May 6, 1994

"Honor thy father and mother."
                 The Fourth Commandment

From the day I started this journal to this Friday afternoon, I have written very little about my parents. I don't know exactly why, but can offer two possible explanations. Since this journal is being written for them and anyone they wish to share it with, as a remembrance of a troubled son, I have probably subconsciously avoided writing about them directly. Secondly, I've been so entangled and persecuted by mental turmoil and anguish and so engulfed by problems without solutions, that I've not thought of them as I should.

Anyway, my mother and father have never failed me and have been there when I needed them. I know they love me and I hope they realize how much I love them.

My father has a manly strength of purpose and ideals  which I've never been able to achieve. I have never met a happier and kinder man than my father. He wakes up with a smile on his face and it never leaves until he goes back to bed at night. We have sort of lived our lives at arm's length at times, loving one another but never feeling free enough to discuss everything that may be on our minds. He's an extrovert and I'm an introvert - he's always respected my privacy and I've always admired his patience.

Dad, you have been a great father and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for all the time, inspiration, encouragement and love you gave me. And I'm grateful for the few hours we've been able to spend together in Sandwich since I've come back from Ireland. I will miss you.

Mom, my mom, what can I write about you that you don't already know? More than anything we are two peas in the same pod, always rubbing against each other - sometimes with affection, sometimes with annoyance, sometimes with animosity. We are so close and so similar that at times it's been dangerous. We both feel too much, worry too much and think too much. We can turn mountains into molehills and just as easily turn the insignificant into great importance.

We are such a reflection of one another, that we bring out both the best and the worst in each other - and we've never hesitated to display the best or worst that's inside us to one another. We lack patience but can be surprisingly tolerant. Our tongues are quick to find words that can either soothe or scar.

Mom, you have never stopped nurturing me and you always been the star that has guided me. When I was five years old, you sent me off to the first grade by putting me on a bus to Boston. It must have been hard for you that day, seeing your big boy off to his first day of school. That day was more than just the beginning of eight years of a great education at Saint Gregory's - on that day you gave me your hope and trust and as you waved good-bye, you gave me the freedom to be independent and to think for myself, two of the greatest gifts you ever gave me. And there were other gifts. You taught me the importance of reading and you showed me the wonder of words. You made my dreams, your dreams and you encouraged me never to be afraid to let my mind, body and spirit sail beyond the horizon.

Except for the death of my grandfather when I was eleven, I do not have one bad memory of my childhood or my teenage years. I was brought up in a happy and wholesome home and provided with everything I wanted and more than I needed. Although I have had to apologize to my parents many times for many wrongs, never once have they had to apologize to me.

God blessed me with wonderful, loving and caring parents, and I honestly believe that there is no greater blessing. I've always been my mother's son and my father's boy - and I've always been proud to be their child.

4:30pm   -   Bradford Inn  -  Chatham, MA


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