Who's This Lucky?

I decided that for the new semester I should try to spend some more weekends at school so I can branch out and get to know more people. But my sister was coming home this weekend for four long, blissful days and I thought "Eh? Why not." 

Sometimes I make really good decisions.

So here I am, sitting in my room. I have my heater on because my curtains are open and that seems to let winter creep in through the cracks of my windows. Of course, I could close the curtains but it's rather hard to when my backyard is a mountain. It's good to be home.

Friday night I had quite a few friends over: Austin, DJ, Sarah, Miranda. Good old high school buddies. I told them to all come over after vespers and sure enough around 9 o'clock DJ and the girls showed up. It was freezing outside so I told Austin I'd pick him up at the dorm. I asked if they wanted to go with me and the girls said yes but DJ adamantly said no. "I'm gonna go hang with your parents." And sure enough he walked straight up to the man's cave where my mom was knitting and my dad was snuggled on his chair in a blanket.

We went and got Austin and somehow, despite the fact he tried to throw himself out of the car when he realized I was driving, we made it safely back home. We walked into the house and Austin marched straight over to the stairs. "I'm gonna go see your parents," he declared. And soon enough us girls were up there too, five of us on a three-person couch, DJ messing around with an exercise ball, my dad on his recliner. Phone games, story telling, laughter.

I kept thinking to myself, "Man. Who's this lucky?"

I always hear stories or read articles or listen to songs about how embarrassing people's parents are. They do things that make you never want to show your face at school again. There's a Taylor Swift song begging a little girl not to make her mom drop her off around the block. Most of her songs I can relate to but this one I just can't.

My parents walked with me to school. My parents taught me.

We were all up in the man's cave for at least an hour. My dad shared his infamous stories, ones which we have all probably heard a few times, but somehow still find funny. (I think I got his genes when it comes to telling the same story twice…or ten times. Sadly I didn't get his humor.) My mom showed off the scarf she was faithfully working on. I laughed when I realized the holes weren't purposeful. She's so cute.

Anyways, eventually we all moved downstairs. There was food down there and hot chocolate, too. And pretty soon we were all sitting around the table making clay and eating soup out of bread bowls. But I must say the best part of that night was spent upstairs with my dear high school friends and my parents.

I don't know most of my friends' parents. And of the few I do, I wouldn't say it's often that I get to hang out in their living rooms. But my friends? They get to know my parents. They get to hang out with them in the man's cave. And when they walk into the house that's the first place they want to go. I don't  blame them, though. Sometimes I walk up those stairs merely because I like my mom and dad. And I like sitting up there with them. I remember toward the end of my senior year leaning against the little brown chair, my mom on the couch and my dad on the recliner, thinking "Goodness. I'm going to miss this." 

And I was right. I do miss it. But thankfully I'm still able to come home quite a bit. And when I do I get to spend time with my parents, and I get to watch my friends run up the stairs to see them, excited just like I am. 

Man. Who's this lucky?

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival." -C.S. Lewis