Years and years ago, my dad decided to give away my toys when we moved from Ireland to England. I wasn’t upset because I knew I’d grown out of the phase of actual toys (I was 9/10 at the time). But I was upset that he had given away my ballerina Cindy and Ariel doll (her fins changed colour when you rubbed them).

*Fast forward to more than ten years later.* I had come home during my second year of university and I was studying in my usual manner, with my book sprawled all over the table. My parents came home and told me they had a surprise for me. My mum pulled out a box and handed it over to me without saying anything. I turned it over and staring back at me through the plastic packaging was Ariel. I was 21 at the time, and I was holding a child’s doll in my hands. And I was so happy. It wasn’t the same doll obviously and the fins didn’t change colour either. But my parents went out and got her for me and that meant the world to me. As I’m typing this during my fourth year in my university dorm room, Ariel is stowed away safely in my cupboard.

My parents always tell me they love me more than I know. I am so, so lucky to have them. And to think, they remembered something I was upset about when I was 9 years old. I don’t want kids any time soon, at least not within the next five years, anyway. But when I do eventually have a kid, I hope I can be even half as good a parent to her/him as my parentsĀ have been to me.


Cheesy Disney quote to reiterate my point: