots of hugs. They’ve picked up the pieces of several shitty relationships and held my hair back when I’ve had too much to drink. They took my GBF in when he got kicked out of his home and they treat my friends like their own.

I take the piss out of my mum for turning into hers, for having no knowledge of geography, technology, politics or life, but I can see myself turning into her every single day. And I may joke and I may shake my head, but it’s not a bad thing.

When I was about 14 I called home to say I was going to be late. Mother answered, “Hang on. I can’t hear you without my glasses on.”

I have not let her live this down for 10 years. Until I heard myself say exactly the same thing.

My dad has bailed me out of so many situations – fundraising, car insurance, MOT, credit cards. He’s let me cry on his shoulder after many a breakup. We’ve ranted about politics over beer and curry. He’s heard me talk about going out in my “fuck me dress”, not batted an eyelid and passed me another beer.

Mumsy, Daddy-O – without your endless support of my many irrational and idiotic decisions, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I could not respect two people more, and I may be crap at showing it when I revert to my 15 year old self and stamp my feet and roll my eyes for no reason. But, tonight, when I’m out causing havoc and drinking too much – I’ll raise a Rattler or two for you both.

– you can’t make this shit up.

Tags: adoption dad family Life mum Parents

Categories: a little piece of joy From the Heart