Path

My mother wanted to be an artist when she was young. She can draw well. But she rarely uses this gift or has the passion for it. She ended up becoming a nurse instead and she is gifted in this profession. My mother is practical but not what I would call a romantic. She is adventurous and kind and very, very funny. So I often forget that she wanted to be an artist. I was wondering the other day what were the things my mother and I had in common. I am very much the romantic in every sense of the word. But my friend called me and had just finished having lunch with my mother. She said that we were so similar with the way we spoke with our hands and the inflections in our ruddy voices. My mother has a wonderful up roaring laugh while mine is a more quiet chuckling when amused or a silent wail when I'm enjoying some portion of the comedy of life. Secretly, I've mesmerized my mother's hands. Small freckled hands with delicate palms.

My father always wanted to be an engineer when he was young. He still is one. The trajectory of his passion never wondered an iota. He can fix anything mechanical and has the memory of an elephant. Although, he is whom I would call the romantic though I would never admit it to him. An avid reader. One of his favorite quotes to me is "Life is often stranger than Fiction." I often find him reading history or biographies and well written works of fiction. Lately, we've been exchanging books through the mail. He used to play the cello in college. He loved taking me to the symphony, the ballet and the theater.

And here I am their romantic, romantic child who still loves words and daffodils.