Bug asked me a simple question tonight. And taken at face value, if you weren't looking to dig deeper, it had a simple answer. Of course, my kid doesn't do simple. Never has. Probably never will. That's okay, because apparently I don't do simple, either.
Bug asked me what nationalities we were made up of. (Well, actually, what he asked was a bit less grown up sounding, and took some additional questions from me to finally figure out what he meant, but it turned out that was what he meant.) Simple question. The simple answer was that I was Irish, German and Cherokee Indian; while dad was Indian, Hispanic and something Nordic. So he starts asking which grandparent contributed which nationality. This was where it got.... well, less simple.
My parents divorced when I was younger, and my mom remarried when I was eight. He's an amazingly awesome man, as I've mentioned here before. He is also the only grandfather, on my side, that my boys have ever known. See, my biological father disowned me right before I got married. It's a somewhat long and involved story, so suffice it to say that he's just a very selfish and spoiled man who reacted the way he did because something was not going to go the way he wanted it to. I'm positive that if he had any idea at all of how my life would have gone on to play out, he probably still would have done the same thing. And honestly? I've come to terms with the fact that he has never met the amazing son-in-law that he has, and has never gotten to experience the joys and wonders that would have come along with being a grandparent to my incredible boys. And that? Is completely his loss, and not mine. My boys know that my dad isn't their biological grandfather, and that there is another man out there that we have to consider when discussing medical history with the doctor. They also know that he CHOSE to walk out of my life, and not even attempt to walk into theirs. They have NEVER blamed that choice on me. In fact, they have often told me that they think he's totally missing out on a great family by ignoring ours.
Anyway, Bug asked how much of the Indian in me came from Grandpa. And then he interrupted himself to remind me that Oh yeah.... he's not the guy you'd get anything from. Its that OTHER guy who doesn't like you.
Ouch.
I pointed out that I didn't think it was that he didn't like me. After all, I was only 19 when he decided to stop talking to me. I told Bug that I think its just that he's so caught up in his own world that there's just not room enough in it for me; and reminded him that the grandpa he knows is a pretty awesome guy who definitely has had time for me. Bug looked at me, perplexed. You were only 19, Mom? But that's been..... like, YEARS.
I know, I replied. And then told him we'd talk about it more when it wasn't bedtime and he wasn't trying to avoid sleep.
The thing is, I think I was actually telling Bug the truth. It's not that my biological father doesn't like me. He doesn't even know me. He chose not to be an active father while I was growing up; and he chose again to simply walk away from me when it looked like I had. And that, as selfish a reason as he had for making that choice, was one of the best choices he could have made. In making that choice, he cleared the path for my sons to have a phenomenal grandfather. And it made me a stronger person, which makes me a stronger mother.
Choices. Everything comes down to the choices you make in life. And those choices don't just affect YOUR life, they affect the lives of everyone in your life. His choice helped to give my sons the mother they have today. His choice helped me to choose to stay with their father when I could have chosen to walk away. His choice will help teach my children the importance of making the right choices in their own lives, because every choice can affect people you don't even know yet.
Not a bad lesson to learn.
Showing posts with label And they shall remain nameless.... Show all posts
Showing posts with label And they shall remain nameless.... Show all posts
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Open Letter To Parents of Athletes
Dear Parents of the kids on the team:
Hi. I'm pretty sure you all know me. I'm the coach's wife. But please, give me minute to reintroduce myself to you, ok?
I'm the woman who is married to the man who spends no less than 20 hours a week volunteering his time so that your child can experience something more of the sport than simply playing catch with you in the back yard when you have a few free minutes. I'm the woman who is married to the man who sometimes has to be reminded that he has his OWN children that he needs to spend some attention on, because he has a tendency to become wrapped up in creating as wonderful an experience as he can make this sport for YOUR child. I'm the woman who willingly gives her husband to your child, and the sport, for all those many hours each week.
I'm the woman who is the mother to one of those kids on that field. One of those kids who might possibly be more talented than your child; or he might be struggling. One of those kids who has other issues behind the scenes; issues that might possibly dictate occasional behaviors that you may witness. I'm the mother to one of those kids who rely on positive feedback and reinforcement, to encourage him to continue to make efforts to improve himself, his behaviors and his athletic abilities. I'm the mother who constantly tries to teach her child good sportsmanship above all else, and that winning -- while it is certainly a worthy goal -- is not the ONLY goal.
