My school invited (ie: paid) a speaker to come and talk to the kiddos about drug abuse. Instead, it was pretty much a monotone, very slow chat about how awful the world is for a rich person who decides the money he has to burn will go into his veins.
The timing couldn't be worse. Today is the 23rd anniversary of the death of my husband to cancer.
How pompous and presumptuous this speaker was. Oh, boohoo, how fucking horrible a life you led with a two-parent family that owned multiple properties, how gut-wrenching your life as a pro-athlete.
Yup, I'm sure it has been. And, fuck you, while you're at it.
Tell someone who is dying of cancer (or some other slow, horrible, terminal death) how horrifying your life is, dude. Watch me not cry as you drone on and on about how you decided to become addicted to drugs and drink. Yup, my fucking heart fucking bleeds for you. Or perhaps it doesn't.
Not for nothing, but your presentation sucked. No affect. Very little emotion behind your words. Slow and halted delivery of your speech. No connection to the kids except the one you high-fived as she left the room crying.
One of my students started crying back in homeroom after your speech. Why? Because you said quite casually, "My mother died of cancer." This kid's mother has battled cancer three times, and the kid is terrified she is going to die because of it. Thanks, dude. Thanks for confirming his worst nightmare.
Yup, the timing sucks. Couldn't be a worse day. Well, except for the fact that now I have ninety minutes I'll never recover at the whim of a selfish rich kid with too much money in his pocket.
Yeah, I'm an asshole. I'm an asshole who cares about the people who want to live (and won't) rather than those who are so cavalier about the preciousness of life and think they are somehow heroes for being zeroes. Yup, a real tragedy. SMFH.
