All I ever wanted to do was make my parents proud. After all, they were my providers, and everything that they do is for my "well - being". I just wanted to repay the favor. It wasn't easy though. They gave me so many things to do: band, sports, school, babysitting, chores. Responsibility. Ah yes, that dreaded word. They told me that it was a part of "coming of age". They told me that it would make me into a feared and revered adult. And I just wanted to make them proud.
They never were the parents that forced you to do things with their words or their actions, but with their eyes. One glare from my mom would make me do what she wanted, and my dad wasn't any better. Or worse. But I still always wanted to make them proud.
Throughout my misgivings and my messups, my mistakes and my malpractices, they would never truly be angry at me. Only wishing that I could do better. But sometimes I honestly wished that they were more angry at me then disappointed. I already wanted to do better, what more could they ask for. But I told myself, "I'll make 'em proud. I will." Cause that was all I wanted.
Then one day, I snapped. Call it the last straw that broke the camel's back, I don't know. But what ever it was, I snapped. It was like a dam overflowing because they tried to block one to many rivers with the same resource. I told them that I couldn't take the pressure, and I couldn't be around them anymore. All they did was try and encourage me, but I was always the screwup. I was always the failure. I was the one who always lucked out. I could never make them proud, and they should just stop trying.
That was when they hugged me, both my mom and dad. That was when we all started crying together, me apologizing, them forgiving. They always tried to comfort me, even when I was at my weakest. And I couldn't even make them proud.
My dad finally said to me, "Son, you've already made us proud. You are becoming the man who we always envisioned you to be, who God wanted you to be. We could never be prouder."
I didn't understand many things that day, like how could God be happy with such a bad mistake like me, and how my parents envisioned me to be like this. But one thing I did understand, is that I made them proud. Not by doing all these activities, not by playing sports or music, not by babysitting kids or washing the dishes. By just being me around them, I was making proud. And that was one thing I could understand.
I still play the piano and basketball. I still watch my little siblings when my parents are away. I still do my chores whether or not I'm asked to. I try to apply for scholarships and enter contests. I still try to do all of these things. But one thing I still know in my life is that my parents are proud of me. No matter how much I still mess up Beethoven's 5th, or throw up an air ball, or lose my sister while playing hide - and - seek, I still know that I made them proud. And that's what matters, right?
