Story time on Friday.

During my junior year of college, my dad would randomly drive up north to see me, grab dinner and chat about life. One time we went to Firestone (!!!) and ordered steak Cobb salads and charted out my path to become the president of the United States. I was planning a trip to Washington, D.C. over my spring break so I wanted to know what the rest of my life was going to look like, you know, the White House. 

The first step was being a political science major, check. The next included many different elected positions such as city council, mayor, congress woman, governor then possibly Vice President before becoming president. I had a least 15 years for all of this to go down, because I was 20 at the time. As you maybe be laughing to yourself about now, we were not joking. We wrote it out in the form of a timeline, ending with POTUS and we worked backwards and I kept it in the front of my binder. It was written on a napkin at first and then I transferred it to paper. 

So this was the dream, and never once through these discussions did my dad ever say it wasn't possible, because he never believed it wasn't. 

After my week in DC, and then after my summer in Sri Lanka, my path sifted as I grew to desire international political pursuits because of those trips, but still kept my eye on the prize for the White House. Then I went to New Orleans, then moved to New Orleans and well... the White House suddenly relocated to Cadiz Street, not Pennsylvania Ave. I did still get married at the Nixon Library in the East Wing, and I'm fairly convinced people thought my dad was the mayor of Fullerton. 

What prompted me to write this was chatting with my dad this morning. My mom and I CHAT and we chat for hours. Moms and daughters, you know. With my dad it's a check in, an update, and always an "I love you" but we rarely find ourselves lost in conversation having traveled down many a rabbit hole, never finishing a thought. Today I called and spoke with my dad, Eliza thought it was FaceTime and was really confused, we talked about the weather, his most recent business trip, about Ivys doctors appointments, how Averys school was going, and so on. Then Ivy needed me, and Eliza was painting the couch with yogurt, so I had to go. 

And I felt like an adult, like I was 30 for some reason. I was telling my dad about this big life I have, that sometimes feels small because days will pass when we never leave the house, but I felt proud to have so many parts to this life for my dad to hear about. I know he's proud too. 

In 10 years, I may have traveled off course, and while my physical location is closer to The White House, I don't think I'll be moving anywhere in five years. But the enthusiasm that my dad has in the mundane conversations on a Friday morning is the same as when we dreamed of my presidency. Because he knows when I dreaming big, or in my current place in life, living my new dream. As a parent, what could be better. 

However, know that I've written this, and a handful of people will read it, I could have secured a few votes. 

Something to think about. 


1 comment:

Sharon said...

You've got my vote.

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