I'm the woman who not only willingly gives her husband to your child for several hours each week, but gives of her own time for at least 20 hours each week. I'm the woman who represents you on the Board of Directors. I'm the woman who works to ensure that we continue to have a good relationship with the town we play this sport in. I'm the woman who works to ensure that you don't have to pay increasingly exorbitant fees for your child to participate in this sport he loves. I'm the woman who occasionally has to miss watching her own children play, so that she can ensure you get to watch yours play.
All of that, and yet.....
I'm also the woman who is hurt, angry and disappointed. The woman who stands behind the stands at each game, listening to you. The woman who hears you belittle the kids on the field, constantly criticize each and every decision the coach makes, and make negative personal comments about certain individuals. The woman who reads the emails you send, attacking my child without knowing a single thing about him. The woman who wonders how you can feel qualified or justified in ANYTHING you are saying about the coach, any of the kids on the field, or any situation at all when you are never at a practice and only at games; never taking the opportunity to simply ASK the coach about something you may disagree with or wonder about.
Parents, this is just a game. Your child is not even in middle school yet, so to them it is still JUST A GAME that they play because they enjoy it. There is no way of knowing, at 10 and 11 years old, if your child is going to be the next big thing to hit the pros. Realistically, at least half of these kids won't even still be playing by the time they make it to the high school level, let alone anything beyond that. So why are you not taking the time now, when it counts and will stay with them, to teach them the value of good sportsmanship? The value of teamwork? The value of not believing that they are the superstar and everything revolves around them? Parents, you might not believe me when I say this, but your children emulate you. How you behave towards the game, the players, the coaches and the officials is exactly how they will behave as well.
Teach your children that the coaches are volunteering their time, and should be respected for that. Teach your children that building up your teammates is the key to a good season. Teach your children that the official is human, too, and makes mistakes. Teach your children that they can always improve, and to always be looking for ways to do that. Teach your children to recognize that the ultimate goal of the game is not to win, but to be able to walk off the field knowing that you have given your absolute best and can be proud of that fact.
Athletic talent in each child is either there, or it isn't. You can't force a child to be something he isn't. So parents, teach your children to be good sports, and good people. For only then will they be a person you have created and shaped, and you will be able to be truly proud of them.
And then maybe everyone will be able to enjoy the games again.
Thank you,
Sportsmama
Hi. I'm pretty sure you all know me. I'm the coach's wife. But please, give me minute to reintroduce myself to you, ok?
I'm the woman who is married to the man who spends no less than 20 hours a week volunteering his time so that your child can experience something more of the sport than simply playing catch with you in the back yard when you have a few free minutes. I'm the woman who is married to the man who sometimes has to be reminded that he has his OWN children that he needs to spend some attention on, because he has a tendency to become wrapped up in creating as wonderful an experience as he can make this sport for YOUR child. I'm the woman who willingly gives her husband to your child, and the sport, for all those many hours each week.
I'm the woman who is the mother to one of those kids on that field. One of those kids who might possibly be more talented than your child; or he might be struggling. One of those kids who has other issues behind the scenes; issues that might possibly dictate occasional behaviors that you may witness. I'm the mother to one of those kids who rely on positive feedback and reinforcement, to encourage him to continue to make efforts to improve himself, his behaviors and his athletic abilities. I'm the mother who constantly tries to teach her child good sportsmanship above all else, and that winning -- while it is certainly a worthy goal -- is not the ONLY goal.
I'm the woman who not only willingly gives her husband to your child for several hours each week, but gives of her own time for at least 20 hours each week. I'm the woman who represents you on the Board of Directors. I'm the woman who works to ensure that we continue to have a good relationship with the town we play this sport in. I'm the woman who works to ensure that you don't have to pay increasingly exorbitant fees for your child to participate in this sport he loves. I'm the woman who occasionally has to miss watching her own children play, so that she can ensure you get to watch yours play.
All of that, and yet.....
I'm also the woman who is hurt, angry and disappointed. The woman who stands behind the stands at each game, listening to you. The woman who hears you belittle the kids on the field, constantly criticize each and every decision the coach makes, and make negative personal comments about certain individuals. The woman who reads the emails you send, attacking my child without knowing a single thing about him. The woman who wonders how you can feel qualified or justified in ANYTHING you are saying about the coach, any of the kids on the field, or any situation at all when you are never at a practice and only at games; never taking the opportunity to simply ASK the coach about something you may disagree with or wonder about.
