Hello, again. Happy Campus Sustainability Day. I’m proud to be speaking at Longwood this afternoon, discussing the great green strides this school has achieved — efforts which have been made possible, for the most part, due to my largess.
In other news, my daughter tried to kill herself.
Kids — one minute they’re learning to walk, and the next minute they’re scarfing down a Tylenol parfait and sending you disturbing texts:
“i wnt u 2 no tht i <3 u … : )”
Jasmine sent that to her mother, who forwarded the message to me.
I admit, I’ve never been very good at understand this texting; I had to ask Gerald, my intern, to act as decoder.
“It says ‘I want you to know that I love you. Smiley face.’” Gerald said.
This may sound pedestrian enough — but I know from experience that any time Jasmine is texting smiley faces to her mother, you better look the hell out.
Luckily, Jasmine also posted a few of her fond farewells on Facebook, which her RA spotted. Jasmine was found in bathtub, slowly fading away, typing into her laptop with one hand and texting with the other. She was rushed to Southside, had her stomach pumped, and has been slated for release today, having suffered no permanent damage.
She seems to be a lot happier.
What about me, though? How am I supposed to feel that my daughter didn’t even bother to send me a farewell text? She could have at least CCed it to me!
“I was going to text you,” Jasmine said. ”I was going to text you after Mrs. Duncan.”
So. It seems that in my daughter’s absurd hierarchy, her middle school swimming coach ranks higher than myself.
That’s how I’ve come to this realization: furiously shoveling money onto an invest does not guarantee superlative dividends.
Just because I have provided Jasmine with an enviable life doesn’t mean that she will appreciate it. Kids don’t appreciate money; they appreciate human interaction.
Thus, from now on, I will be visiting my daughter every weekend. If I find myself in Irvine on Friday, I will jet back to Farmville in time for Saturday brunch. This may sound extreme, but I love my daughter: she is one investment I don’t want to see self-destruct.
Hope to see you around campus today.
At first I thought it was sarcasm, your largess sounded funny. and then the story was too simple and filled with minor annoyances to not be real. How sad for your daughter and for all of you to go through all of that. I thank you for sharing your most ordinary and extreme experience. It is common and terrible. I wish you well in your reconnecting.