The natural reflex of the author is to apologise for addressing the subject of much hyperbole and warmfuzziness. Remarkably, in an astounding display of much ironwilled stubbornness, no such apology is forthcoming. Rather, he will attempt to highlight certain facets of the subject’s vast entirety as they are presently of particular importance to him, and will cease speaking of himself in the third person forthwith.

[Remember, gentle reader, that this blog is a simple while sometimes satirically journalistic outlet for items of random topical interest. To be precise, my random topical interest. And I'm a self-confessed romantic at heart. Enjoy it, or build a bridge.]

Romantic love is complex, and that’s not what I’m on about [yet]. Think instead [first] about the way you love your friends, of the same and/or the other gender. How is that expressed? Now what about the way you love your siblings? Rinse, repeat. What about your parents?

If I were a parent, what kind of love from my child[ren] would I appreciate the most? I have reflected on this for many, erm, minutes, and have decided that that thing would be gratitude. Be aware that I am of the belief that, since parents cause their child to become at all, they are obligated to bear the responsibility for the child’s continued wellbeing until such time as the child desires and can facilitate absolute independence. Still, good manners and any modicum of insightful perception would provide the impetus for expressed appreciation.

Ouch. That last sentence is convicting in its own right.

But as far as love goes, I dunno. My parents continually express love for me, either in actions or words. The parent to child bond is indeed a unique one. Ideally it should be the actualisation of the deep unity of two people, thus bringing about parental joy and ultimate satisfaction as well as the continuation of the species. Parents would do well to remember the “parental joy” bit once the kids continue to cry, demand, argue, bicker, nitpick, deviate or individualise. It’s all part of the deal – you sign up for the child, you get the whole package.

Tangent; back on track. The semi-dependent part of the parent-child relationship is an interesting one when considered from the vantage point of love. That’s where I’m at, what I call semi-dependent. I live here, in the house my parents have worked for 20 years to justify. My parents feed me whenever I’m home for dinner. We have broadband internet and a dishwasher. All in all, my board is a token. So it’s a good deal (but do offset the “good deal” with the thrust of the third-previous paragraph). I have a significant social calendar which keeps me away from home somewhat more than I/they like. I like semi-dependence and I’m glad that I can break free a little bit. Still, I’m happy to be here and cared for. Seems the best way to acknowledge that is to communicate clearly about all the stuff in my life I think is trivial, and to contribute to the daily operation of this house which is a fantastic home.

What I truly and intensely value to a greater extent, however, is the time I spend with close friends. That’s a different kind of love again. Chapman referred to it as the love language of quality time. It’s energising, rewarding, uplifting and exciting. Quality time is my primary love language, according to the survey. The book is great, highly recommended.

Which makes me wonder just how amazing it must be to spend time with that one special significant other. But that’s the romantic love topic, to which I’ve hinted many a time already in the previous editions of this blog, and which will remain blissfully if still undesirably distant, as if obscured by an equivalently romantic mist on a crisp Autumn morning.