Parental Units

My father is a working man,
His job always on his mind,
Though not always boiling in scorching waves;
Sometimes he just lets it all sit on the back burner,
Though it still simmers
Hot enough to scorch,
Yet cool enough to only irritate the skin and the mind.

My father is stone,
Soft and unbreakable.
With a sweep of his right arm
Nightmares are banished from my mind;
Minor accomplishments are made into incredible feats that no other person on this earth could perform.
With the extent of his left arm
Wrongs are righted,
Opinions are made and argued, challenged and reinforced.
Never back down, not if it’s truly what you believe,
And if someone still insists on telling you that you’re wrong, who cares?
You have your belief, resilient and intact,
Just like the paternal stone.

My father is more than he seems,
A man of many functions.
Father, brother, son, and husband.
Father to me, my brother, my sister;
Brother to my uncles and aunt;
Son of my grandmother and grandfather (R.I.P. Richard Gabbey (19XX-2009);
Husband to my mother, without whom he and I could not even
Begin to operate normally.

My mother is a woman,
Complete with all the mysteries that being a woman includes.
One cup femininity,
Two pints maternity,
Three tablespoons loyal devotion,
Two cups warmth,
But my mother through and through.

My mother is me,
And I am her,
Just as Eve is of Adam.
All backbone,
Knowing the perfect moments to both share hers and remind me that I have my own.
A safe haven for my innermost thoughts, and emotions,
My best friend.

My mother is everything,
Always achieving more every day,
Continuing her duty as
Mother, sister, daughter, and wife always.
Mother to me and my siblings;
Sister to my aunts and uncles,
Daughter of my grandmother and grandfather,
Wife to my father, without whom she and I could not even
Begin to operate normally.