Among the saints

Today is All Saint’s Day, which to me has become a feast day for my parents.  I was thinking a lot about them today. 

They say that a parent’s job is to give children roots and wings… and I think Mom and Dad did an admirable job with that charge. 

For roots, they gave me family, and love, and faith.  For wings, I always felt they just wanted me to be happy.

Roots… All of us will tell you we grew up knowing what family meant, and sticking by my siblings continues to be very important to me.  Unconditional love is a part of that.  I knew I was loved by both my parents, and I believe they knew how much I loved them in return.  Our home was open to our friends and a refuge for a number of people over the years.  We didn’t have many things, but we had each other and we had fun together.   Mom and Dad also raised us in a faith tradition, they got us out to church and demonstrated a quiet belief in God and in doing the right thing.

Wings…  It’s amazing to me that I can’t recall a single conversation with my parents pushing for a specific career move or questioning me about my lack of a boyfriend.  Mom and Dad just encouraged me to live my life and make the most of it – and I saw in them great examples of doing the same.  I grew up confident in a time when girls weren’t supposed to be smart and self-assured.  As I grew older, I relied on their advice and counsel even as I knew that decisions were up to me.

Mom and Dad had a  traditional marriage and family life of their times… Dad worked every day and Mom kept house. We always knew Dad would provide, even when he had to hold down multiple side jobs to do so.  He didn’t complain, and he didn’t shirk.  Mom was an organized homemaker, posting weekly menus on the refrigerator, making just one shopping trip for the whole week, clipping coupons and stretching dollars, organizing regular laundry days and a complete housecleaning every Saturday (which was our chore, of course).  Not so traditionally, Mom kept the family finances, and Dad cooked the weekly pot of spaghetti sauce and meatballs every Sunday night.

I remember a little romance between them when Mom and Dad dressed to go out on many Saturday nights and on special occasions like New Year’s Eve.  Dad always kissed Mom three times coming or going.  (Grandad kissed Grandmom two times, so Dad decided to go him one better.)  Mom once told me about planning her wedding date sitting in the pew at Nativity one Sunday.  And Dad pointed out the overlook where he proposed marriage.  There’s something very special about being raised by two people who love one another.  To honor that, I wear Mom’s engagement ring, which Daddy gave to me when she died. 

They set out the expectation that we would get an education, and they assumed we would take care of younger siblings when needed.  We were all charged with keeping  our rooms clean and pitching in around the house.  We were told to “play outside” and learned to make our own fun.  We learned not to expect lots of presents (but I remember Daddy always brought me a bag of Jax from wherever he went out at night).  We had family parties and neighborhood picnics and adventurous vacations.  It wasn’t all peaches and cream, of course, but our home life was comfortable and comforting, laughter-filled and loud, crazy at times and yet steady. 

I got my thirst for reading from my Mom, and my appreciation of dumb jokes from my Dad.  I inherited small talents in cooking and decorating from Dad, and learned organization and planning from Mom.  I remember Mom’s smile and Dad’s laugh.

Bequeathing both roots and wings is not an easy accomplishment, and I am blessed that my parents gave me both.  I remember Gerald and Agnes Lombardozzi, and I miss them still.  I know they number among the saints because they were good people and I know a loving God really appreciates that. 

But not as much as I do.