I expected it to be difficult for my parents to see the very different way we were raising these little ones, and also for them to see how in our home the men as well as the women changed diapers, cleaned house, and made the meals. Perhaps because they were nearing the end of their lives, they seemed more accepting of our differences than I had experienced them before. I didn’t realize, though, how deep the acceptance went.
At one point, my father took me aside.
“When you left Baskin-Robbins,” he reminisced, “I thought you were crazy.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I remember.”
“Well,” he said, speaking more slowly now and turning to face me, “I see that time has proved you were right to follow your own star.” Hearing him speak this way, I felt, perhaps for the first time, his blessing on my life.