Parents, this is just a game. Your child is not even in middle school yet, so to them it is still JUST A GAME that they play because they enjoy it. There is no way of knowing, at 10 and 11 years old, if your child is going to be the next big thing to hit the pros. Realistically, at least half of these kids won't even still be playing by the time they make it to the high school level, let alone anything beyond that. So why are you not taking the time now, when it counts and will stay with them, to teach them the value of good sportsmanship? The value of teamwork? The value of not believing that they are the superstar and everything revolves around them? Parents, you might not believe me when I say this, but your children emulate you. How you behave towards the game, the players, the coaches and the officials is exactly how they will behave as well.
Teach your children that the coaches are volunteering their time, and should be respected for that. Teach your children that building up your teammates is the key to a good season. Teach your children that the official is human, too, and makes mistakes. Teach your children that they can always improve, and to always be looking for ways to do that. Teach your children to recognize that the ultimate goal of the game is not to win, but to be able to walk off the field knowing that you have given your absolute best and can be proud of that fact.
Athletic talent in each child is either there, or it isn't. You can't force a child to be something he isn't. So parents, teach your children to be good sports, and good people. For only then will they be a person you have created and shaped, and you will be able to be truly proud of them.
And then maybe everyone will be able to enjoy the games again.
Thank you,
Sportsmama
Sunday, December 7, 2008
WonkaVision
Every child has the right, the indisputable right, to be innocent for as long as they possibly can. To believe in all things good, all things fanciful, and happily ever after. They deserve to be able to walk through life wearing rose colored glasses; until adulthood, if possible. They not only deserve it, I honestly believe they need it to grow into the kind of adults that the world needs more of. The kind of adults that foster dreams and fairy tales, and the belief in happily ever after.
Without going into a lot of personal details, I'm going to tell you that events this weekend brutally and unforgivably stripped a few layers of innocence from both of my boys. Not just my boys, but other children we care deeply about. I thought my heart broke all it could break while all of this was unfolding, but I've found that it keeps cracking every time I look at my boys and realize that they've had to see a little bit of ugly in their world.
As a family, we had gone to the home of another family that we absolutely adore. The husband and wife, the little ones. My boys spoil these little ones, and love the fact that they are looked up to, and adored in return. We had a pretty good time, watching the boxing match and enjoying good food, drink and friendship. When we left to make our trek home a few hours later, it was with full bellies and full hearts. Coach and the boys fell asleep in the car on the way home, and all seemed right in our world. And then Coach's cell phone rang.
We were told we needed to turn around and hurry back to the home of our loved ones, there had been a horrible fight and someone needed to intervene; get them all settled down, and get the kids to a less stressful situation. Without hesitation, we turned right around and headed back. Bug continued to sleep, but Jock woke up wondering what was going on. After a brief explanation, he was just as concerned as we were.
When we arrived, it was to find the house locked up tightly; the wife in the backyard, yelling at the husband through the patio door. They were both angry, and it was probably a good thing that glass door separated them. When you combine stress, alcohol and anger you have the potential for an ugly situation. We were desperately trying to avoid that. We got the wife away from the door, and got her to walk out front with me. She was crying, sobbing really, but I did get out of her that half of their children had been taken to a neighbors because they had woken up. While that relieved me somewhat, my worry was for the other children still in the house. I went to the neighbors to check on the children there, gave great big hugs, and promised them a fun sleepover. They got bundled into the back of my truck with my boys. Bug was still sleeping, but I wondered for how long?
I was going to leave Jock at the truck with the kids, since the neighbor's husband had walked back with me. We could hear Coach and the husband in the house. The doors were all locked again, and I was determined to get in to remove the other children. The neighbor was at the patio door, and he thought it would be a good idea for Jock to come on back. The thinking being that if things inside had gotten volatile, Jock's presence might calm them down. No one involved wanted to do any of this in front of any of the kids. While I wasn't sure I was totally on board with this idea, I still had Jock with me--trying to find an open window. Fortunately, the bedroom for the kids still inside was able to be opened.
Let me interrupt here for a minute to tell you how amazing my son is. Always level headed, we still had no idea how he'd be in a crisis since he's never faced one. Oh, how calm he was! How absolutely, amazingly calm. He reached in the window, and with a playful tone of voice told the little ones to come outside to him. He grabbed them, and handed them to me to wrap in a blanket I'd grabbed. He ruffled their heads and told them to go with me, he'd come play with them in a minute. I hustled those kids to my truck, to climb in with their siblings and Bug, who had woken up by this time and was--without knowing a single thing about what was going on--keeping the kids in there occupied and distracted. He looked up when I added the newest little ones, and kept right on being Bug. Making them smile, keeping them at ease.
