Page 88 of I'm Not Yours
“Never stop seeking, chasing down your curiosity, believing in the wonders of life,” my mom extolled to us.
“Challenge yourself to never, ever become boring, a life-killer,” my father admonished. “Do not die during your lifetime from inertia.”
We thought they would continue their traveling ways after the four of us fled the coop, or fled the VW bus, as it were, into college.
But as soon as March left for college, our parents were done traveling. Kaput. Boom. Quit.
The kids were gone, they wanted a home.
My father waxed eloquently, “We’ve traveled long and hard, rolling stones, stars shooting through the night, a family ofland travelers on a quest for knowledge and enlightenment. We explored and pushed the boundaries.”
“And now we want a full kitchen,” my mom said, with impressive eagerness. “Where I can cook a proper turkey dinner, with the lace tablecloths and silver from my mother.”
“And we want a big tub for two,” my father said. “So nice on the back.”
“Space so we can breathe, and shelves for our books. Books are your friends, you know.Your friends.”
“A deck for gazing at the Milky Way, but radiant heat on the floor so our feet don’t get cold.Brrrr!”
“And air-conditioning. Anything over ninety degrees is too hot, hot, hot!”
“A gas fireplace, so when we’re cold, we flick a switch, and voila. A fire, no rubbing sticks together anymore.”
“Don’t forget our dream appliances,” my mom added. “All necessary for good health: our juicer, blender, water purifier, and espresso machine.”
The four of us would have been less surprised if they’d plucked Venus out of the sky and ate it.
They wanted a home, so they went to work. My mom used her talents as a seamstress, my father as a painter and business organizer, and together those two developed a line of Hippie Chick clothes for girls and women. They sold them out of the back of their VW bus at various Saturday markets. My father set up a website. They worked long hours, they marketed and advertised in creative ways, and hired the right people: my brother, March, also a workaholic, who handled the marketing and PR and the charity donations, and my sister September, who has an MBA.
I did all the legal work. August did the accounting and number crunching. My parents eventually sold their clothes for a high price to a high-end department store. They hired morepeople and treated them well. No one in the Hippie Chick company, save a mother who became pregnant with triplets, has ever quit.
They made a bundle. And another bundle. More bundles after that.
Hippie Chick bought them their house, paid for with cash. “I will be beholden in debt to no one!” my father said, pointing his finger skyward.
“No one owns us!” my mom agreed. “We are free, free!”
Aligning with the rest of their values, they saved a bunch of money from the profits and gave it away to two different charities: one donated college scholarships to underprivileged children and one helped abused/sick/homeless horses.
“We’ve always found a friendship with horses, haven’t we, honey?” my father said to my mom. “A spectacular symbol of strength, endurance, physical magic.”
“Don’t you remember watching the wild horses run on our traveling, adventuring, rolling stones days? Don’t you? Our first kiss was after horseback riding.”
“Yes, it was. I remember every minute of it, to this day. It was spectacular. Never forgot it and the kisses have only gotten better.” My father grabbed my mom and pulled her toward him.
“Love you, you old coot.” She squeezed his butt, then kissed him back.
He put his hands up her shirt and rubbed her back.
“Get a hotel, both of you, old coots,” I said.
They laughed.
But they weren’t old. You start having kids when you’re teenagers and as you get older, you realize your parents aren’t that much older than you.
And, in my case, they were a lot more fun.
When I arrived, my parents were positively beaming and tranquil. My mom, blond and brown-eyed, like me, petite, notlike me, was wearing a flowing pink pantsuit. On her lithe figure, it was fabulous. My father, dark-haired, dimples, was wearing jeans and a blue jean shirt with subtle swirls, and a peace sign on the pocket that Hippie Chick Man would soon be selling. They were the picture of everlasting youth. Both were carrying crystal wands.
