The Ugly Truth

I've been trying not to write about my parents. This means that I now have a nice collection of unedited pieces in my Drafts file about them. So, as opposed to sweeping yet another piece under the proverbial rug, let's just get to it.

Confession: Sometimes, I have parent envy.

Years and years ago, when I was barely 24 and working in an office in Cambridge, MA., with an unfortunate view of Massachusetts General Hospital where I had recently spent five months sitting by my father, a colleague's father stopped by the office to visit her. He had a middle-aged belly, a tinge of grey hair and a big laugh; he took her to lunch. I closed my office door and cried.

Last fall, at a dear friend's wedding reception, father and mother of the bride gave tearful speeches. I cried. I swear that the first tears were happy tears for her, but they suddenly turned to sad tears for me. It happens at most weddings. I don't mean it to. I just does.

I've gotten used to them being gone. Sometimes, weeks go by without my consciously thinking about them, and for the most part, I've learned to live with that, too.

Maybe it's the season. The air is cold and rainy and it feels like the holidays are right around the corner. Quite frankly, holidays are a bitch when you are feeling parent envy.

Sometimes, I have family envy. I'll observe the parents sitting at dinner, laughing with friends or in-laws and drinking wine while the small ones play in the magic that is a restaurant courtyard lit up at night. While they play, the adults tell family stories of holiday mishaps and potty-trainings and Remember Whens.

I miss having someone tell the stories of before I was born, of when I was young. And there you have it: story envy.

I'm not proud about any of this, by the way. I'm just telling it like it is.

When I turned twenty-one, my parents threw me a surprise sit-down dinner party. As surprised as I was, I think my college friends were even more surprised by the formality, the wine in crystal glasses, the toasts my parents gave. I was in heaven. My mother cooked and served us a magnificent multi-course meal. I have no idea what it was, but I'd bet money that it included shrimp cocktail and possibly a baked Alaska for dessert. And after dinner, Daddy and I danced in the front hallway. For real. It's been 19 years since that dance and I could dance it for you now.

I haven't thought about that in a long time. I'm glad I did today. No envy. Just happy.