My gift are my words,And these are for you. -"Your Song" by Elton John (roughly)
There's an episode of Boy Meets World where Cory and Eric forget to plan a party for their parents' anniversary and try to rearrange a rave they're throwing into something resembling a celebration of the people who raised them and the love they've shared.
I feel a bit like these fictional characters today, because it's my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. And I feel like I didn't do enough.
I got them a card, I suppose, and I spent a decent amount of time finding the "right one", so I don't know. Maybe that counts for something.
But forty years.
In a world of easy outs and unresolved conflicts and forfeiting long-term rewards for short-term pleasures, that's nothing short of a miracle.
And how could I throw a party or invite a bunch of people I don't know or pick out a cake that could come close to measuring what my parents have given? How do you properly celebrate the very reason you were given life? How do acknowledge something like that?
For me, it isn't in a party, I don't think. Or a present (and I tried to find a good one, I did). Or even in a card that I spent some time finding.
The only way I know how to pay something like that its due reward is with something they must have helped to give me to start with - my writing.
I don't have any statistics on it or anything, but I'd bet you money that there are millions or hundreds of millions of artists out there who will live and die in their lives doing nothing but a job that was practical. A job that was safe.
Of all the times my mom and dad have told me to be safe, never once did they say it about my dreams.
For that, for better or worse, I owe them everything for who I am today.
I owe everything to a day that happened 14 years before I was born.
Happy anniversary, mom and dad. I know this isn't exactly a present, but I hope it's enough. It's the best of what I have to give.