My parents aren’t perfect

parents

Today’s topic for the #writersbootcamp is My Parents.

Although I often skip topics because I’m too busy, I must pause to write on this one. (I am also surprising myself by how personal this very impersonal blog is becoming).

I can say with full confidence that I have been utterly blessed in the parents that I have been given. My dad has dedicated his life to working hard to provide for us, even having to move 1000 kilometers away in order to do so. My dad was born in Scotland in 1953 and moved to South Africa at the young age of four years old. He’s nuts, but he has worked his way to the top of his field while teaching my sister and I that we are princesses who deserve only the best in life.

My mom is a saint. She was born on the East Rand of Johannesburg in 1961 to two saintly parents who gifted her with a love for God, which she has passed on to me. Nothing was too much for my mom when it came to providing for us. Between her and my dad they sacrificed so much for me, and when I started working in radio, they would wake up at 2 am with me to drive me to the studio 20 minutes away because I didn’t have a license, and then fetch me again at 4 am.

My parents aren’t perfect, but they have provided a platform for me to live my best life. No, they are not perfect, but they are perfect for me.

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