The Folks Back Home

What a strange twist on an old theme. I found myself, this weekend, playing host to my parents. Though they came to last year's parent weekend, I was not happy in St. Louis yet; they played host to my depression and homesickness. Come to think of it, I had just been kicked out of a relationship, so things were at an apex of suck. Point being, I spent as much time with them as I could because I wanted quite badly to go home.

Now that I'm happy, well-adjusted and, most of all, busy, I found myself spending much less time with them. What time we did spend together was dictated by me and my newfound knowledge of the city. I introduced them to my friends, something which I had been unable to do a year ago; not because my attempts were impeded but, rather, because I had no friends. Most importantly, I introduced them to Marina, and that went very well. We ate at Saleem's and Marina quite expertly controlled the conversation. The food was, of course, delicious and filled with garlic. The only downsides were the extreme delay--it took well over an hour for our food to come--and a raucous group of four at the table behind me; they were far louder than they needed to be, and some of the things I overheard were fairly offensive. Of course their food came out before ours. But, table rivalries aside, it was a great experience. My folks liked Marina and she liked my folks.

Now that I look back on it, most of the time I spent with my parents was spent eating, or going to eat. Should that worry me?

I'd say it's a shame that my parents aren't the sort you tell stories about, but that probably saved me a lot of childhood embarassment.

Finally, after carrying my camera around all weekend, I realized, as my parents walked into their hotel, that I hadn't taken any pictures. This is the only one I could get. You'll get some idea what they look like, I guess.



Thanks for a taste of home, Mom and Dad. Travel safely.

-Alan