Goodness, how my kids make me proud.
I walked back around the house, only to find that the neighbor and Jock had climbed in the window and walked right into the living room. And the neighbors' hastily devised plan had worked. With Jock there, tempers were able to take a step back and rational thought was able to step forward. As rational as it could get when the main players were still clouded by alcohol, at any rate.
They let me come into the house to gather things for the kids, and we were all able to sit and talk. I had at this point sent Jock back out with all the kids, so it was just the adults. In the end, we left Coach to stay overnight, for support or whatever was needed, and I took off with a bunch of kids, who ended up sleeping at their grandma's house. Well, except for my two, who went home with me to their own beds.
I am beyond saddened at this loss of innocence, of those kids and my own kids. Innocence isn't something you can get back, and that breaks my heart. And I think it bothers my boys, too, while they might not know it or admit it. I think they're reaching for any slice of that innocence that they can get back. That ability to believe once again in all things fanciful and unbelievable.
The two of them are sitting here next to me on the couch, watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory*. And if chocolate waterfalls, candy daffodils and fizzy lifting drinks don't leave you feeling just a little cleaner and more innocent inside, I'm just not sure what will.
*The original with Gene Wilder, not the creepy remake with Johnny Depp.
Without going into a lot of personal details, I'm going to tell you that events this weekend brutally and unforgivably stripped a few layers of innocence from both of my boys. Not just my boys, but other children we care deeply about. I thought my heart broke all it could break while all of this was unfolding, but I've found that it keeps cracking every time I look at my boys and realize that they've had to see a little bit of ugly in their world.
As a family, we had gone to the home of another family that we absolutely adore. The husband and wife, the little ones. My boys spoil these little ones, and love the fact that they are looked up to, and adored in return. We had a pretty good time, watching the boxing match and enjoying good food, drink and friendship. When we left to make our trek home a few hours later, it was with full bellies and full hearts. Coach and the boys fell asleep in the car on the way home, and all seemed right in our world. And then Coach's cell phone rang.
We were told we needed to turn around and hurry back to the home of our loved ones, there had been a horrible fight and someone needed to intervene; get them all settled down, and get the kids to a less stressful situation. Without hesitation, we turned right around and headed back. Bug continued to sleep, but Jock woke up wondering what was going on. After a brief explanation, he was just as concerned as we were.
When we arrived, it was to find the house locked up tightly; the wife in the backyard, yelling at the husband through the patio door. They were both angry, and it was probably a good thing that glass door separated them. When you combine stress, alcohol and anger you have the potential for an ugly situation. We were desperately trying to avoid that. We got the wife away from the door, and got her to walk out front with me. She was crying, sobbing really, but I did get out of her that half of their children had been taken to a neighbors because they had woken up. While that relieved me somewhat, my worry was for the other children still in the house. I went to the neighbors to check on the children there, gave great big hugs, and promised them a fun sleepover. They got bundled into the back of my truck with my boys. Bug was still sleeping, but I wondered for how long?
I was going to leave Jock at the truck with the kids, since the neighbor's husband had walked back with me. We could hear Coach and the husband in the house. The doors were all locked again, and I was determined to get in to remove the other children. The neighbor was at the patio door, and he thought it would be a good idea for Jock to come on back. The thinking being that if things inside had gotten volatile, Jock's presence might calm them down. No one involved wanted to do any of this in front of any of the kids. While I wasn't sure I was totally on board with this idea, I still had Jock with me--trying to find an open window. Fortunately, the bedroom for the kids still inside was able to be opened.
Let me interrupt here for a minute to tell you how amazing my son is. Always level headed, we still had no idea how he'd be in a crisis since he's never faced one. Oh, how calm he was! How absolutely, amazingly calm. He reached in the window, and with a playful tone of voice told the little ones to come outside to him. He grabbed them, and handed them to me to wrap in a blanket I'd grabbed. He ruffled their heads and told them to go with me, he'd come play with them in a minute. I hustled those kids to my truck, to climb in with their siblings and Bug, who had woken up by this time and was--without knowing a single thing about what was going on--keeping the kids in there occupied and distracted. He looked up when I added the newest little ones, and kept right on being Bug. Making them smile, keeping them at ease.
Goodness, how my kids make me proud.
