growing up

The Bridge Between Them and Tomorrow

~ Diary of a Kitten Addict ~ 1 Comment

My parents are my unsung heroes.
They are 77 and 78 years old, and today they laced up their sneakers, grabbed their signs, and marched for justice and freedom—not for themselves, but for the future.

They spent their Saturday standing in the sun—
my dad holding a sign that said Hands off my grandkids’ future,
my mum in a t-shirt about how practical jokes become elected officials.

They marched for freedom.
For justice.
For a tomorrow they might not live to see, but refuse to give up on.

I don’t have children of my own.
I have a niece, a nephew, and a chorus of cousin-kids who orbit close enough to feel like gravity.
They weren’t born to me, but they belong with me.
I’ve cheered them on, watched them grow, held their tiny hands and big feelings.

And I have the thousand students who’ve passed through my classroom and heart across 24 years of teaching.

Family isn’t always about lineage.
Sometimes, it’s about proximity and heart.

These ARE my kids.

And my parents marched for them.

I am who I am because of who my parents were to me when I was growing up.
They weren’t perfect.
They weren’t my best friends.
They usually said no.
They were something more.

They gave me a framework for courage.
They taught me to pay attention—to ask questions, challenge injustice, and stand my ground even when my knees trembled.
They showed me that kindness isn’t weakness—it’s a decision you make over and over again.
That your voice matters, even when it shakes.

Even when it’s silenced.

That ordinary people can do extraordinary things—quietly, consistently, and with stubborn hope.

And I have tried to build something from it.
Something others can walk across.

And today—decades later—they’re still out there showing up.
For my kids.
For your kids.
For our world—the one they still believe in, still carry hope for.

That’s legacy.
That’s love in motion.
That’s the kind of inheritance that matters most.

Not all inheritance comes through a will.
Some of it marches beside you,
sunscreen on, homemade signs in hand,
calling out, “Hands off their future.”

That’s what I got from them.
Not money.
Not land.
But courage.
Conviction.
Movement.

And the kind of love that doesn’t sit still when the world needs it.

That’s the legacy—and the inheritance—I carry forward.
And I take every step with purpose—
to honor them,
as a promise to carry the weight when they are no longer able.

And it’s the one I hope I’m passing on, too.

We are the bridge between them and tomorrow.

On growing old.. and other stuff…

~ Diary of a Kitten Addict ~ 2 Comments

I think, as we grow older and then even older still… As we move through those stages of grief, “I’m almost 30”, “I’m almost 40”, “fuck, I’m almost dead”… I think we start to notice the passing of time as an actual marching. Time (or the lack thereof) becomes something you can feel. Time becomes something you can almost hear. It is that steady “boom, boom, boom” that hits you deep in the bones. You can feel the pulse in your arches and in your toes, it mutes your ears and makes you feel like you are listening to life underwater. It stops you in your tracks and you spend a dizzying few moments recalibrating and acclimatizing to the world around you.

I think, we start to realize how important it is to remember and connect with the people who knew you when you were young and when you were you. How else do we explain having 951 friends on Facebook? And I’m not talking about the you that grew and grew up. Not the you that learned, and fucked up and recovered. Not the you that has now settled into a groove that includes baby aspirin and fish oil. Not that you. Not the you that haunts your dreams and wakes you with “what if”. Not that you. Not the you, when there was a you, that had the world in front of them and choices to make… choices that now are life and the status quo… that now define YOU… And still, that you, the one that always persists and is always there, lurking, just beneath the surface, that comes at you with more choices: Is this the life you chose? Is this what you want? Is this all there is? Is this milk still good?”  

I think, we spin our wheels and fight the current, but just like salmon coming to spawn, we too come home. We become our parents and we grow old (the thing we fear most as children). But we also realize that our parents, they gave all to have us, they had dreams and lives and choices to make, and they chose us. And be it out of kindness or couth they never mention it. The other paths. The other possibilities. The other lives. And then you realize that every possible road was only possible because it was carefully and concertedly cultivated for you. Because someone else gave that to you. 

I think, you decide to choose the next road wisely and with intention and deliberation. You decide, this time will better, more brilliant, more WHATEVER… so you can honor that. So you can BE that. And then you realize that you don’t have to be more, not for them, you’re enough. You learn you can atone for the stupid shit you did, or you said when you were 14 and angry and thought you knew everything. When the worst thing in the world you could be was your parents. When you didn’t know or understand them. When you didn’t know what they are or who they are. When you were young, and dumb, and so woefully without worry or care. You will always carry that guilt, but you know, they’ve forgiven you.

I think, eventually, it all comes to pass. All of it. The triumphs, the falls, the absolute abysmal moments that make you ashamed to this day. You know the ones, that you don’t talk about at Christmas or when the family finds themselves all together because of death or birth or some other ritual we pay homage to. Those moments we talk around and laugh about carefully. Those moments that will always remind you of your past indiscretions and failures. But all of that…All of it… It. Comes. To. Pass. You find forgiveness and grace in acceptance. You find laughter in the impossible. You find stories and moments and memories in the midst of the most unlikely of places. You finally learn to understand, and then you finally understand. And if you are lucky, you learn to embrace what has been in front of you all these years. You learn that it’s all so much bigger than you. You learn that giants and fairytales have human and humble beginnings. You learn that life isn’t finite but it is final. And despite it all, you learn to smile.