The best a son can hope for, the best a son can wish for, is to have two parents.
Two parents that say I DO, then do.
Two parents that promise to stick through thick and thin, then do.
Two parents that stick through better and worse.
Two parents that stick through richer and poorer.
Two parents that stick through sickness and sicker.
Two parents that take death to rip them apart.
Two parents that make tough decisions to forgo jewels and riches and instead send their son wherever is necessary to straighten his feet, straighten his teeth, straighten his head so he can have a chance at walking straight and smiling through his own tough decisions.
Two parents that taught about freedom by giving a son what seemed like an ocean to explore. First just within sight of the dock. A couple of summers later as far as Jim’s Landing. Then as far as he dared to go.
Two parents that had the patience not to ask why the boat gas tank that was filled yesterday morning needs to be refilled again today.
Ten summers, a thousand sunsets, a half century of unforgotten memories.
Two parents whose unspecific and unspoken wishes lead to a unanimous decision among those left behind as to where their life was the most peaceful, the most fulfilling, and their time best spent.
Today was my day of reminiscing. Including catching up with childhood friends I haven’t seen in thirty years. And closing some chapters of my own 51 years. Thank you John, Mike, Mark, Christopher, Teressa, and Liz for being a part of my Friday.
A journey that began 19 days short of 54 years ago at a little mountain church in Western North Carolina ended today with one final sunset cruise around the lake.
To my parents, Allen and Lillian, here’s to your next thousand sunsets together.
Your son, Jon