“Well, I suppose schools aren’t as selective as they used to be.”
When I landed my first real job in film editing, Dad asked whether I was actually getting paid to “mess around with movie clips.”
Elise once crashed his car while texting.
Dad shrugged.
“It’s just a car.”
I once forgot to close the garage door.
I got a thirty-minute lecture about responsibility, gratitude, and respect.
That was how our family worked.
Eventually, I learned to keep things to myself.
I stopped bringing home good news.
Stopped waiting for praise.
Stopped giving them opportunities to make me feel smaller.
And yet, I still showed up for Elise’s wedding.
Partly because she had asked me to come.
And partly because I had a job to do.
Several months earlier, Elise had asked me to create a slideshow for the reception.
Nothing too polished.
She already had an expensive videography team handling the professional footage.
She just wanted something “fun.”
Baby pictures.
Childhood memories.
College clips.
Old family videos.
I agreed.
"At my sister’s wedding, my father leaned close enough that only I could hear him. “Try not to ruin this the way you ruin everything else.”