I walked back around the house, only to find that the neighbor and Jock had climbed in the window and walked right into the living room. And the neighbors' hastily devised plan had worked. With Jock there, tempers were able to take a step back and rational thought was able to step forward. As rational as it could get when the main players were still clouded by alcohol, at any rate.
They let me come into the house to gather things for the kids, and we were all able to sit and talk. I had at this point sent Jock back out with all the kids, so it was just the adults. In the end, we left Coach to stay overnight, for support or whatever was needed, and I took off with a bunch of kids, who ended up sleeping at their grandma's house. Well, except for my two, who went home with me to their own beds.
I am beyond saddened at this loss of innocence, of those kids and my own kids. Innocence isn't something you can get back, and that breaks my heart. And I think it bothers my boys, too, while they might not know it or admit it. I think they're reaching for any slice of that innocence that they can get back. That ability to believe once again in all things fanciful and unbelievable.
The two of them are sitting here next to me on the couch, watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory*. And if chocolate waterfalls, candy daffodils and fizzy lifting drinks don't leave you feeling just a little cleaner and more innocent inside, I'm just not sure what will.
*The original with Gene Wilder, not the creepy remake with Johnny Depp.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Quite Frankly, I'm A Bit Worried
So I was looking at a keyword analysis for my blog stats. I'm always curious how new people find me. What I discovered just makes me think I'm going to have to break down and tell my dad he's right. I absolutely should NOT EVER put up my boys' pictures or names. There are some really freaky people out there.
There were a couple different word groupings for this one:
Teenage boys wearing women's underwear. Um... yeah. You will NOT be finding any of that here. You won't find it at my house, either. I do his laundry, and I can tell you that his taste in undergarments doesn't run in that direction.
Excuses for scrapes and bruises. Friend, if you are Googling how to make excuses for these things, you have bigger problems than what blog to read. You might want to make sure that you are using an anonymous computer. Although what I'd really recommend is that you seek help for anger management, or Google your local shelters. I'm worried for you.
What country is Pig Latin spoken? *or* Pig Latin fairy tales. First, let me point out that Pig Latin is NOT a readily accepted form of communication. There is no country where its an official language. Second, if you are reading fairy tales written in Pig Latin..... you are my new hero. That stuff is hard to read!
Tell him to pull up his pants *or* Basketball boys wearing their boxers showing. (um.... as a side note... that grammar? NOT mine. That was word for word there.) Well, actually.... I agree with this one. I hate it when boys ('cuz really.... most fully grown men don't do this one) walk around with their pants around their knees. It bothers me greatly that we are beginning to look like a society of penguins.
On a positive.... someone actually Googled "Sports Mama"! Yay! Now I know that there is someone else out there using that name, and it's possible that they were looking for her.... but I'm going to believe they were looking for me. Just me.
Because believing that...... distracts me from the whole underwear issue.
There were a couple different word groupings for this one:
Teenage boys wearing women's underwear. Um... yeah. You will NOT be finding any of that here. You won't find it at my house, either. I do his laundry, and I can tell you that his taste in undergarments doesn't run in that direction.
Excuses for scrapes and bruises. Friend, if you are Googling how to make excuses for these things, you have bigger problems than what blog to read. You might want to make sure that you are using an anonymous computer. Although what I'd really recommend is that you seek help for anger management, or Google your local shelters. I'm worried for you.
What country is Pig Latin spoken? *or* Pig Latin fairy tales. First, let me point out that Pig Latin is NOT a readily accepted form of communication. There is no country where its an official language. Second, if you are reading fairy tales written in Pig Latin..... you are my new hero. That stuff is hard to read!
Tell him to pull up his pants *or* Basketball boys wearing their boxers showing. (um.... as a side note... that grammar? NOT mine. That was word for word there.) Well, actually.... I agree with this one. I hate it when boys ('cuz really.... most fully grown men don't do this one) walk around with their pants around their knees. It bothers me greatly that we are beginning to look like a society of penguins.
On a positive.... someone actually Googled "Sports Mama"! Yay! Now I know that there is someone else out there using that name, and it's possible that they were looking for her.... but I'm going to believe they were looking for me. Just me.
Because believing that...... distracts me from the whole underwear issue.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Have You Ever.....
