I miss you

[civilized_era]

I'm reading a couple of typography papers -- belated, they were due last week, but because we are so often encouraged to spread out beyond our comfort zone and basically devour every piece of free information available that may help our careers or intellectual development, I have guilted myself into finishing them, even though at this point they're probably taken 16 hours to read. But I'm finishing up the penultimate paragraph and I have this sudden flashback to my parents taking me to Baker's Square to eat back when I was a kid. And I would sit squashed against the highback vinyl bench-booths and color pies and chickens with faces with crayons, and I would order whatever I wanted, usually something with potatoes or with cheese. And then a piece of pie, usually something chocolate or fruity, for dessert. My parents would let me eat whatever I wanted. And that was love from them, that was them feeding their kids and having a good time and not feeling hungry themselves. And now it's like, everything you put in your mouth, every gulp of oxygen you inhale is attached with a thought. Or maybe it's just me, or maybe it's the developing world, or maybe it's that we have to share that air with 3 billion more people since I was a child.

I also realize I have no idea what my parents were going through when I was a child. I have memories of fights, but mostly it was incredibly blissful and pleasant and I did not have any worries whatsoever -- I probably couldn't even conceive of it. And that, again, was such the purest kind of love. I am lucky, and I'm acting childish right now because I can only see three, four months in the future, and really I should be thinking about my parents, and my grandparents, and everyone who has ever shown me grace and kindness. Because I've had plenty. Which is a miracle, no doubt.