My parents are married.
They have the legal papers to prove it. They’re yellowed and old like antique documents and they’re in Chinese.
They file for taxes together, sign property papers together, make mortgage payments together, have joint bank accounts.
They call themselves husband and wife, if asked.
They don’t fight… much.
They get along and even though sometimes he rolls his eyes when he thinks she’s being a little insensible or silly and sometimes she’ll sigh with frustration when she thinks he’s being lazy and unhelpful, they don’t really fight.
They raised us well. Amazingly well, I’d say, and for that, I am grateful. My dad taught me how to sharpen my work ethic, how to prioritize and be practical, how to do complicated physics problems that my teacher in high school never made clear. My mom taught me how to be sympathetic, how to care for people and…
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