Parental Love

     A steamy, humid night here in Battle Creek, Michigan USofA and the window a/c is on the blink.

     I lay in bed, with crazy cat Dinky spooned up against me like a newlywed, and recall other hot nights in Kansas City, Missouri during the early 1950s.

     We had no air conditioning -- barely a fan in our family home. Only rich people did back then.

     In spite of the cloying,  late August Midwest heat, our Mom would still iron Dad's dress shirts many mornings.

     And as a 9-year old, I'd sometimes stretch out on the inviting,  cool wood floor in the upstairs bedroom where, while ironing, she'd casually pummel me with questions -- like the good cop in a criminal investigation --  'what were the other neighborhood kids up to?' 'did I have that reading assignment finished?' and then she'd slowly digress into simple stories from her own childhood of long ago in Atchison, Kansas.

     Approaching age 69, how thankful I am tonight, and all nights, for my parents and those memories.

     How sad too many young people today seem to lack the engaged and loving role models that helped shape our values, corrected our mistakes, and provided unconditional, self sacrificing love.