Don’t Worry, I Love You For The Sacred And The Profane!

So in the midst of taking solace in my parents’ soothing words of advice and smokin’ fine swiss steak cutlets, I noticed that my dad seems to allude to a lot of things I haven’t really disclosed.  Example?

“So, are you going to write more Haikus?  You seem to have a knack for them.”
“I really don’t understand half the things you say, but it’s nonetheless funny.” [Well, that’s nothing new.  40 percent of the things I say are rubbish anyway.]
“Is GirlyGirl going to….”

WOAH.  Now wait a second.  Dad’s picking up on the catchphrases, he knows I’ve tried my hand at haiku…

They’re reading my Blog.

I really, really don’t have any reason to fret this, mainly because I stopped making inflammatory statements about them at age eighteen (A.K.A. The age of Discovering That Your Tuition and Future Well-Being Is In Their Palm; this is the Invisible Hand Adam Smith referred to!).  And after a few Thanksgivings, a bit of a scare while I was living abroad, and a quick jaunt across the pond this past summer, we tight. 

I must admit, though…my musings have brought about some therapy, not always intentionally.  Early in this b-skool application process, mom and pop were a bit perplexed as to why I’d want to pay for more school, especially when I had a perfectly acceptable opportunity at ULAC to take the part-time plunge.  Trying to squeeze out everything that’s gone into this decision — the countless nights I’ve stayed up an extra hour, staring at the ceiling, considering just how grand of an adventure it will be to make the financial/geographical sacrifice; the pages and pages of books I’ve marked, re-marked, and re-re-marked pertaining to social justice, etc. etc. — anyway, trying to capture all that would be about as difficult as trying to give birth to a Mexican Lime cactus. 

How relieving it was, then, when a recent conversation surrounding my waitlist…uh, wait…brought this gem from momma: “Honey, don’t worry.  I’ve read your blog and I understand more now.  I understand why you’re okay with doing this, and we’re rooting for ya.”

I think it would be super sweet to bring my parents along to b-skool.  Potlucks every other night, anyone?  Don’t worry, mom’s already promised not to show off THIS game face all the time….just when you cross her.