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Never Got the Chance to Be Proud

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There are times throwing yourself on the floor and howling might be the most appropriate response, but it is rather gauche. Hence, one remains in a seated position, adopts the zombie mien, and no one will ever know how you feel.

I was blessed to view others go through the debacle so obtained a preview.

I never expected I would experience it. But I did. However, when i was in the spotlight, I was never hurt as intended. Because I knew what was happening and what was going to follow.

I disconnected, almost worthy of condemnation, save subsequent events confirmed the correctness of my action.


My best friend's daughter was born five years before mine. Her parents were upper middle class so she never rode on a bus, never was denied what she wanted. She attended the very best schools.

This allowed her mother to brag from 1st form to 5th.

As the obverse, my daughter was 'not academic'; which is a nice way of putting it. I accepted her low grades, her ignorance, without any criticism.

My best friends daughter didn't get the scholarships despite expectation. The daughter decided to attend a school which far beyond the pockets of my friends.

This was the first time anyone had ever said 'no' to the 'ape'.

Angry at being denied, my friend's daughter responded by under achieving, and doing what she could to drive my best friend into an early grave.

I watched, silent, shocked that a child could think so little of her mother. I was not shocked when I realized my daughter didn't care much about me when she manifested the same traits.

Having had this 'preview' my strategies were in place.

The attempts of my daughter to hurt me fell flat. It must have been a great disappointment to my child that she couldn't reduce me to tears.

The Tragedy

My best friend, who had sacrificed so much, who had devoted herself to her daughter, was shunned and shocked when instead of attending a decent University that was affordable, she selected a community college.

The daughter moved out of the family home, to be closer to her school, (so she said). She actually left home to hurt her mother. To hide her life from her mother.

Subsequently, she married a landscape architect; (a gardener) at the registry. Married a man her mother never met. Married a man without my best friend's knowledge.

My best friend, who was the 'go to' person for planning every kind of function, had imagined a wedding for her daughter with all the frills.

Now she is confronted by a nobody who is her son in law. Standing there, looking at the gardener, her daughter smiled in this evil way.

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I knew this performance was created to hurt my best friend.

How could she, a girl with a sparkling future, with opportunities and possibilities choose to marry a gardener, at a Registry?


This girl had lived her whole life with one purpose; to hurt her mother.

And this did.

The End

Looking back, I recall my best friend would brag and beam when her daughter entered that top High School. How she was sure her daughter would attend a particular university and major in a particular field.

I remember how she was sure her daughter would graduate, gain a prestigious job, meet important people. And marry a rich man.

My best friend who had come from a lower class family with expectations, who had tried and could go no further than a job in an office. Who worked hard, met a man with ambition, so that by the time that daughter was born, they had money.

They had money and their daughter could fulfill their dreams.

But reality was cruel.

A nothing community college, marriage to a poor man, gaining a job in an office. Becoming lower class, unable to afford what she'd had as a child.

My daughter, using her personality, had gotten a good job, earning far more money and marrying a man who came from a wealthy family.

I never shared any of this.

I never wanted to add to hurt and pain which tore years from my best friend's life, filled her with stress and a sense of worthlessness.

When she died, her daughter decided to manage the funeral. It was one of the worst I had ever attended. No one was called to speak for her mother and I stood there trembling.

The Priest came to me, just as distraught and said, "Funerals are not for the dead, they are so the living can feel good about themselves."

There was my friend, lying in that coffin who never got the chance to be proud, really proud of the daughter she sacrificed so much of herself for.

A daughter, who seemed rather pleased to be rid of her mother.

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