Twenty-three years ago, I found myself in an awkward and stressful situation—an accident I caused. I was 19, my sister was 21, and we were just college kids figuring life out. In a moment of distraction—checking my hair in the rearview mirror, of all things—I bumped into my sister’s car. That small collision set off a chain reaction involving four cars. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but the chaos and embarrassment felt enormous.

After calling our parents, what happened next left a mark on me far deeper than the accident itself. Mom and Dad didn’t scold us. They didn’t lecture us about responsibility. Instead, they dropped everything, drove over two hours to be with us, and wrapped us in hugs. They treated the moment not as a failure, but as a situation to handle with love. They even took us out to dinner, making sure we felt safe, cared for, and not alone.

The gesture that has stayed with me the most was their trust—they handed over their only car so my sister and I could get around that summer. At the time, we were oblivious to what a huge sacrifice that was. Money was tight, life was busy, and my mom had recently lost her own mother. Farming prices were terrible, stress was high, yet they didn’t let any of that affect how they showed up for us.

That summer, I realized something important. Love isn’t always about grand speeches or perfect moments. Sometimes, it’s about showing up when it matters, being present, and putting someone else’s needs above your own. My parents didn’t just handle a car accident—they taught me resilience, selflessness, and the quiet power of unconditional love.

Now, decades later, I look back with immense gratitude. That one day, that small act of showing up, has echoed through the years. It shaped how I see family, how I show love, and how I try to carry forward the lessons they taught me without saying a word.

Not every child gets to witness that kind of unwavering support. Not every parent shows up through chaos with such calm, unconditional care. I feel incredibly lucky. And today, I want to honor all the parents who do this every day—who give without expecting, who trust without hesitation, who love without limits.

It’s these quiet moments, these small sacrifices, that shape us. They teach us what it truly means to care. And it’s in these gestures that we learn to pass love forward, one generation to the next, making the world a little kinder, one act at a time.

Because at 19 and 21, I thought I was just embarrassed. At 42, I understand—I was being loved. And that love is something I carry with me, always.