Growing up in a lower middle class family has taught me a lot: how to make do, how to be content, and most importantly, how to love.
Love is my mom making me chicken soup when I have a cold. Ever since I was little, my mother has insisted that home made chicken soup is better than anything when you’re sick.
Love is my sister calling me “Sissy…” She and I go way back. She’s three years older than I am, and we’ve been best friends since the day I was born. We used to play Barbie’s all day long that even incorporated us into the plot as “Giants”.
Love is my dad’s face light up when he’s telling us stories about when he was a kid. About how he used to play cowboys and Indians with the neighborhood kids, and play monopoly games that would last a week. About how he and my aunt and uncle used to visit the family farm, and all over the world with my grandparents (my grandfather is from a rural town but became a pilot).
Love is recognizing the small things that you might take for granted but that would be missed terribly if gone. This I believe.
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