Call Your Parents (Writer’s Workshop)

jinx
Bill, Johnny, and Bunny, 1962

I’ve been going back and forth on which prompt to do this week, and finally I decided on “Write about what you miss most about living at home with your parents.”

I really don’t want to get too maudlin here, but at this point, I miss having my parents, period. Yesterday was the fiftieth anniversary of my Dad’s death; my mother’s second husband, who we called Tex, died in 1992; and Mom died in 2000. My in-laws are gone, too: Joe died in 1997, and Charlotte died in 2000, a few months after Mom did. (Yeah, 2000 was a bad year.)

I was at my cousin’s house (Mom’s cousin, really; he’s my cousin once removed) about twenty years ago, and after dinner he said, “Hey, give your mother a call.” I didn’t quite understand why he said that, other than I remember he was very close to his mother, but I went ahead and called her, we had a nice chat, he got on the phone and talked with her for a while, then gave the phone back to me and I said goodbye and told her I loved her, and she told me she loved me.

I think I understand now: there comes a day when you won’t be able to talk to them, so you need to take the time now to talk to them. So, call your parents.

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Author: John Holton

I'm a writer and blogger who writes and blogs about things that interest me.

21 thoughts on “Call Your Parents (Writer’s Workshop)”

  1. Thanks for making me think about this one, John, from the other side of the phone. Sometimes when I get a call from the kids (especially one who calls almost every time when she is commuting from work to home and has time on her hands to chat) I get a bit inattentive and half-listen to what they are saying, particularly if it is about something I’m not really interested in or need to hear about. I didn’t stop to think that someday I may not be there to get that phone call. I think I’ll try to be more attentive from now on.

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  2. Yep. And for some of us that day when there’s no one left to call comes sooner than for most. I no longer remember what my father’s voice sounded like, but I do remember my mother’s voice. Odd, isn’t it?

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  3. Amen, dear brother. You can never truly go (or call) home again and that just sometimes really frickin’ sucks. I drive by the house in Northfield once or twice a year and it’s a shadow of its former self. Thank God for memories and thanks for sharing yours as they help me remember mine.

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    1. I remember you said that whoever bought the house didn’t make any improvements. Kind of disappointing, really. It was a nice house, warts and all.

      I think sometimes the memories are all that keep me going. 😉

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  4. They were a handsome couple and it’s always nice to look at old pictures and see the smiles. You are right about talking to someone, not texting, but talking so I’m glad you could speak to her. I make sure to visit my mom on a constant basis because she needs it…and so do I. There are too many older people that I see who never get visits…quite the shame really.

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    1. They were a nice-looking couple. Mom always said that taken individually, Dad’s features weren’t that great (huge nose, small eyes, thin lips, etc.) but taken together he was quite handsome. Mom, of course, was gorgeous.

      Sad that there are older people who never get any visitors. Even sadder that some have no one to blame but themselves.

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  6. Thank you for the reminder! My Dad died when I was very young and my first step-dad died when I was in my 20’s. I rely heavily on my Mom and talk to her almost daily on the phone. I just cannot imagine not having that option. She has to live forever, it’s the only solution.

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