Time is the longest distance between two places

Growing up, I always took Mother's and Father's Day for granted. My parents divorced when I was five years old, about seven years after they were married, and the responsibility of celebrating both days pretty much fell squarely on my shoulders. I had no older siblings to show me what to do, no younger siblings to lead to the well, and my parents certainly weren't celebrating each other. With no one to inspire me to make a big deal out of the days, I often didn't, instead resting my laurels on the requisite cards, bad gifts, and IOU coupons that my teachers suggested made great "thank-you's."

But as a kid, I guess I never really got the "thank you" part. After all, I never thought of parenting as a job, one that maybe they didn't always want to do, and one that certainly no one was paying them for. I guess that's a good sign that I was raised by two stable, unconditionally-loving parents; neither ever once made me feel like their job was work, that parenting was anything but all they ever wanted from life. Of course there were fights and hard times, but all part of a normal adolescence, and I guess I just never felt like I had to prove my love for them with a huge Hallmark display of affection.

Even Hallmark doesn't take it seriously half the time. Why are all Father's Day cards about golf or fishing or "fixing" stuff around the house? I don't think my dad has ever played golf, enjoys fishing but not enough to hang a holiday on it, and is a fine enough handy-man to not knock his trade. Every year when I shop the card aisle, I wonder, who exactly are they making these cards for?

I actually forgot Mother's Day once, when my eighth grade class took a weekend field trip to Montreal. Yes, I was excited, and yes, I was out of the country, but the bottom line is that I was completely self-absorbed. She was so hurt, and I have obviously never forgotten it; yet, I know that a degree of that same self-absorption has lingered up until recent years, as even when I lived in New York I always seemed to have an excuse not to come home for the weekend. Don't ask me why - I don't know. I don't even think I really thought about it much. No one asked me to, no one expected me to, so I just didn't.

But since I have been in LA, I really miss my parents. Most of my friends get to take their mothers and fathers out to brunch or dinner, for a spa day or baseball game, and basically spend time with the family. And it's been over the last year, and two sets of holidays, that I finally realize that that's what it's all about. It's not about gifts or bad Hallmark cards or making indigestible breakfast in bed; it's spending time with the people whose day it is because that's all any of us really need to feel loved. Time is the most valuable thing any of us can spend.