Donkeys and Frick Ups.

Nuggets,

I am a donkey. There I said it. I give you the freedom to say it about me. I'm not afraid of your acknowledgment of my heavy list of flaws. I make no fantasies about you thinking that I was (or am) perfect. I'm not. I'm terrible in a lot of ways.

I think of all people on this planet who might try to assess my personality, you and your Dad are the most capable. You are often the audience of my weaknesses. I struggle with sin. I struggle with soul ugliness. I think you also see my strengths the most clearly as well. Yes, I hope that you will ignore the weaknesses and make the strengths the center of your parental photographs, but it doesn't dominate my existence. You will remember me how you remember me.

Truth is, I think I am better on paper. I can edit out the words I don't like, or undo the things I shouldn't say. Paper makes me seem kinder or more loving than I am. Paper doesn't hold my impulsive shouts, or my unforgiving knee-jerk reactions. Paper doesn't etch painful words in your ears in a moments of foolishness. Paper isn't impulsive. I think that's partly why I've started this blog. I can edit my f'ed up brain to the things I wanted to say, or the things I want you to understand. I can water down the disappointments in the message, and give you the purpose as my heart sees it, and the love as my heart means it.

I hope you understand that while I admit to my failures, I am resoundingly seeking to improve on them. I don't want to ever be that person who says "Well I'm just that way" and then give up and give in. It's why I feel like I'm constantly apologizing. Recognize when you have failed, apologize, and then correct the behavior. You have the power to change your behavior.

You are a part of my story, but you aren't my legend. You are not my saga. My value and worth is not summed up in the completion of your lives. I say this, because I hope that when you have your own children, you will recognize that. Your children are not you. They don't determine how great or how bad you are (or were). They are their own people.

Society is hell bent on changing and perverting that scenario. They fill the atmosphere with bullshit statements like I am a frick up because my parents were mean (or absent, or busy, or angry, or sad). It's such bull. The real truth is that someone is a frick up because they choose to be. Every single one of my sin-filled, weakness-filled, unloving-filled actions are a direct result of my choices. They are my failures, my flaws, my problems. Not my parents. As much as it would be easy street to blame my sin on grandma and grandpa, I've earned that badge all by myself. Just like I've earned my successes myself. My parents were along for the ride, giving advice (often times unspoken, in the form of role models) directing the traffic, and helping me to navigate life all on my own.

But I digress. My point is this: I am flawed. I am always a work in progress. I try so hard to help you to overcome the sin issues that I struggle with, because I don't want them to dominate your lives like they have dominated mine. I don't want you to have a life time of demons that have been following you around. I want you to be stronger, better, more loving than me. I want you to rise up out the the ashes and soar on wings... free. I want you to be free.

When you four are sitting around the living room, recalling these days we're living now, most likely laughing about me and Dad, I hope the underlying thought is always this: our parents loved us. As fricked up as they are, and were, they loved us with all that they had. Because we do, my Nuggets. We really do.