Memories

I love when my parents tell me stories about when they were young. I put the parent filter aside and try to imagine them as young, impetuous and unsure of themselves. Sometimes, when I catch them in the right mood, it’s becomes a magic moment where THEY enjoy sifting through the memories for the textural details I'm begging for.

We had one of those moments when we were home for Grandma’s funeral.We sat around the kitchen table as mom and dad talked about their lives before us, before responsibility. Each the trip back in time gives us a new glimpse into their past. There were many layers to their lives that were new to the story. I heard about how my dad, just back from being deployed, passed up a career opportunity at the NSA. Instead he ended up back in our hometown. Seems too significant a detail to have never heard it before. It was a turning point in his career, in his path that ultimately led to us, sitting in that kitchen,

That detail has haunted my thoughts as of late—the unknown of where your path is leading. Gives me faith that my decisions (good, bad and ugly) are leading me in down the right path...