I don’t have a favorite parent. I loved them both. I can’t say that my parents were perfect, because they were far from perfect. They were just two human beings doing they best with what life dealt them.
I loved my father in a different way than I loved my mother. My father was the one who went out to work, and brought home the bacon. If it hadn’t been for him, my mother would have been out working. I remember being a little girl and getting excited about my father coming home from work. It made my day.
My mother stayed home, took care of the family and made sure the world was a safe place for all of us. She cooked, cleaned, took us to school, and listened to our problems. She made sure my father ate and stayed healthy.
So I can’t say I have a favorite parent. They were my parents. I accepted them as they were. And best of all, they accepted me as I am.
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