I peruse over the choices I’ve made as I coast into a parking spot just outside our apartment building. I watch my daughter close the car door and walk towards the building. She’s in her own world of high school sophomore-ship. I proudly marvel at her living standard. She’s 16 and doing her best. She has a nice crowd of good friends. Her habits include Facebook, doing her hair and makeup. Her teachers give me glowing reports of her class work. She even tried out for the cheer leading team despite the odds of high competition. It wasn’t to long ago that she suffered the slings and arrows of poor management from the local public junior high school. Today, she’s risen above it all remaining loving and sensible.
A thought jumps in front of my meanderings as we wait for the elevator. If my mom didn’t fall victim to what was expected of her would I be having this moment? Would I be alive? Would I have a career? A fine husband?
Maybe I wouldn’t be having this conversation with my daughter or even be grateful for having her. Maybe it wouldn’t mean so much to me to be a good role model for her. As ugly as the results were from the decisions my Mother made, they provided inspiration to how I live today.