Tonight my kids and I were enjoying a pretty basic family dinner which seem to have become much more frequent in months of late, blessedly so. My daughter (a high school sophomore, the baby in the photo) was nominated for a college road trip to Northern California by numerous teachers and the excursion requires she compose a short essay depicting her view on why she feels college, for minorities in particular, is critical. Somehow the conversation veered into things she could do to better improve her chances of not only acceptance, but scholarship possibilities. My 19 year old son is the older of my two kiddos. He is a biology major and a sophomore at San Diego State University. The exact words and ideas exchanged on this heartwarming evening are not as important (although this was a brainstorming discussion) as the overwhelming sense of pride and love I have for my kids. I remember my son as a 4 year old telling everyone to "hold the baby's head up so it won't fall off" or my daughter holding his hand while taking her 1st steps. I recall the silly words they used to make up as little kids that no one else understood. My favorite was calling each other "amigop" instead of "amigo", which later morphed into mommygop, grandmagop, and puppygop when we got a dog.
We have come a long, long way since those days. Each one of us has matured and grown up in our own way. I am eternally grateful that as we grew we only became a closer family unit, glued together by love, respect, and lessons leaned.
(photo credit of yours truly... circa 1996. My son was 4, my daughter approximately 3 months)
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