I often wonder how my eventual children will describe me and the mistakes I am sure to make with them.  They will have plenty of things to choose from—my perfectionism, how I worry about everything, my impatience, my depression and anxiety, etc.  I worry about what I will pass on to them through my D.N.A....the risk of diabetes, the possibility of depression and anxiety disorders that they will try to self-medicate because they are too stubborn to accept help, the tendency to sweat too much when they are nervous which will be much of the time, a sweet tooth, a right leg that is 1/8^th of an inch shorter than the left that will curve their spine, the inclination towards perfectionism—all things that my parents got from theirs and then passed to me. 

Maybe I will be lucky and, like me, they will grow up to realize that their parents, regardless of their mistakes and imperfections, did the best they could at the time.  Maybe, like me, they will remember that their parents made them laugh, taught them to love the written word and music, and that that they were loved beyond reason.  Maybe, before it is too late, I will learn the value of what my parents gave me and learn how to live it so that I can give that to my children.  

© Salahub 2003