FULL COLUMN: Empathy, sympathy, or none of the above

…from yesterday’s Tampa Tribune.

Sympathy: I am so sorry you’re going through this.

Empathy: I understand and share your pain.

You know those people who have to experience something in order to understand it?

Don’t they suck?

Husband and I were young newlyweds when we moved to Boston in search of careers, excitement, and liberal neighbors. We arrived at night and could only get a few blankets and pillows inside before a storm rolled in. I immediately called home and cried about my fears, concerns, and cold northern rain.

“Are you in a foxhole?” Stepdad asked. “In Vietnam? With people shooting at you? Then you don’t have it so bad.”

I stopped crying. The grumpy old man had a point.

We did well in Boston, carving out careers and traveling a bit. When Husband talked me into unprotected sex, our planned-for baby turned into twins. After much discussion, we decided to move back to Tampa, because we wanted our children surrounded by love and support.

Conservative rednecks didn’t matter as much.

Most people move their family to where their career is; we moved to be near family and let our careers happen after that.

When someone says that Husband and I have it easy because we live near my parents, I want to kick them in their naughty bits.

Nothing about raising kids is easy. If it is, you’re doing it wrong.

And nobody can have it all. That’s another fine myth thrown at you by Hollywood and Hallmark. Something has to give. Family or career. They can’t both be first.

Some people choose career and hope for the best. We chose family. That shows in our children’s confidence and kindness. They are amazing because they know they have an entire team on their side. And on their ass if they fuck up.

It matters.

But for a long time, even now to a certain extent, our careers taking a backseat to family had its consequences. You should see our savings account.

Oh, that’s right. We don’t have one.

We are still in the process of recovering from a piss poor decision to sell our Wesley Chapel house, move to Colorado, buy another house, then sell that one to return home less than a year later. But our kids are cool. So that’s something.

Besides, who wants to live in Wesley Chapel?

In the thick of it, adding in medical scares and a sluggish economy, we didn’t cry or schedule pity parties. We manned up and got through it, never forgetting for a moment that two little boys were counting on us.

A few family members acted like douchebags, planning extravagant family gatherings across the country and demanding our participation. We were dealing with 1800 mile commutes, short sales, and broken water heaters. We couldn’t afford their good times.

For refusing to incur such debt, we were blacklisted for several years in a row.

Other family members decided that after my hospital stay and relocation, I also needed lectures, judgments, and ridicule. Those same family members are now faced with very similar circumstances. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?

We’re planning bar mitzvahs for our sons in Israel. Struggling relatives won’t be able to go. Should we force the issue by threatening to shut them out of our lives? Another relative is faced with surgery; should I call her husband and give him the same ridicule, asking how he’d feel if he were far away and missing his children on top of everything else?

And then should I call them all selfish pricks – just for shits and giggles?

I probably won’t. And I won’t hold my breath waiting for an apology or the realization that they understand now, they finally understand.

But you know what else I won’t do? Show an ounce of sympathy. I’m all out. I feel and understand their pain, but I’m not sorry for them.

Or maybe I’ll just say they don’t have it so bad. The grumpy old man still has a point.