A Letter to My Parents
Before It’s Too Late
Mom and Dad, this is my letter to you, one that I hope reaches you before it’s too late. Why share this publicly? Because life isn’t as individualistic as it seems — perhaps my sentiments will resonate with others or offer a new perspective. As my parents know, their son was a ‘sharer’ from a young age, and nothing much has changed — I’m still an open book. What is truly unique is that my parents did not subscribe to the same level of vulnerability, but they recognized it in me and, without hesitation, embraced and nurtured it.
Mom and Dad, sometimes I cry when I think about you. It’s not just about you; it’s about us. I reminisce about growing up with my sister and some of my vivid childhood memories. I’m certain it’s also related to where I am in life and having children of my own.
Dad, I recalled one such memory with you just the other day on the phone. I was roughly 11 years old, and you took me to work with you. Before we reached work, we stopped for breakfast at McDonald’s. This was a rare treat in my childhood, and I can still remember the sense of pride. At that moment, it felt like I had reached the pinnacle of my life. Here I was, eating breakfast with my dad before we went to work to earn an honest wage — my proud look was on full display.
While Dad gave me those moments of pride, Mom had her own quiet ways of making me feel cherished. I also need to share a memory of my mother and be even in my showering of praise and admiration. Mom is very intentional about spending the precise amount of money on each of her grandchildren, ensuring all are evenly cared for — I appreciate it, Mom.
Unlike most young boys, I loved spending time with my momma. Some of our favorite pastimes were reading poetry and baking together. To this day, Mom talks about how she’d come home from work, and her young son would have all the ingredients out, waiting eagerly to make cookies with her. I don’t remember a time when you ever said no to spending that time with me, and for that, I thank you.
Dad, you taught me to think critically and stay curious about the world. From an early age, you showed me that it wasn’t enough to simply accept things at face value. You encouraged me to ask questions, to dig deeper, and to never shy away from challenging the status quo. You made it clear that no opinion, not even your own, was beyond questioning. That sense of curiosity and skepticism has been one of the greatest gifts you’ve given me, shaping how I approach everything in life.
Mom, whether you realize it or not, I learned everything I know about passion and belief from you. You had this way of speaking about things that made me understand how powerful it is to care deeply. Through you, I learned that passion isn’t just about what you do but how much of your heart you put into it. You taught me the importance of faith — not just religious faith, but a belief in people, in possibilities, and in doing the right thing. Your quiet strength and conviction shaped how I view the world.
See, the tears come from knowing those moments are etched in my mind, and I know they’ll remain there, untouched by time. Those times are right where we left them, and they were a flicker in both of our lifetimes. I see you now, older, still getting around, but slower. I love sharing with you the trials and tribulations of parenthood — there’s a special joy in these conversations now that we speak as two adults who’ve faced similar challenges.
As I watch my own children grow, I see your love and care in a new light — those conversations about how I treated my sister or how I needed to take my homework seriously. The guidance you gave, the support you offered, and the values you instilled are now more real to me than ever. I’m now at a point in my life where we can share similar experiences, and I can empathize with the pain and joy of watching children grow up too fast. It makes me think about life and how it all comes full circle.
I miss my grandparents, too. I miss hearing the stories they told of my parents as children and seeing the smiles on their faces as they took a stroll down memory lane. I could almost see it in their eyes — those days, though distant, felt like home. I guess they do to me as well. I’m sensing my own mortality, and it makes me more emotional as I watch my own children grow up, and you both grow older.
In watching my own children grow, I see echoes of you in them every day. The oldest has the self-belief that you both instilled in me at a very young age. My youngest has a sense of humor that reminds me deeply of the laughter in our home growing up. It’s funny; I know we went through tough times, but I don’t remember you making us feel like those times were tough. I didn’t just feel insulated from the world’s challenges — I felt protected, knowing that our home was filled with joy, love, and the certainty that everything would work out.
I’m filled with so much gratitude for the traits you instilled in me and the man and father you’ve helped me to become. I think about what my children will take from me, and I hope it’s half of what you made me feel. You always made me feel like I was enough, and although there were struggles and fights, I knew you were always trying to do the right thing. In my heart, I’ve always trusted that my best interest was at the center of the lessons you were teaching. I hope to carry forward even a fraction of what you’ve given me — an unshakeable foundation of love, trust, and the belief that I’ve always been enough. I love you.
