Some days I reserve the right to be an asshole
Today would have been my dad's 85th birthday. I double checked my math on that because the number seems unfathomable to me. He was 49 when I was born, so he was always an old guy in my eyes. But 85? That's straight up elderly.
I always remember my dad's birthday, but I don't usually dwell on it or get particularly sad. However, this morning my mom posted a message wishing him a happy birthday that made me feel the feelings. It's always harder to watch someone you love experience pain than actually be in pain yourself.
Cut to our department meeting this afternoon. I'm not a huge fan of our acting director. As a person she's OK, but as a director I know that she's in over her head but she refuses to acknowlege her shortcomings. For some reason (like maybe she read about it in a book on how to be a good manager?), she insists that we do icebreakers at our biweekly department meeting as if we don't already work with each other all day every day. Today's ice breaker was based on something she read on The Blogess in which people make up stories that are only 4 words long - one sad story and one happy story. Given that today was already kind of sad for me, I asked if we could just do happy stories (without explaining my reason).
Acting director said "Nah, let's do happy and sad."
Since we only had a few moments to write our stories, and the only sad thing that came to mind was my dead dad's birthday, I wrote "Happy birthday, dead father."
We read the stories aloud. Most of them were funny, even the sad ones. Then I read mine and some of the other ladies at the table were aghast. "Who wrote that?!" they exclaimed.
"I did, because today actually is my dead dad's birthday. That's why I only wanted to do happy stories," I replied, voice quivering in that way that one's voice quivers when you know you're about 5 seconds away from being on the verge of tears.
"OK. Not doing sad stories ever again," remarked acting director. In that moment my sadness gave way to satisfaction. I had sabotaged acting director's stupid ice breaker by playing the dead dad card. I could say I did so unintentionally, but it's probably more accurate to say it was subconscious.
I'm still trying to decide if I feel bad about it. It was kind of immature, but sometimes it's hard to put one's feelings aside for the sake of playing along with stupid work bullshit. I do feel like an asshole for doing it, but on some days of the year, I reserve the right to be an asshole.
I always remember my dad's birthday, but I don't usually dwell on it or get particularly sad. However, this morning my mom posted a message wishing him a happy birthday that made me feel the feelings. It's always harder to watch someone you love experience pain than actually be in pain yourself.
Cut to our department meeting this afternoon. I'm not a huge fan of our acting director. As a person she's OK, but as a director I know that she's in over her head but she refuses to acknowlege her shortcomings. For some reason (like maybe she read about it in a book on how to be a good manager?), she insists that we do icebreakers at our biweekly department meeting as if we don't already work with each other all day every day. Today's ice breaker was based on something she read on The Blogess in which people make up stories that are only 4 words long - one sad story and one happy story. Given that today was already kind of sad for me, I asked if we could just do happy stories (without explaining my reason).
Acting director said "Nah, let's do happy and sad."
Since we only had a few moments to write our stories, and the only sad thing that came to mind was my dead dad's birthday, I wrote "Happy birthday, dead father."
We read the stories aloud. Most of them were funny, even the sad ones. Then I read mine and some of the other ladies at the table were aghast. "Who wrote that?!" they exclaimed.
"I did, because today actually is my dead dad's birthday. That's why I only wanted to do happy stories," I replied, voice quivering in that way that one's voice quivers when you know you're about 5 seconds away from being on the verge of tears.
"OK. Not doing sad stories ever again," remarked acting director. In that moment my sadness gave way to satisfaction. I had sabotaged acting director's stupid ice breaker by playing the dead dad card. I could say I did so unintentionally, but it's probably more accurate to say it was subconscious.
I'm still trying to decide if I feel bad about it. It was kind of immature, but sometimes it's hard to put one's feelings aside for the sake of playing along with stupid work bullshit. I do feel like an asshole for doing it, but on some days of the year, I reserve the right to be an asshole.