I’ve had a few emotional conversations lately with my buddy T. First, I was crying after the passing of my friend N. Then last week, I was crying about my family. John and I had recently watched a documentary about the NBA star Giannis. His is a moving and compelling success story about overcoming adversity plus all the good stuff of loyalty, integrity, hard work, and love of family.

I have never understood people who are close to their families– people who want to spend all their free time or PTO with their families. People who have to go home for all the holidays and speak to their parents on the phone daily. It has NEVER made any sense to me. But Giannis is a part of one of those families. In escaping poverty and immigrating to the US, as his success grew, his adamance for having his family with him only amplified. I cried so much in that documentary, bc it made me mourn what my parents do not have. And so that entire evening, I couldn’t sleep bc I was disappointed in myself… I had so many more advantages and privileges than Giannis in my childhood; yet I lack his level of loyalty and love.

And so I cried. I cried that I couldn’t be as good as Giannis. I cried that I lacked the filial piety he clearly possessed. I felt so much disappointment and shame and sadness for my family. And then my friend asked me: How and why does Giannis feel that way about his family? It’s bc his family spent time and energy to cultivate that feeling of belonging and cohesion and love. You were just a child… you can’t be expected to know how to feel about the relationship with your parents.

Your parents mixed the ingredients and created the environment to bake an amazing loaf of bread. At the end of it all, they can’t wish for or expect to get a tray of brownies. It was such a simple and yet powerful analogy. They were the bakers. They had a hand in all of this. There’s a reason why it’s so damn hard for my brother and me to really feel or express love for our parents.

I remember during COVID when my father met my friend T. After she left, he said to me, “She seems like such a positive and optimistic person.” And I remembered thinking to myself: Yeah, well she didn’t grow up with two anxious, neurotic, and perfectionist parents who are fear-based about EVERYTHING!!

I guess the good thing is that T’s comments absolved me of some guilt. But she also reminded me that I have limited time now, and if dad is making bids for a better relationship, there is still time for me to try. The relationship will never reach the heights of Giannis’ tight-knit family, but at least I can say, I braved the discomforts of change to forgive and to try again. After all, nothing they did came from ill intent: they genuinely did the best with what they knew.