Yesterday afternoon, I caught up with my mom over the phone after cleaning out the garage and finding some old childhood photos. Not sure how we arrived on the topic, but she shared a story about the 2.5-year-old version of myself. In preparation for my younger brother being born, my parents thought it was time to train me to sleep in my own room. Of course, I disagreed and tried negotiating my way out of it. On the first day, my mom mentioned to me, "Tam, you are old now...you have to sleep in your own room."
Quickly after, I responded, "No, I'm not old...I could stay. Dad is the oldest."
What can I say? I'm a lover and was determined to maximize cuddling time with my parents.
For an entire week, my parents slept in my room until I was acclimated to the new environment and they would sneak into their bedroom in the middle of the night. However, my mom said I had one criteria. Whenever they would close their bedroom door, I would come over and ask them, "Could you please not close the door? I am really scared of ghosts and monsters."
There goes their lack of privacy and quiet time for the next few years. After listening to these stories, I could not help but feel grateful to have my parents as the storytellers in my life. It gave me a chance to reminisce and appreciate their love and patience throughout the years.
Cheers to the storytellers in your life...Happy Thursday.