I’ve always had a great love and respect for both of my parents. Even in my teenage years, when most kids are rebelling and yelling, “I hate you”, I thought my folks were pretty cool. But, nobody’s perfect, and, of course, even I had a some complaints here and there along the way. But, now that I have kids, even most of those complaints have been painted over with a patina of understanding. Kids don’t tend to think of their parents are real human people with their own internal lives, emotions and needs and all. Now that I’m a parent, I’m recasting a lot of my memories with my parents in the starring role, instead of little me. I could probably give a thousand examples, but one is freshest in my mind. I remember very clearly, as a child, my parents being impatient with my various very creative stories. Now, I struggle to pay attention when my own son is telling a story. One of his stories this week lasted over an hour, and that was while I was driving! It’s simply not possible to pay attention that long. I probably over indulge him because of how I felt as a chlid. In turn, he’ll probably be a little too snippy with his own kids, and the cycle will go around and around.