By: Alissa Holm Everyone reaches a point when they realize how wise their parents were. For some, it’s the moment when they cook their first meal at college. For others, it’s when they have their first day of work at a full time job. […]
by Jenna Hoffman
I was ready to move out of my parents’ house long before I actually did. By the time I was eighteen, my family was practically begging me to leave. My mom and I argued more often than not, my dad and I barely spoke, and my siblings were just nuisances to be tolerated.
When my mom dropped me off at my dorm the first day of freshman year, there was nothing in my heart but joy for my new found freedom. Although my parents only lived twenty minutes away, I can count on one hand the number of times I went home that year. I was having too much fun pulling pranks on the boys across the way and hosting spontaneous game nights with my new friends.
For the most part, this attitude continued through my sophomore year and into my junior year as well. As I had opportunities to live with and learn from a variety of people, I realized that everyone else seemed to have been raised much differently than I had. I started to make dangerous comparisons, comparisons which led to confusing thoughts and subsequent unfair accusations.
I was frustrated with the way I’d been raised. In my limited scope of life, I felt that I might have turned out better had my parents practiced “the right” parenting techniques. I might have been a better communicator and friend, a more competitive student and athlete. I might have had a stronger testimony of the gospel and a better grasp on the complexities of life.
According to my young and selfish self, everything I wasn’t and everything I didn’t have was my parents’ fault.
In the following months, I put my brain through a metaphorical meat processor in an attempt to figure myself out. I wanted to dig into the vaults of my upbringing and unearth the causes and effects of the person I had become. It was a long and emotionally painful process, punctuated by intense arguments with my parents and teary conversations with friends.
During one such conversation, a friend, who was a parent herself wisely told me, “I’ve learned that part of becoming an adult is accepting that your parents made mistakes, and forgiving them for it.” This piece of advice revealed two things to me: that everyone else had imperfect parents, just like I did; and that my parents were not just parents, they were people. I could not claim perfection, so why did I expect them to be able to?
This realization was the first step in accepting my parents for who they were rather than trying to change them into who I wanted them to be. Instead of blaming them for what I felt they’d done wrong, I took a deeper look into their own ideas and experiences, and I began to appreciate them for what they’d done right. And when I really took that time to evaluate my family in a fair and honest way, I discovered that although there were flaws, and grievances, and mistakes, at the core there was only pure and unadulterated love. And that is the way things are.
By Sydnee Bowler Around this time of year, it can be tempting to skip straight from Halloween’s trick-or-treating to Christmas’s caroling and tree decorating, but “Eat Like a Pilgrim” at Thanksgiving Point helps us to remember to celebrate that often-forgotten holiday in between, Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving […]
By Jerrick Robbins
When I lived at home, my dad often enlisted my help on certain household projects. My mom called it his “Honey do“ list, although it wasn’t really a list. She would simply call out, “Honey, do this” or “Honey, do that.” My dad would echo Wesley from The Princess Bride and say, “As you wish” to his Princess Buttercup. He was her farm boy and her worker bee.
I’m slightly terrified of bees, but I’ve also come to respect those little black and yellow creatures. I learned that bees converse through a sort of dance. They zig and zag communicating to the other hive members the location of a particular flower-filled meadow. On average, a hive of bees will fly over 48,000 miles to accumulate enough pollen for just one quart of honey. That’s a lot of work!
Looking back at those Saturdays spent working on the list with my dad, I remember the feeling of accomplishment I had when we would finish a project. I imagine that honeybees don’t have that same feeling at the end but during the journey. For them, collecting honey is a continuous process. Collecting honey never stops.
Those days of helping my dad on his “Honey do” list are past, but I’m getting closer to having my own Princess give me “Honey do” lists someday. I’ve decided there’s a reason why so many couples call each other “honey.” Now maybe it’s because many people think it’s cute, but I believe there’s a deeper reason. Think of all the time and hard work a hive of bees accomplishes just for one quart of honey. Now think of all the time and hard work required to nurture a relationship. There’s a correlation there, and it’s not coincidental.
No, it isn’t a continuation of Halloween. Contrary to how we often interpret the skeletons and skulls associated with the Latin holiday celebrated on November 1st, Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) is not all ghastly and grim. Instead, it is a day […]
by Jenna Hoffman
The Provo Farmers Market is a whimsical weekend escape from the daily grind of school and work. Over the summer, my roommate let me tag along with her and now I can’t get enough of those little tents lining the sidewalk around Pioneer Park. I’ve decided to pay it forward, so now I try to bring a friend with me every week, and without fail, they fall in love with the place. Something about the fresh fruit and vegetables, folksy music, and friendly vendors will make you feel like you’ve stepped out of Provo and into Portland.
The easy-going atmosphere and feeling of camaraderie is nothing short of cathartic. And even if you don’t think the farmers market is “your scene,” it’s definitely worth it to go check it out once. Sit in the grass and listen t
o the musicians, suck on a flavored honey-stick, andget to know the people who put their heart and soul into their crafts and want to share the love with the rest of the community. But hurry! The market has about run its course this year. After October, we’ll have to wait until next summer to bask in the charm of the Provo Farmers Market again.
To learn more about the Provo Farmers Market, check out their website.