Faith & Family
{Because my parents dearly covet their privacy, I’ll preface by assuring them—two avid readers of their daughter’s column— that I took every effort to conceal personal information and identities in the following article. No, Mom, I did not reveal anything incriminating, like that time you walked into Walmart dressed like an orangutan and demanded all the bananas.} (By the way, that never actually happened.)
It’s become a general understanding that I’m my parents’ designated pet-sitter any time they go out of town. I live only ten minutes away, so it isn’t that big of a deal for me to periodically stop by and tend to Old Yeller and Lassie. (No, those aren’t the real names of their dogs.)
Recently, I was tasked with completing this particular undertaking for a whole week. Seven days of making sure Pongo and Perdita had plenty of Kibbles ‘N Bits. (No, still not their pooches’ real names. Also, not actually the brand of dog food my parents buy.)
But it isn’t this daily feeding of their goldfish while they were busy surfing in Hawaii (they don’t actually have goldfish, nor did they go to Hawaii or suddenly learn how to surf) that I am here to tell you about.
Entering my parents’ place—being serious now—I’m always secretly (I suppose the secret’s out now) blown away by the life and home they have built. Of course the place looks great aesthetically, as my dad is the real-life Tim “The Toolman” Taylor, but more than that, these two people seemingly have all the things. To help you develop a mental picture: imagine Scotland’s Balmoral Castle, complete with—postulating here, because I frankly know nothing about this royal estate— approximately a thousand bedrooms, diamond-encrusted chandeliers, multiple refrigerators stocked with a never-ending supply of Frappucinos, and twenty-four seven room service.
Though in reality my parents’ house looks very little (nothing at all) like this, it’s true that countless years of dedication and hard work—yes, I know that’s cliché to say, but it’s true— have afforded them a life that’s beautifully comfortable. They have the coziest furniture, an upright freezer jam-packed with food for days, and every fun gadget and accessory—and they’ve come by it all honestly.
I’ve noticed that any time I stop by, it’s sincerely difficult not to wonder why my present world hardly mirrors theirs. While Mom and Dad are feasting on Kobe steaks every night and meticulously counting their bars of gold (they’re not actually, but you get my point), my own family’s grocery budget seems to seldom afford more than a couple of cans of Campbell’s SpaghettiOs and store-brand cheese (again—not actually, but you get my point). While I’m grateful for every bare-bones bit of it, sometimes it’s frustrating that we don’t have equally nice things and an equally stocked pantry and pets equally as adorable as Shadow and Chance. (Nope. Not even close to their real names.)
But this comparison really isn’t fair. Thinking back, to about 1995 or any of those earlier years when my siblings and I were still young, my parents’ home then was still stunning (real-life Tim “The Toolman” Taylor, remember?) but they likely didn’t have nearly as many “bars of gold”. While we didn’t lack for anything, it’s simply normal for two people raising a bunch of kids to feel stretched thin a lot of the time. I can easily remember grocery shopping with my mom, relentlessly begging for every toy and piece of candy, and her reminding me through tight teeth for the hundredth time that she only had so much money until the following payday. That reality meant absolutely nothing to me then, but today I understand with all my heart.
Of course it’s wise to compare certain things, like prices of goods or which restaurants serve the best fries. But to compare two different households and deduce that we’re doing something wrong if our situation—for any reason, at any time— doesn’t resemble someone else’s is illogical, especially when you consider how many bajillions of factors are involved. Besides, it’s altogether possible that one day I’ll have my own Balmoral Castle. For now, I can simply admire those who already do.
A resident of McDonough County, Erin Eddy lives in Macomb with her husband, Mike, their five boys, and two zealous Australian Shepherds. She aspires to uplift readers, penning stories of encouragement and everyday life. Her work has been featured on the influential website Her View From Home, as well as the book series Chicken Soup for the Soul. Contact [email protected].
