A letter of apology to my parents.

I’m sorry for every time that we slammed doors. I never understood why it annoyed you so much. I get it now. I get how us running up and down the passage slamming door after door after door drove you batsh*t crazy, I do. I’m actually sorry about slamming anything (even unintentionally) from kitchen cupboard doors to car doors. I’m sorry for rolling my eyes at you and thinking that you were a loser for being annoyed by it. 

I’m sorry for nagging when you were late from fetching me from school. All I saw was that I was the last kid being fetched, but thinking back you guys were always at work – Not because you didn’t love us, but because you were starting your own business and I didn’t see the long-term goal. The nights that you slept at the office and had to work weekends, I only saw myself and my own needs. What a selfish little kid I was – you were working so hard for us and it was a huge sacrifice on your part. I know (now) that you would rather have been at home with us. 

I’m sorry for insisting on sitting with you and telling you all about MY day while you bathed / showered /  tried to read a book / have a nap / make dinner. I didn’t know how precious that time was for you. Mom I remember that it was the first thing you did when you got home – you walked in to the door, straight to the kitchen and turned the stove on. Three kids huddled around you. I’m sorry that we rummaged through the grocery bags before giving you a kiss on the cheek. We were just kids, you know – but I’m still sorry.

I’m sorry that we nagged so much. Wanted so much. Wanted all of you. All the time. I’m sorry that we gave you a hard time when you wanted to go out – or if we made you feel guilty. We could have made it easier on you. We actually didn’t mind spending the odd evening with friends – my aunt – your friends. It was fun. I don’t know why we complained so much. 

I’m sorry for losing my things. My shoes, especially. And I’m sorry that the boys and I fought so much. About everything. What to watch on tv, what to eat, where to go, who sat in the front seat, who got the bone from the lamb shank, who got top bunk, who washed the dishes and who got to bring a friend with on holiday. Looking back, we really were a handful. At the time, we just thought we were awesome. 

I’m sorry that you lost one of us. 

Once you become a parent, you really do start to understand your own a bit more. Appreciate them that little bit extra. Wonder how the heck they survived it all. Wishing that you’d just listened to them a little bit more carefully or listened at all. Wishing you’d made it easier on them.

Last night I told Noah that he could open a can of beans with a banana if he wanted. Something that my dad drilled in to me from an early age and I never understood (we had a can opener goddammit) it until I said it to my own child. And I wanted to phone my parents right then and thank them for everything, but I never do.