Confessions of a Cabbage Patch Kid

If I did not have my father’s nose, I would have bet that my parents found me in a cabbage patch. To say I am not a lot like my parents would be a bit of an understatement. I am a somewhat quiet introvert who loves nothing better than curling up with a good book, especially if it is one that I have read about 100 times already (bonus points if it is Jane Austen). I was the kid wanting to blend into the woodwork, hoping no one would take notice of me. My parents, on the other hand, are a bit different.

My father has lived a varied and interesting life. He dabbled in amateur drag racing back in the day (by which I mean the 1950s – I am a late in life, second marriage kid). He married (the first time) young and divorced young. After his divorce (which left him, as he often says, with his wheelbarrow and his clothes), he lived hard. Not many nights passed outside of a bar or other nightclub, and fought his fair share of fights. He managed a drive-in market for awhile, and sometimes illegally “ran” liquor from Kentucky. He got more than his fair share of speeding tickets. He was a butcher for a bit, and the night manager of a beer distributorship. He has sold first aid equipment and been an insect control guy. He has a core group of friends that he has been friends with for 65-70 years (since elementary school). He has lived in the same area of Nashville for over 70 years, so it is hard to go anywhere in that part of town and not find someone he knows. So to say my dad is interesting is a bit of an understatement.

My mother is your classic extrovert. She walks into a room and can strike up a conversation with anyone; I joke that she has never met a stranger. She is a keen dancer, and won several dance contests as a young woman (never with my dad – he is not a dancer by any stretch of the imagination). She can out-dance me (not a particularly hard feat, as I did not inherit any sense of rhythm) today, even with her having gout. We laugh and call her the “social butterfly” – when she enters a party, we do not see her the rest of the night. She flits around, talking to people, telling jokes, trying to get up a dance, you name it. She too has held a variety of jobs – worked with a non-profit back in the 1970s, helped my dad manage a grocery store, been a stay at home mom, and ran her own daycare for the last 25 years.

I have often wondered what my parents made of me growing up. I was always pestering them to take me to the library (which they did with unfailing patience, letting me browse for as long as I wanted). Instead of asking to go to the beach, I wanted to vacation at historic spots (my favorite vacation was to President Andrew Johnson’s home in Greeneville, TN). I started working part-time at 14. I never stayed out past curfew (curfew was a moot point as I opted to work every weekend from age 16 until college). I never tried to sneak alcohol as a kid, and they never received the dreaded 2:00 am phone call from me. I did not even date much in high school, as boys distracted from my goal (a college scholarship).

Despite our differences, however, my parents and I have always gotten along (barring the preteen years when I was convinced they had lost all sense and had no idea of how the world worked). They willingly took me to the library every 3 weeks (when the books were due), and let me stay there as long as I wanted, seemingly without impatience. They took me to I believe every historic spot in Tennessee and every Civil War battlefield (of which Tennessee has a fair few – the second most battles of the war were fought here, with only Virginia having more battles). They never pressured me to be more outgoing, athletic, or anything that was not me. They turned up at every drama club performance, softball game, parent’s weekend, and anything else I was part of, cheering me on and making me feel special.

I learned a very valuable lesson from my parents, and one I hope I pass on to my children. I learned the beauty of tolerance and acceptance. I learned (hopefully) to accept people as they are, without trying to change them or force my own agenda on them. I learned that different people can not only get along together, but love each other. There are no persons (outside my husband) who I value more than my parents. I only hope that my children one day feel I gave them the same love and support that my parents gave me.