This I believe…
I believe the older I get, the greater my parents become. An epiphany? Not really. I’ve long-realized how blessed I am to call Earl and Brenda Clark my parents. But it’s taken me 32 years and two precious daughters to comprehend the depth of parents’ love.
Growing up, I didn’t realize the significance of the little things—my father telling me to watch his feet at an Easter egg hunt where I was the youngest; my mother cutting and sewing fabric Strawberry Shortcake dolls for me; the practice drives on old country roads; the scavenger hunts in the woods behind our home. These were the moments that defined my childhood; not the hottest-selling Christmas toys or new clothes, but the simple moments.
I remember my father running behind me on a bicycle—one hand on the seat, the other on my back until I could command the two-wheeler myself. He had worked all day and undoubtedly was exhausted, yet he never hinted that he would rather be resting or doing anything else in the world than spending time with his daughter.
And when my heart broke over a boy who didn’t ask me out or a friend who hurt my feelings, my mother was the first person to wipe my tears and restore my spirit.
It’s almost surreal as I watch my parents today with my two little girls. I’m re-living a bit of my own childhood right alongside them, and I’m mesmerized to see them learn the same important life lessons I received at their age. They’re still too young to grasp the magnitude of what is happening, but I believe that like me, their eyes will be opened as adults, and they will realize just how much their grandparents—and hopefully—their parents, mean to them.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.