GFK-PAD

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Thursday, 7/1/10 – Love Is

A mother’s love is a hug and a gentle reminder to do better, to do your best.
A father’s love is a smack in the seat and a reprimand that this time your best was not good enough.

A mother’s love is a roof that shelters and walls that protect.
A father’s love is a foundation to build upon and all of the blueprints needed for future additions.

A mother’s love is a holiday table set with the best china, crystal and silver.
A father’s love is a handmade table sanded and stained and lacquered to a brilliant shine.

A mother’s love is a twenty secretly slipped into your hand when times get tight.
A father’s love is a balance sheet with slips and receipts paper-clipped tightly.

A mother’s love is a gentle nudging of rudders, silent and unseen below the waterline.
A father’s love is a firm setting of sails on masts that stand tall against the wind and sky.

A mother’s love is a school time rhyme: all ABC’s and 123′s.
A father’s love is a difficult lesson in a school of hard knocks.

A mother’s love is clean sheets.
A father’s love is a clean slate.

A mother’s love is the sweetness of seven-layer cake after Sunday dinner.
A father’s love is the sweat of the seven preceding workdays and the seven that will come after.

A mother’s love is all the colors in box of Crayola crayons (the big box, the one with the sharpener in it).
A father’s love is charcoal and chalk.

A mother’s love is souffle.
A father’s love is soup.

A mother’s love is clean behind the ears.
A father’s love is grease under the fingernails.

A mother’s love is spatulas and steam irons.
A father’s love is screwdrivers and tire irons and occasionally a nine-iron.

A mother’s love is fairy tales at bedtime to put you to sleep.
A father’s love is world news in the morning to wake you up.

A mother’s love is safety sealed, bubble wrapped; it comes with care and use instructions that are clear and concise.
A father’s love is loose in an unmarked box.

A mother’s love is hot cocoa on a cold night.
A father’s love is cold beer on a hot day.

A mother’s love is what pulls you along.
A father’s love is what pushes you higher.

And from these loves comes other loves.

A daughter’s love is pre-planned and appropriate, it arrives well dressed, on time bearing thoughtful gifts in brightly colored packages that are neatly wrapped and festooned with ribbons and bows.

A son’s love arrives early and unannounced wondering what’s for dinner or, if it remembers at all, it arrives late, empty handed wearing a wrinkled shirt with the tails hanging out.

But love is love
is love
love is.

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