I remember the stories my parents told me. In 1980s Ireland, having a child out of wedlock wasn’t just frowned upon—it was a logistical nightmare. Landlords turned them away, people whispered, and societal judgment loomed over them like a storm cloud. Yet, somehow, they found one landlord who looked beyond the outdated rules and saw two people simply trying to build a life together. That little rented home became the backdrop of my earliest memories—playing in the front garden with all the neighborhood kids gathered at the gate while my mom baked an oven-sized loaf of bread so absurdly large that we still laugh about it today.
Fast forward to now, and my parents have done more than just survive those early struggles—they’ve thrived. Both of them are successful university teachers, respected and loved by their students, despite not even holding PhDs. They built businesses, broke barriers, and proved that success isn’t about the titles you hold, but the impact you make.
When I say they came from tough backgrounds, I mean it. My mom grew up in segregated South Africa, witnessing firsthand the injustices that shaped society. My dad, on the other hand, was raised in a strict, über-Catholic environment where expectations were sky-high, and stepping outside the norm wasn’t exactly encouraged.
Then, in a plot twist the universe didn’t see coming, these two people from vastly different worlds found each other, fell in love, and started a family.
Except, of course, society wasn’t quite as caught up to modern thinking as they were. Ireland in the 80s wasn’t kind to unmarried parents. Beyond the judgment, there were legal and financial obstacles. Single mothers struggled to access housing, fathers had no automatic guardianship rights, and the weight of societal expectations pressed down hard.
My parents could have caved to that pressure. They could have followed the so-called "respectable" path. Instead, they doubled down on what mattered: love, commitment, and creating a stable, happy home—labels be damned.
And they didn’t just raise me. They gave me the best life possible.
I’ll be honest—I have no recollection of my formative years (ages 1-4). It’s like my brain just decided, “Nah, we don’t need to save this data.” But I do know that during that time, my parents were grinding. They weren’t just working regular jobs; they were finishing their degrees while juggling work, parenthood, and societal judgment. And despite all of that, they made sure I had a childhood filled with love, magic, and a deep-rooted sense of security.
But their work wasn’t just about building a life for themselves. My dad took jobs teaching English to immigrants, helping people find their footing in a new country. My mom dedicated her time to mentoring at-risk young women, showing them that their circumstances didn’t have to define their future. They weren’t just working for their own success—they were actively giving back, proving that true success is about lifting others up, too.
Looking back, I realize now just how much effort it must have taken. I mean, I struggle to balance work, personal projects, and remembering to drink enough water. And yet, they managed to raise two children, hold down jobs, pursue higher education, volunteer, and build a home—all at the same time. Absolute legends.
Here’s a little detail that might surprise some people: despite having a great relationship with my dad, his name isn’t on my birth certificate. Bureaucratic nonsense, outdated rules—call it what you want. It’s one of those things that stings. Because for someone who has always been a daddy’s girl, that missing name feels like an erasure of something that was very real.
But here’s the thing: a piece of paper doesn’t define the bond we have. My dad has been present, involved, and everything a father should be. And honestly, I’d take that over a legally recognized name any day.
If there’s one thing my parents drilled into me and my younger sister, it’s the importance of hard work and self-sufficiency.
They didn’t just tell us to work hard—they showed us. They led by example. They didn’t rely on handouts or shortcuts; they built everything they had from the ground up. And they made it clear that while the world might not always be fair, you still have to show up, put in the effort, and carve out your own success.
More than that, they raised us to be kind. To accept people for who they are, regardless of background, beliefs, or circumstances. They didn’t just preach tolerance—they lived it. And coming from two people who both faced their own share of discrimination and societal expectations, that lesson carried a lot of weight.
When people talk about leaving a legacy, they usually think of wealth, property, or something tangible. But my parents’ legacy isn’t measured in bank accounts or real estate. It’s measured in the values they instilled in us—the kind of people they raised us to be.
They made sure we didn’t take life for granted. That we understood the importance of gratitude. That we knew success wasn’t just about climbing the career ladder, but about making a positive impact on the people around us.
They also made sure we knew that life doesn’t owe you anything. If you want something, you go after it. You put in the work. You don’t expect things to be handed to you. And you definitely don’t wait around for someone else to save you.
And they didn’t just tell us that—we saw it every day. My dad teaching immigrants, my mom mentoring young women—those weren’t just jobs or side projects. They were proof that success isn’t just about personal achievement; it’s about helping others along the way.
So, if I haven’t said it enough (or loud enough), here it is: no artist, no celebrity, no historical figure could have done a better job shaping me than my own parents.
They weren’t perfect—no one is. But they were the best parents I could have asked for. They built something from nothing, gave us the best life they could, and made damn sure we grew up knowing our worth, our responsibilities, and our ability to shape the world around us.
And yeah, maybe this is a little corny. Maybe this is the kind of thing that should be written in a greeting card instead of a long-winded essay. But some things just need to be said.
So, here it is: Thank you, Mom and Dad. You’re the real MVPs.
Comments