Being an only child to immigrant parents has its own unique set of intricacies.
In addition to being overly involved in every aspect of my life and their house always making my clothes reek of onion and garlic, there is an undercurrent of constant guilt I have for not spending more time with them, since, “they came to this country with only the clothes on their backs, $500 in cash, one good set of china, my grandmother’s Russian gold rings and a dream for a better life for me.”
Don’t get me wrong, I actually really enjoy my parents’ company. But life gets busy and when I see their missed calls on my phone every evening, it can get overwhelming. As such, I’ve been avoiding visiting them the last few weeks, instead spending my summer days on more pressing activities a.k.a. day drinking on patios and working on my killer tan.
Today I happened to flip through an old photo album from when I was still growing up in Europe, and was startled when I realized that my parents were younger than I currently am in the pictures. While I struggle to properly nourish myself on food that doesn’t come out of a can and not burn my condo down by leaving my curling iron on all day, my parents were brave enough to start their lives in a brand new country to give me a better chance at life. That’s pretty badass.
Right now, as I finish typing this, I’ve just summoned an Uber to whisk me off to the suburbs for the weekend, where I will surprise my parents with a two-day visit. I’m planning on driving out to the Bruce Trail with them to do some hiking during the days, and spending the nights sitting outside, drinking copious amounts of good wine (my momma don’t skimp) and learning more about their lives.
Act of Kindness: $32 (because I’m too lazy to struggle with my dog on a train)