What were your parents doing at your age?
In today’s writing prompt, the question is posed; What were my parents doing at my age? My eyes gaze across the words and my mind begins to drift. Memories of my childhood and visions of joy overwhelm my senses. With all things considered, my childhood was filled with happy memories. Not taking away from anxiety-riddled moments of fear and heartbreaking moments. However, my childhood was an amazing time in my life.
Memories in my mind’s eyes, display like my google photos album. “Ah, Yes! This looks like a good place to begin,” Pressing play, the story unfolds. I was about 8 or 9 and I am sitting in my Dad’s office beneath the stairs as he worked. We lived in a small town house in the city. Making use of the space, my dad made his home in the living room closet beneath the staircase.
My Father
My father had a brilliant mind. He was a certified nerd, afro-punk hipster of his time. My father took a strong interest in computers and information technology. At the time, it was the late 90’s and the IT world was starting to set the tone for the future. My father dove in head first. He spent the majority of his free time taking part and studying old broken computers left outside our door from friends, family members, neighbors, etc. My father analyzed every intricate part of the computer tower. Constantly taking it apart and putting it back together. When not studying computer parts, he spent his time learning software and programming.
Find memories present of me as a child looking at exposed motherboards of PC towers and imagining a city. I would watch overheard, the bustling streets and towers of my motherboard city. My father was self-taught and worked his way to the top of his field with only a G.E.D. and purpose. In this memory, I am sitting with my father, strumming away on my plastic guitar, serenading him while he worked.
My mother
The reel in my minds eyes scrolls through to a memory of me sitting on the floor. The sun has just set and the night takes over. I am watching tv anxious waiting my mother’s arrival from her evening classes.
My mother has an ambitious nature. Her hands were her tools of creation. As an apprentice, my mother had to attend evening classes a few times a week and work her craft during the day. As a creative, my mother had a passion for transforming a blank canvas to something beautiful. She recently made the transition from cosmetology to painting. The type of painting where the walls of your business and home were her canvas, turning old matter walls into smooth refreshing atmospheres.
My mother, like my father, only had a G.E.D. However, her ambition and curious nature propelled her to expertise in her field. The journey was not without its hardships. My mother had the “pleasure” of not I ly being I e of the few women in her field, but the only woman of color in her field in that particular atmosphere. Constantly encountering jealous men who felt “it was not women’s work”, My mother stood her ground and turned competitors to companions.
Now retired, my mother enjoys her retirement painting, building and crafting accents for the home. Her hands, her tools for creation.
Conclusion
Reliving memories it has occurred to me. Firmly in their 30’s, both of my parents embarked on new ventures in their careers. Changing course would forever change their lives. Both of my parents bad brilliant minds and we’re creators in their own right. Their hands were their vehicles and their mind was behind the wheel as they sped down the highway of success. Confidently expressing my individuality, it is not lost on me my own journey down the highway of success in the vehicle passed down from generations, personalizing it to our unique needs.
Just when you think you are heading down the highway of the unknown, with all of its twists and turns, remember there are roads because someone paved the way. Carry on without fear or anxiousness because you are just where you are supposed to be.
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