Parenting

Parenting
Sheri Smith
March 5, 2016


I was five years old the first time I realized that other families were not the same as mine. The summer we moved to that small town was exciting and confusing and hot and terrifying. I met my best friend soon after, a friend with a Mom and a Dad and a big slobbery family dog.

My Dad worked away most of the time and consequently, Mom was the one who coached the ball teams and mowed the grass and raised three kids single-handedly. But I often yearned for the traditional way that some of my friends lived. Their Sunday dinners involved Mom, Dad and the kids over homemade buns and roast beef. My Mom is a fantastic cook and our Sunday dinners, which often included any friends who wanted to join us, were only missing one component. Dad was never there.

One day, after I had become a Mother myself who was single-handedly running a household, I had a conversation with that friend of mine. You know, the one with the Mom and the Dad and the much missed slobbery family dog. She casually mentioned that through all those years growing up in one another's back pockets, she had loved coming to my house best. Turns out she had often yearned for our non-traditional way of life, and the kindness and warmth that our dinner table held.

Families come in all shapes and sizes. That has never been truer than in this world we live in today. My family is not at all what I had expected all those years ago when I was planning Sunday dinners in my head.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

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