I grew up wishing a lot of things could be different.  I didn’t want to wear homemade clothes or hand-me-downs that didn’t fit right, even though that was the norm for everyone in my family, including my parents.  I was embarrassed of my permed mullet and wished that I didn’t have to work on Saturdays mornings instead of sleeping in like my friends at the latest birthday slumber party.  I wanted to go to the dances in middle school, wear make-up, and store bought dresses to band and choir contests.  I wanted my parents to come cheer me on at my tennis matches or pom-pon dance half time shows.  I was mortified to be the only 17 year old still in 4-H.  I didn’t want my boyfriend to have to help pressure wash and paint the chicken house with me before he could take me on a date and I wanted my parents to break down and get a hotel room instead of making us tent-camp in freezing Florida temperatures.  I wished my mom would keep the pilot lit on the dryer in the summer time so that I didn’t have to hang 7 people’s clothes on the wash lines beside the house.  I wished I didn’t have to walk through runny chicken poop in the aisles of the coop in order to gather Hodel’s Eggs for the local IGA grocery store.  What I didn’t know, was that my family was and is extraordinary; my mom raised 5 kids, taught for 20 years and still made homemade, organic dinners every night, sewed the majority of our clothes, carved out specific time for family events with our cousins, and above all, made sure that we never went without.  She planned month  long camping vacations and would read books like Pollyanna in the van to pass the time.  She packed coolers of pre-planned meals to cook over the fire and duffel bags of clothes for all seven of us.  She planted and harvested an enormous garden every year, and canned enough food in the cellar for us to all survive the apocalypse.  She taught Sunday school, read us Bible stories before bed and sewed our bedspreads and curtains to match.  Every Easter we picked out fabric, lace, and a new pattern for our dresses and she would work tirelessly so that we had new outfits come Easter morning.  My dad constantly made sacrifices at work to be home at 6:00 for dinner.  He was always calm at the table in spite of his chaotic work day; he took the time to pray before and after dinner and “finish up” with a reading from The Bible.  He worked in the pastures and barns relentlessly on the weekends–he didn’t have a “man cave” or happy hour with the boys.  There was no outlet for him–he took care of his family by cutting down dead trees in the pasture and splitting wood for the stove in the winter.  He played “fix it man” for every possible task in the barns, pastures, house, and cars, because that made the money stretch further.  My dad invented the DIY world out of necessity and love for his family.  My parents are superheroes.  Last week, they drove over 5100 miles to move my brother to Arizona and my husband and me from San Antonio to Atlanta.  They built a 13 foot custom bookshelf in our new house and worked like a construction crew for four days—dad will be 70 next week and mom 67 in July.

Superheroes.  I hope I’ll earn a cape one day, too.

My brother, Jeff, and I in the front yard.

My parents in their 20s.

My parents on their wedding day.