My Parents

I was seven years old. We lived on a farm in southeast Kansas. I had two pairs of jeans, one pair of sneakers, and one pair of church shoes. We had chickens and hogs, so we ate eggs and pork. When the wind blew, the curtains flew in our house. The upstairs was sealed off in the winter; we bathed in sweat in the summer. Tin can lids sealed the holes the mice made by mice. At times, the plumbing broke down and we used the outhouse and outdoor cistern. We were poor, but I was unaware. I was a child, and I was adored.

There was never a girl luckier than I. Both my parents doted on my sister and I. Dinner was served every night at the table after we prayed. Mom and dad read to my sister and I, tucked us in, and said prayers every night. We played cards and games on Friday nights and went to church on Sunday mornings. When I did wrong, I was punished. When I did right, I was celebrated. I was loved.

It was an understatement to say money was tight. Money was nonexistent. At seven, I did not comprehend this. I had stars in my eyes and a burning desire. I wanted to play softball. I asked my parents if I could join the team. Neither of them either told me it was a sacrifice, but I know, now, that it had to be. Mom and dad made it happen. One day, dad came home from his day job (carpentry) to his night job (farming and raising hogs) with a ball glove. Not any glove, this was a beauty. Pure leather, cow smell, and mine . . . all mine. My toys fit in a Guys potato chip box. I could count my books on my fingers. Most of my clothes were made by mom. I can not express the shock and pleasure that came with this present. It wasn’t my birthday or Christmas, but here was a treasure for ME. I still feel a rush as I relish the memory.

This was just the beginning. My parents nurtured my love affair with softball until I was ready to let it go. Both mom and dad played catch with my sister and I evening after evening. Both worked, cared for animals, and farmed. All meals were cooked a home. Convenience foods were not a part of our lives. Clothes were sewn, the house was a constant battle . . . each day was work; but, they made time for us. My parents played with me. Taught me to catch, throw, and bat. Took me to games. Cheered me on.

Of course, they did this because I was talented and destined to receive awards and scholarships . . . WRONG!!!!!! I stunk. Few children had less athletic talent than I. I was disciplined, dedicated,and I loved the game; but, it was hard for me. Softball was a struggle. My time on the bench exceeded my time on the field by far. My parents’ devotion would have been justified if they were sitting in the stands watching a prodigy, but they weren’t. They cheered, supported, and celebrated just because they loved me. I can not express my love and gratitude. Everything good that I am, all I have or will accomplish, and any contribution I will make is a result of my parents.