Years ago, I remember feeling that my life was devoid of everything it needed to pursue something real, something long lasting. Happiness, self-worth, values, love, hope. But I was also too young to know what these things really meant, how one attained them, and that someone my age shouldn't be quite so worried about such "grown-up" things. But I've always been kind of "grown-up" for my age. Or, so I have been told. So I feel. But looking back, I also feel that my parents failed to teach me about these things. In fact, I feel like my parents failed at a lot of things. Not on purpose, of course. Mostly because a)they were first time parents, b)they both had their own weird, and somewhat screwed-up childhoods, that in turn affected my up-bringing, and c)they had their own problems, with themselves, and with each other. I am not exactly blaming them, not directly, nor am I going to conclude this with "and I hate them for this." They did the best they could, mistakes and all, and we've all learned from them. I respect them for putting their best foot forward. I know they love me, and though my father is deceased, I know he realized, before and after his death, his mistakes, and I know that he knows I forgave him. Of course, that only happened, after his funeral. But that is another chapter. Meanwhile, I am a mere twenty years old, and I have no idea what I am doing here, but yet, I feel so enchanted with purpose. |