And I come here as a daughter -- raised on the South Side of Chicago by a father who was a blue collar city worker, and a mother who stayed at home with my brother and me. My mother's love has always been a sustaining force for our family, and one of my greatest joys is seeing her integrity, her compassion, and her intelligence reflected in my own daughters.My Dad was our rock. Although he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in his early thirties, he was our provider, our champion, our hero. But as he got sicker, it got harder for him to walk, it took him longer to get dressed in the morning. But if he was in pain, he never let on. He never stopped smiling and laughing -- even while struggling to button his shirt, even while using two canes to get himself across the room to give my Mom a kiss. He just woke up a little earlier, and worked a little harder.
He and my mom poured everything they had into me and Craig. It was the greatest gift a child could receive: never doubting for a single minute that you're loved, and cherished, and have a place in this world. And thanks to their faith and their hard work, we both were able to go on to college. So I know firsthand from their lives -- and mine -- that the American Dream endures.
She spent an extra paragraph on her dad, presumably because his was a tail of overcoming hardship. I would also venture a guess that given the state of black families in America, particularly absent fathers, they wanted to draw extra emphasis on her dad being there as the breadwinner.
But she did honor her mom as well.
Yes, she did say those comments, but didn’t stop, and say the six simple words
Thank You Mom, I Love You.....
That’s what I saw missing, and the reason for this thread....