I walk into the house and I watch my dad literally struggle to catch his breath, his eyes twinkle with expectations and a “I hope she will live out the potential and become the man I couldn’t” look. The hope mirrored in his eyes so great,  he nearly chokes on it.

I watch my mom watch me carefully, she measures her gaze, trying to take me in slowly.  I catch that stray strand of sadness, that streak of ‘if only’ and ‘if I could’ but then it is swiftly replaced with glee sauted  in happiness.

On some days, the motivation isn’t the ‘later on’,  it is the longing on the faces of my parents.

I have the picture of their faces and the expression mirrored there etched somewhere in my mind’s reservoir.

Fleetingly at times, I believe they would love to live through me; to experience with audacity and fervency through me what they couldn’t.

In their eyes, I see assent.  An assent inundated by a steely silence and quiet forceful acceptance.

Fly Dee, Soar. I want for you what I wish I knew I could have, I could be, I could live.

The joy of being a parent, of raising a child, of grooming a daughter.

I love that I am sired through my father, I love that I was birthed through my mother.

I love my parents and it thrills me to know that just being inspires joy in their hearts; in the hearts of the two people that matter to me greatly and as much as I can help it, as much as their expectations agrees with what He has for me and His blueprints, I want to be for them.

I want to be for them what they couldn’t be for themselves, be to each other.