When my parents were my age, they already had a 22–23-year-old son.
They were both working factory jobs, but not at the same place anymore. My mom was working around downtown, sewing curtains. My dad was working at a different factory in Highland Park, ironing curtains.
They used to work together at the same factory, but during that time my dad had an argument at my mom’s workplace and ended up leaving that job. He quit, then got hired at the Highland Park factory.
Either way, the theme was the same: work. A lot of it. They were trying to hold down the house—rent, bills, food, survival—and I didn’t really get to see them much because they were always gone.
Meanwhile I was off “trying to figure out my life”… but not really doing the right things. Making mistakes. Losing time.
They’d ask me, “Are you doing good in school?”
And I’d lie and say yes, even when I wasn’t. I didn’t care the way I should’ve. I didn’t have guidance, and they didn’t have extra time or energy to give—because work was eating it all.
So yeah… my parents worked. A lot.
And that’s the main thing I remember.
Question: When you look back at your parents’ life, what do you understand now that you didn’t understand as a kid?
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