“Show some gratitude to your father,” my mother used to tell me.
“I am grateful,” I would insist.
“Well, you’re not acting like it,” she would tell me.
“What do yo want me to do?” I’d ask. “Genuflect and kiss his ring?”
And then she’d smack me across the face. It was our little routine when she thought I was taking too much for granted.
I actually was very grateful for everything my parents had provided me with when I was young. Our home, the food we ate, my clothing. My father worked long hours, six days a week, at a blue collar job to make sure his family was safe, secure, and that all of our basic needs were met. I appreciated that, I really did.
But because of his long hours, he didn’t spend a lot of time with me, like most of my friends’ fathers did with their sons. I resented that. I know I shouldn’t have, but being the self-centered kid that I was, I did.
Nowadays I thank people for doing something nice for me and my family. I send out thank you notes or emails when someone does me a solid. And I am genuinely grateful.
But even though I feel grateful, expressing that gratitude is not something I’m particularly good at. And that might give some people the impression that I take too much for granted.
Just ask my wife when I forget to thank her for cooking the delicious meal she just made for me.
Written for today’s one-word prompt, “gratitude.”
This, That, and the Other 