The Christmas version of the Angry Birds seems like the perfect mood setting for me at the moment. Onward, march.
Parents: You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.
I think this age old saying has been proven time and time again in my life, and tonight seems to just push that saying into a fact. I’m extremely volatile right now, my hands are literally shaking as I type and the amount of typos that’s happening is enough to make the grammar/spelling nazi in me shriek in even more frustration.
I love my parents, so much. More than words can ever give enough justice to. That’s only a fraction of how much I love my parents.
There are times when even I have to question their reasoning and logic (at their age, I never thought it would be possible but alas, it is).
When you are wrong, it is only reasonable that you admit that YOU were wrong and committed an error, correct? That’s what logic dictates, along with honesty and humility.
Well, according to my parents, it’s WRONG.
They play off their mistakes as if it’s nothing at all and who has to deal with the bullshit that comes with it? Me. I’m their freaking scapegoat/soundboard/punching bag of a daughter that has to take all the crap because of the very reason that I came out of my mother’s vagina after the creation of an embryo from her egg and his sperm. That I am their BLOOD does it make me designated masochist.
I was told once that no matter what happens, your parents are always right. They are your parents, you respect their decisions and reasons. No matter what. No matter how illogical, no matter how unreasonable. It is because they are YOUR PARENTS that you swallow your pride every single time and just take it.
I love my parents, but at instances where their pride destroys every fabric of common sense, I can’t help but think that I’m more mature than them in that aspect.
That I can push aside my mule-headedness, my PRIDE and admit that I was wrong and do whatever the hell I can to fix my mistake, I feel that I AM mature.
When it reaches the point that you let your pride stop you from fixing a mistake or doing the right thing, THAT is an example of immaturity.
Mom, Dad, I love you, I really do.
But please, you are not perfect. Really, I’ve known that for a while now and it’s not making me adore you/think of you less as my role models. So please, for the love of God, please.
Admit you are wrong once in a while. It won’t kill you. In fact, it will make me love you and respect you more than ever; it will make me think that you are the closest things to perfect because you show that you are imperfect.