My father gave me my tenacity. My single-mindedness. My attention to detail. My inability to give up control. Some call it being a perfectionist. I call it getting things right. He calls it work.
My mother gave me my practicality. My unflappability. My fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants. My inability to manage my time. Some call it procrastination. I call it collecting my thoughts. She calls it high-pressure productivity.
Both gave me my stubbornness. Both, my creativity, in their own way. Both, their good sense of humor. Both, every ounce of love they had.
Some call it raising a child.
I call it being the luckiest son in the world.
Merry Christmas. Mom, Dad, all.
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