I speak of a rare childhood. One of the reasons that I can call it rare is that I grew up with both parents present and both parents active in pretty much every aspect of my life. I don't care what the supposed experts are saying these days, a child will be better adjusted and will be a better person when both parents, that is mother and father, who are male and female are present. So many of my friend’s parents were separated or divorced and they spent their formative years being shuffled back and forth between one parent and the other. Spending weeks with one and holidays with another and the weekdays back with the previous one. Now I'm not saying that good people can't come from a broken home. I know several that have, and I don't want to see anybody stay in an abusive relationship even for the sake of the kids, but you can't convince me that it doesn't benefit the child when both parents are present, both take an interest in the child, and both love and respect the child and each other. My parents gave me that sort of environment.

Another reason that my childhood was a great deal different than many of my generation was that I was a change-of-life baby. That is a came along a little late; my mother was 41 my father was 43. Yep you guessed it I was a mistake. I remember growing up nothing would make me madder than when my Mom would pick me up at school and somebody would say: "Jonathan you're Grandma's here." My grandmother was probably around eighty at the time, lived in another town and never learned to drive. Or they would say "Your Mom's here." and one of my sisters would walk in- there's 15 and 18 years difference between us.

I'm not saying that the rather large generation gap between me and my folks didn't present some problems. When I was in Junior High, Air Jordans became the rage. My father grew up without indoor plumbing and never wore shoes half the time so paying $70 for sneakers wasn't going to happen. Then there was my long hair phase which would be an article unto itself. An ongoing subject of contention was my curfew. Some of my friends never had one. In high school I had friends who would leave for school on Friday and then show back up sometime late Sunday afternoon. I had to be home at eleven o'clock. I always hated that but seeing as some of those people who were given free reign all weekend are either dead, in jail or scrubbing toilets at Wal Mart to support two ex-wives and six kids. Now I can see who was right and who was wrong, and yes my mother would come and get me if she had to.

Then there's the issue of privacy. In the Time Magazine article about the Columbine shootings it told that Kleobold and Harris made their bombs in one or the others parent's garage. When asked why they didn't notice this or the cache of weapons in the boy's bedrooms their parents said something to the effect of: "We always tried to respect their privacy." That would not have been an issue in our household. Although they didn't always know where I was or what I was doing they usually had a pretty good idea especially if it was going on under their own roof and they should've.

These things weren't done because my parents were control freaks or were trying to keep me from enjoying my childhood and adolescence, even though I probably accused them of it, to myself at least. They were done because they cared. I never felt like I was unwanted or unloved even though I did get a little frustrated at times. I guess it's better to feel that way than thinking that your parents don't care because they won't come down and bail you out of jail again or go see your teachers when they request a conference.

One thing that I've always admired about my parents generation, the greatest generation as Tom Brokaw calls them, is their ability to see what has to be done and do it. Whether it was living through the depression, raising kids, mopping the floor or beating Hitler they saw what had to be done and did it. They didn’t ask for a reward, no congratulations, no nothing. Even to this day we have a memorial to the veterans that fought in every war except World War II. We have a monument to the man who wrote Charlie Brown but not one to honor World War II vets. I have to think that this is partially due to the fact that a great deal of that generation won't say: "Look at what we've done. Look at our sacrifice."

Getting back to my folks, there was that belief around our household. That there were certain things you did and certain things you didn't because that's the way it was. When I was out of school and my other friends were sleeping late my Dad would always get me out of bed and put me to work. Whether it was yard work on our or other people's yards, cutting firewood, working in the garden or things that just needed to be done around the house he didn't think that I needed to just lay around. Again I didn't like it but I was paid, I had more money that most of my friends had and, I was more prepared for the job market. When you've cut wood and dug potatoes anything library work puts in front of you is a cakewalk. Again there were things you just do: you work for your money, you take care of family, you keep your word, you arrive on time and you raise your kids. Then there are things that you don't do: You don't lie, you don't cheat, you don't steal, you don't cheat on your wife and you're not rude to people, that is until they're rude to you.

I guess if I were to go on this article would be several pages long and would continue to grow because my parents keep on giving even though I'm not living with them anymore. They're contributions these days include, but are not limited to, waiting at our house hours at a time for repairmen to arrive, baby sitting, lunch most every Sunday and the occasional small loan. My reasons for writing this article are two fold. First I want to say thank you to my parents, happy anniversary and I love you both. Second, for all of you out there, change of life babies and not, who had those rare parents who were more concerned with your welfare than being your best friends. Who were not afraid to say "no," not afraid to ask a few personal questions or whip your butt when you needed it, you owe them thanks. You might want to add a dinner out or a nice gift, although monuments are expensive, the president's is a little busy these days and those ticker-tape parades are a pain to put together.

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About the author: Jonathan Farlow is a frustrated writer/librarian and lives in Archdale, NC with his wife Kathy and daughter Sara. Visit his web site. You can read some of his stories there. Feedback is welcomed. Email: jonathan-farlow@excite.com

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