Parents

Just how important are our parents?

Strangely, I thought about this because of all the iPhones and iTouches I'm seeing around the place. There's nothing wrong with them; I think they're great devices. In the past, I would be envious of others with these new, flashy marvels of technology and wish that I wasn't stuck with my brick phone which was the cheapest phone on the market at about $59 and can't even store music and doesn't have a camera.

Yet curiously, despite my phone being an emblem of what material posessions I do not have, I see it as a symbol of everything I do have. It is not in the best condition as I've been pretty careless with it. There are a series of parallel slashes across the back of the phone, the result of me dropping it on a ski field. Someone skiied over it, picked it up and returned it to my father.

Those ski marks remind me of all the holidays my parents take me on all the time. All the trips to the snow. All the theme parks. All the scenic destinations. All the foreign countries that would leave us with an ever broadening knowledge of the world.

I have friends who have all the xboxes, playstations and things like this, but rarely leave their country. I know that they would happily trade their toys for more holidays, and I would not give up my holidays for these games.

It reminds me of just how lucky I am to have the parents I have. Other parents may be richer. Other parents might be 'cooler'. Other parents may be more lenient. Other parents may spoil and encourage me more.

None of that matters to me.

My parents are not perfect. I know that. But although they can sometimes seem insensitive, I know that they care for me more than anyone else possibly could.
My mum works tirelessly, whether at work or at home. And yet she never complains about it, always willing to drive us around wherever we want or need to.
My dad also works extremely hard. He has to juggle multiple pressing matters, the strain sometimes showing through, but as the leader of the house shows great poise and is also just as willing to take us places.

My dad's constant desire to make things better for us was highlighted when he proposed working overseas; there, he claimed, his income would be more than doubled.

The reaction of our family was unanimous.

We questioned him on how he could possibly survive over there; he can barely cook 2 minute noodles, let alone buy groceries to cook for himself. He would get to see us about once every six months at best.

The fact was, none of us wanted this possibility to become reality; We all enjoy his company and care for him, and the prospect of only seeing him twice a year was unpalatable.

The money was not an issue; I don't think we would support his moving even if his pay was tripled, or quadrupled.
It was just that number of iPhones and playstations and pocket money would be able to compensate for his absence, and we wanted him to be with us.

The whole saga reminded me of just how fortunate I am to have the parents I do. I have a good education, have a decent work ethic, pick up new ideas relatively quickly, and generally conduct myself with dignity and self respect.

I do not thank myself for this; nor do I thank chance, or God, or any other kind of higher entity.

I know that where I am today is almost completely due to my parents.

They have given me the framework for living ever since a young age. They gave me a strong sense of direction for what was right and what was wrong; who I should look up to and who I should avoid; where to go for help and advice and where to steer clear of; how to act in the presence of others; and finally, why I should do all of this.

Sometimes what my parents say don't always sound the best to my teenage ears, but I will remember my mother's words in cantonese, which roughly translates to:

"we will never do anything to harm you"

It sounds obvious and silly in english, but those six words in my native tongue encapsulates the complete and utter care they have for me, and my only hope is that someday I will be able to repay that back to them.

Loz