Do you remember what it was like when you found out that Superman wasn't real? Or maybe when you witnessed a media frenzy revolving around someone you idolized that left you with the realization that the person was just shy of being a chump? Or maybe when you were able to spend some time with someone you thought had it all figured out only to find out they were more screwed up on the inside than you are? They weren't people that you purposely put on a pedestal. You never set out to think of them as higher forms of yourself or any other person in your life. But somehow your insecurities and fears and inadequacies placed them mountains above the rest.

I woke up this morning with deep feelings that I believe are in some ways similar to those situations...just a smidge anyway. It wasn't a "lightbulb" moment. It wasn't like I was struck by lightning. The realities, instead, have been seeping into my consciousness very gradually. There have been little circumstances and moments when I catch glimpses of just how human someone I love is.

But, this morning, when I popped in my Beatles "1" cd (all their #1 hits, for those who don't know), I just felt overwhelmed with realization. The songs always strike a sentimental nerve in me...they always take me right back to my childhood...always. No matter how grown-up I feel. And the only memories I completely associate their music with are those involving my parents.

So...I'm vacuuming and remembering the 70s, a bit of the 80s even. My memories of my childhood are all happy...even though they aren't all happy. Does that make sense? I remember (even more than my sibs) the turmoil in our family, between our parents and then between them and their parents. I remember a LOT...things they probably hope I don't (shoot, things they may not remember). I remember anger and chaos for sure; but for some reason, the good stuff gets more "air time" in my mind. Maybe it is my mind's defense mechanism kicking in? I don't know. But I remember so many good things right smack dab in the middle of my parents' personal hell(s). And most of all, I remember thinking that my parents were it...they were the best...they were smart...they were almost superhuman. Dad survived a horrible war and a very, very sad childhood, mostly intact; while Mom left home as a 16 year old baby, sent her husband off to war, had me, raised us and then even survived cancer.

I've spent so much of my adulthood calling them for advice, thinking they have it all figured out. I have cried a gazillion tears wishing that my family and I lived closer to them. I've gauged so much of my attitude toward life, my potential success in being a smart human, on what I perceived them to be and do. I've placed so much pressure on myself to live up to who I perceived them to be. I knew, of course, they weren't perfect (no one is), but I subconsciously placed them above myself and others in the area of near-perfectness. And then today, for some reason...I felt this incredibly sad resolve that brought tears. They aren't superhuman...they aren't above everyone...they don't have it all figured out. And while that is a no-brainer for most adults (especially those whose parents were deadbeats even as they raised their kids) perhaps, it just made the world look different to me today than it did yesterday.

Why is that a sad revelation for a 39-year-old woman (when maybe I should look at it as a good revelation instead)? It is hard realizing that someone you turned to for so much guidance could be wrong or could even be more screwed up sometimes than you are. It just turns the tables. It means that, while they are older and even wiser in some situations, I am the one calling the shots now. The responsibility for making wise choices is all on me, truly. It just sort of shifts the pressure, I guess.

Anyway.

Wow. I'm not saying they are these pathetic people who let me down or messed me up...No...they are just humans doing exactly what I am doing...trying to muddle through and figure it out as they go. That's what I'm sayin'....