I am my parents’ child.

Okay, I’m less postal this afternoon than I was for the morning’s post.  I had ice cream. 🙂 I showed my family the eulogy that I wrote for my mom, and my sister Terry sent this:

I love the words about the legacy of our father’s temper, our mother’s dramatics and the stubbornness they shared.  We also inherited their intelligence and Mom’s strength – and our blindness to our positives.  We inherited our Dad’s sense of humor – both good and bad.  We inherited Dad’s depression and Mom’s ability to create alternate memories.  We inherited their love of books.  We inherited a basic instinct for family and we stick together despite some real differences among us.  We know how to have fun when we step away from the rest of it.

I wrote back that I also inherited:

  • Daddy’s VOLUME during football games!
  • His love for the holidays and vast amount of Christmas decorations.
  • Mom’s tendency to obsess over something, like an object.  John calls them my “quests” as in, am I going to drag him around trying to find a particular book.
  • And obviously, Mom’s packrat tendencies.

I wish I had gotten my Dad’s metobolism – the man never put on a pound! — and my Mom’s ability to tan.  For a woman who was supposedly English and Medonite descent, she had the ability to stick her arm out the window for 10 minutes and get a bronze tan all over her body. 😉

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