A love letter.

Today is my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary.
Forty years. And, like, they’re still speaking to each other.
First all, my mother would probably like to point out that she was a child bride. And at different times, they’ve both proclaimed that they can’t believe they were allowed to get married at 20 and 22.
But my dad needed a roommate. And he’s said that when he saw my lovely mama crossing the room towards him at a fraternity mixer, he knew that she had him in her tractor beam and that he was toast.
I am so very, very fortunate to have these two remarkable people as my parents.
Lately, I’ve come to appreciate that one of the greatest gifts they have given me and my brother is the freedom to be ourselves. Because my parents are who they are. They don’t always agree. But they always love each other. And they always love us.
And so, Poochie and I are free to be our slightly nerdy, rather interesting, you-know-you-want-to-sit-at-our-table selves.
My folks are always behind the camera, not often in front of it. But here’s the happy family they have created. It’s a crew I’m proud to be a part of.

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