David slapped his right shoe across his grandmother's face for the seventh time.
Out of Grandma not a word came.
The weight of her resignation could be felt in all the ways that she behaved.
But wait…
How did we end up here again ?
Each Saturday, I drive the girls to gym practice 50 minutes away from home. That's a long drive, I know. We live in the countryside. Maybe you should too.
Once I get there, I have three hours to kill. Instead of running to the mall like most other parents, I sit at a nearby café, rock my noise-cancelling headphones, and write on my laptop.
Except this time, focusing was impossible.
Young David was displeased, you see.
Barely finished with the orgy of sugar his Grandma had just ordered for him (despite being old enough to place the order himself), David proceeded to rolling on the floor howling:
"I wannaaaaanodeeeer cookiiiiiiiie !"
In this situation, one would expect the adult in charge to restore the peace that any public space shared with other human beings deserves.
As I was coming to the realization that there's only so much noise-canceling my headphones can do, Grandma failed to deliver.
And that's just half of the problem.
Two tables away sat a father with two kids who wouldn't stop fighting.
Dad was on a TikTok scrolling spree, sporadically embodying authority by grunting out their names in an outraged tone, as if suddenly afflicted by a rare two-word version of the Tourette syndrome.
Then back to the phone he went.
I am no stranger to publicly voicing my concerns when the position feels legitimate.
But I'm also wise enough to know that trying to teach a life lesson to someone who's not ready to hear it is like trying to teach a pig to elbow sneeze.
So I left.
As I sat in the car looking for another episode of "Philosophize This" to listen to while driving to the mall (shh, don't tell anybody), I saw Grandma coming out of the store, carrying David to the car, his waist clamped under her arm.
Casting a level ten snot-spraying spell, the screaming and kicking goblin refused to come to his senses.
Still, out of Grandma not a word came.
As she struggled to strap him into the car seat, the creature removed its shoe and repeatedly slapped it across her face.
At that very moment, Dad came out too, his two kids in tow, both still squabbling gibberish.
As he headed for his car, he and Grandma shared a look heavier than words.
"Good luck", he told her, raising his eyebrows, rolling his eyes.
In return, Grandma frowned silently.
If you fail to see the life lesson here, let me point you to the exact part of the story:
"Good luck", he told her (…)
Martha and I hear that a lot.
“You guys are so lucky to”:
Be physically fit over 40
Never get sick
Live in the country side far away from the city
Have time to learn new skills and do tons of different things
Pursue careers that make you feel alive
Have two resilient, independent and helpful daughters
And so on.
(Not a flex by the way, just making a point)
The thing is: luck has nothing to do with it.
The circumstances you find yourself in are not a byproduct of luck, but the result of your actions, or their lack thereof.
Luck is but a guise for labor and sacrifices unseen.
If you arrived this far by mistake, maybe not all hope is lost. What about learning how to cook real carbonara ?