I hope this does not insult believers, it’s not my intention. But I did think my father was God, at least in the eyes of his young daughter. His intelligence, his swift and capable handling of arising problems, his compassionate and caring mannerisms, his protective personality. I felt safe and fearless in his care. Isn’t that what faith is about?
I felt this with Mom, too. But the frequencies were different, feminine/masculine energy, yin/yang, etc. She did protect me – my mother was compact but powerful, her size gave her an edge, her strength was unexpected, her movements swift with intention. Mostly she was the nurturer, the feeder, the one who sat and talked to me late into the evening.
My youth, even with divorce and the ugliness and shame that evoked, was happy. There was stability, routine, and popularity enough to make it work. My parents were available, just not together. While I loathed this fact, I learned there were advantages. I had more alone time with each of them, our time, while perhaps less flowing, was more intentional. We were aware, especially with my dad, that it would end.
I think that going through tough times early in life has advantages – particularly when primary needs (and beyond) are taken care of. And mine were. The disruption that difficult times cause brings with it awareness, presence, feelings – all the little reminders of being alive. Troubled times set me up to appreciate fun times. This wasn’t a conscious decision on my part, it was by default – but it was.
So, while I am aware that my mom and dad are not God, I am just as aware that they were two of the most influential people in my young, and adult, life. They taught by example. They were smart, thoughtful, selfish, injured and loving people. They gave me life and care and attention and guidance. I do not believe I can adequately thank them, although I do not believe they would need me to. I, as a parent, can pass it forward.
And that is enough.