Thanks, Mom and Dad — For the Life Lessons and the Awkward Moments

If there's one thing my parents were consistent about, it was being unapologetically themselves — often to my horror and eventual gratitude. Growing up in our house meant living with a combination of life lessons and laugh-out-loud memories that, at the time, I tried desperately to escape. Now? I realize I was getting the best kind of education — one awkward moment at a time.

Take, for example, The Great Sex Talk of 2004.

I was in sixth grade, just starting to feel the deep, unbearable need to disappear every time my parents opened their mouths in public. One evening, out of nowhere, my dad sat me down at the dinner table with the seriousness of a man about to reveal classified information. My mom hovered nearby, arms crossed like a bouncer outside a club I didn’t want to enter.

“Son,” my dad said, “we need to talk about... intimacy.”

I considered running. Or pretending I had died. Instead, I froze.

He then launched into a speech that involved more metaphors than an English teacher on espresso. I recall something about “keys and locks” and “gardens needing tending,” and at one point, my mother added, “Just remember, bodies aren’t vending machines.”

To this day, I don’t know what that meant.

At school, kids got a sterile video from the nurse’s office. I got poetry and trauma — both from people I loved most. But the takeaway was clear: they cared. Even when they were weird about it.

Not everything was embarrassing. Some things were just funny. Like Dad’s Famous Family Outfits.

He believed in “unity through fashion,” which meant that for every holiday, we had to wear matching clothes. Easter? Pastel polos. Fourth of July? American flag shirts and matching visors. I once tried to escape the house on Thanksgiving, only to be caught and wrestled into a sweater with a cartoon turkey wearing sunglasses.

At the time, I wanted to crawl into a hole. But now, those photos are the first thing I show my friends when I want to make them laugh. My dad’s grin — always goofy, always genuine — is proof that love often looks like a fashion disaster.

Then there was my mom, the queen of teachable moments in public spaces. If I rolled my eyes at a waiter or forgot to say thank you, she’d stop me mid-stride and go, “Try again with kindness.” At the time, it felt like being scolded in front of the world. Now, I say “please” and “thank you” like it’s second nature. She didn’t just teach manners — she modeled them like they mattered. Because to her, they did.

Looking back, I realize how much they taught me just by being themselves. My dad was a human instruction manual on how to own your weirdness with pride. My mom? She taught me that grace isn’t about being polished, it’s about being present.

Not every lesson was wrapped in laughter. Some were quiet. Like the time my mom cried in the laundry room because she thought we couldn’t hear. Or when my dad stayed up late fixing a leak he didn’t know how to fix — just so we wouldn’t wake up to cold showers. Love wasn’t always loud. Sometimes, it was just a full fridge, or someone staying up until you got home.

They didn’t always get things right. We fought. They embarrassed me. I made fun of them — sometimes cruelly. But they always showed up. With patience. With honesty. With unconditional love, wrapped in dad jokes and mom wisdom.

Now that I’m older, I get it. They weren’t trying to be perfect. They were trying to raise a decent human being while staying true to who they were. And honestly? They nailed it.

So, thanks, Mom and Dad —

For the life lessons.

For the awkward moments.

For the love, the laughter, and the laundry.

You shaped me — one goofy outfit and heartfelt cringe at a time.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.