I often think that's my problem: I am a truth-teller and not too many people want to hear it.
DNA is the ultimate truth-teller, which is how I discovered who my birth father was after 47 years of believing it was another man. This discovery was a revelation to me and to my newly-found five sisters and two brothers. But, it didn't pan out as I had hoped. Two of my sisters want nothing to do with me; one sort of does, but the other two appear thrilled to learn of my existence. As for my brothers, one is dead and the other is MIA to his entire family. Happily, I am still in touch with one of my sisters, Maureen -- the other mistake at the tail end of the line; she is the youngest, I the oldest.
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| My five sisters. |
Another truth I am finally telling is about a friend with whom I used to swim regularly, until she got brain cancer and became disabled. When we both lived in Calgary, we used to meet regularly for lunch. Now that I live 25 minutes up the road in Cochrane, we still meet for lunch, but I have to drive it both ways because she can no longer drive. I also have to drive her home, which is in the opposite direction to where I live. Now, this is a couple who both had good, high-paying jobs, which has landed them with HUGE pensions; they also only had one kid. We, on the other hand, supported nine people for many years.
Here's my peeve: She has never picked up the tab when we meet; common courtesy tells me she should now and then. Afterall, I am the one using the gas and subjecting by 23-year-old car to extra wear and tear, so one would think she'd have the courtesy to cover my lunch every now and then. But she never offers and is always clear with the server about two tabs.
So, it'll probably be bye-bye to this friend when she reads this blog.
Reality bites, but I am OK with it all.
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