.... just wanted to let someone know that you are fully aware that they don't like you, that you know not only that they are talking about you behind your back but every hurtful thing they are saying? *sigh*
Remember my mention of The Other Person? The person more commonly referred to by the Coach as The Twit? Now, I know. That's not any nicer than some of the stuff being said about me. My only saving grace here is that I'm not mentioning names. I'm even going to try (really, really hard) not to give enough details that you'll be able to figure out who it is. Although, truthfully... enough people know about both sides of this story (well, one side of it at least--depending on who's doing the telling) to probably be able to make a pretty good guess. However, I'm still going to stick to my guns and not actually tell anyone. (Really, you have no idea how much you should appreciate that!)
But in the interest of saving someone else from what I'm going through, I'm offering some suggestions on how to treat someone you don't particularly like, but have to deal with on a fairly regular basis:
1) Don't ... not EVER... no matter how great the temptation or how justified you think you might be simply because you CAN.... don't refer to something that they enjoy as "low class" or "white trash". All comments like that do is make you look unfeeling, uncaring, and petty.
2) Just because your Significant Other doesn't like a certain activity, don't make the generalization that a person that DOES enjoy that activity is somehow less intelligent or not as "worthy" as your S.O.
3) Don't ever let yourself get sucked into being childish enough to say snarky things that you KNOW will eventually get back to the other person.
4) Even though you may be the one in better health, or better looking, or better hair for goodness' sake.... there is nothing in this world that gives you the right to be mean, vindictive and derogatory towards the other person. Ever. For any reason.
5) Remember that there is NEVER anything that actually makes you superior to someone. Reality is that you're just as low on the likability scale to someone else, and if you had to hear the things being said about you by that someone else, you'd be hurt, too.
6) All having more money makes you is able to indulge a few more whims and wishes. It doesn't make you smarter, a better money manager, or Judge of All Creation. It just means that you've never been in quite the same situation that forces someone to face that.
7) And really...... I'm pretty sure this one applies to most of us out there.... didn't your mother raise you to have more respect for people in general than that?
At least.... mine did. Which is why I really am NOT going to rat you out. Either to your face or behind your back. I'm just going to continue acting like it matters to me whether or not you answer me when I ask how you're doing.
Although, with any luck at all.... at some point the bitterness, meanness and just plain snottiness you continue to direct at me will come back and bite you on your itty-bitty spoiled-rotten butt!
Remember my mention of The Other Person? The person more commonly referred to by the Coach as The Twit? Now, I know. That's not any nicer than some of the stuff being said about me. My only saving grace here is that I'm not mentioning names. I'm even going to try (really, really hard) not to give enough details that you'll be able to figure out who it is. Although, truthfully... enough people know about both sides of this story (well, one side of it at least--depending on who's doing the telling) to probably be able to make a pretty good guess. However, I'm still going to stick to my guns and not actually tell anyone. (Really, you have no idea how much you should appreciate that!)
But in the interest of saving someone else from what I'm going through, I'm offering some suggestions on how to treat someone you don't particularly like, but have to deal with on a fairly regular basis:
1) Don't ... not EVER... no matter how great the temptation or how justified you think you might be simply because you CAN.... don't refer to something that they enjoy as "low class" or "white trash". All comments like that do is make you look unfeeling, uncaring, and petty.
2) Just because your Significant Other doesn't like a certain activity, don't make the generalization that a person that DOES enjoy that activity is somehow less intelligent or not as "worthy" as your S.O.
3) Don't ever let yourself get sucked into being childish enough to say snarky things that you KNOW will eventually get back to the other person.
4) Even though you may be the one in better health, or better looking, or better hair for goodness' sake.... there is nothing in this world that gives you the right to be mean, vindictive and derogatory towards the other person. Ever. For any reason.
5) Remember that there is NEVER anything that actually makes you superior to someone. Reality is that you're just as low on the likability scale to someone else, and if you had to hear the things being said about you by that someone else, you'd be hurt, too.
6) All having more money makes you is able to indulge a few more whims and wishes. It doesn't make you smarter, a better money manager, or Judge of All Creation. It just means that you've never been in quite the same situation that forces someone to face that.
7) And really...... I'm pretty sure this one applies to most of us out there.... didn't your mother raise you to have more respect for people in general than that?
At least.... mine did. Which is why I really am NOT going to rat you out. Either to your face or behind your back. I'm just going to continue acting like it matters to me whether or not you answer me when I ask how you're doing.
Although, with any luck at all.... at some point the bitterness, meanness and just plain snottiness you continue to direct at me will come back and bite you on your itty-bitty spoiled-rotten butt!
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