My parents, albeit not perfect,
taught me many things.
My dad owned (and owns) his own
business. He left the house at 6:00am and was home by 4:00pm. My mom stayed at
home, raised us, and left cute notes in our lunchboxes. We had dinner on the
table by 5:30pm every night. I used to think this was normal.
We were told that dinner was family
time. We were taught to clean our plates and not leave until excused. There was
absolutely no simultaneous television watching. Actually, I never even had a tv
in my room until I went away to college. Tv was “the downfall of society”.
I couldn’t ride my bike across the
main street in town until I was almost in high school. I never had a curfew,
mostly because I don’t think my parents thought I had enough of a social life
to merit one. Until sophomore year of high school – I came home at 2:00am in a
friend’s Porsche. Insert 10:00pm curfew here.
I was not allowed to watch Rated-R
movies until I was actually 17, which explains why I can’t make it through a
horror flick to this day. And I was definitely not allowed to go over a boy’s
house unsupervised.
I was taught to respect my elders,
not backtalk (minus those few year in middle school and college – sorry mom),
and put other people before myself. I was taught never to judge – you never
know what someone’s situation is or what they are going through. And never,
ever, ever talk about money. I learned quickly that, many times, people with
the flashiest lifestyles have the smallest bank accounts.
Most importantly, I was taught that I
could do anything.
It wasn’t until recent years that I discovered
not all parents provided the same encouragement. Things that fell out of friends’
parents mouths, “you won’t like that, don’t try it” or “that’s not for you” or “you
could never do that”, have never crossed my parents lips. It left me
dumbfounded, hearing parents say these things to their children. Why would they
do that? Why would they limit their kid’s desire to reach for the stars?
As a kid, I mixed the paint colors. My
sister and I played outside all day long and we got dirty. We trudged our little
row boat through the creek mud behind my parents’ house which, I can tell you,
smells awful. I even cut my bangs off once, in third grade (that picture is
priceless). I told my parents I wanted to be a doctor, so they sent me to NYU.
Then, mid breakdown, I told them that there’s no way in hell I wanted to be a
doctor, so they encouraged me to find a career that was more suitable. I told
them I wanted to move out, so they bought me a couch. I told them I wanted to get a job in
public accounting, so I got one (thanks, in part, to my father). I told them I
wanted to buy a house, so they helped. And for my next endeavor, I tell them I
want to buy a BMW and, my dad says, surprisingly, that I deserve it.
That, my friends, is the beauty of
encouragement. Never once did my parents tell me I was not capable of achieving
my goals, nor did they try to sway me. Of course, they interjected opinions and
advice when necessary, but they never imposed those opinions on me – just offered
them up as food for thought.
Today, I have my first-ever prospective
client meeting. Chances are it will result in nothing more than a (non-billable)
business relationship, but it is so awesome that it is happening. I don’t think
it would be if my parents had raised me any different, so thanks, guys, for
raising me to not suck.
“Nothing is impossible. The word itself says ‘I’m Possible!’” – Audrey Hepburn.
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