My parents were divorced by the time I was five, and I have no recollection of a time when they were together. And my mother moved to Pennsylvania by the time I was in High School, and she passed by the time I was 19.
As a young child, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. I lived with my paternal grandmother for a number of years, and I spent a lot of time with my other set of grandparents as well. My grandmothers did a lot of the heavy lifting of raising me and providing me with strong maternal influences. They taught me a lot about how to conduct myself as a compassionate person, among a million other things. I can never express to them how grateful I am and how lucky I feel to have grown up in the way I did.
My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and I was strongly, and foolishly, opposed to it. I was asked to stand up with my father and I refused, something I really regret to this day. On that wedding day, my dad’s best man, my sister’s godfather, my pseudo-uncle, gave me some advice that I have not forgotten. He told me that it was okay to be angry and emotional, that those things were a part of life. But he told me that when something happens we can either be angry about it or we can accept it and make the best out of it.
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