My daddy was a rockstar, and my mummy fell in love.
My parents love story has come to me in snippets. My sister and I would always beg to be told the story of how my father proposed. He ran after my mother in the rain, with no umbrella. We always thought that was hideously romantic. My mother always tells us how ‘she had her eye on him, he was just to obsessed with his goddamn guitar to take a hint’, and how she walked her dog back and forth in front of his house most days. At nights, he played in a rock band and my mother would sneak out to go cheer him on and dance.
My mother was funny, smart, and always the most beautiful girl in every room. She was the kindest person you could ever meet and went out of her way to care for everyone she could. She could play the violin and the saxophone. And she could dance the entire night away, if you played the right music.
My parents are my best friends. They are my allies in every battle. They are who I want to go home and talk about my day to. They are my tomatoes on toast, late night snack, buddies, and who I will always go to for advice.
They taught me how to live and how to love.
They are my whanau.