Where’s the Sarcasm Ball when You Need it?

We fostered our niece from the time she was 13 until adulthood. She came to us when Hannah was only 4, and I had no experience parenting teens. It was quite a ride. 

One thing that bothered me was how often I caught myself being sarcastic with her, especially when she was less than adept at most things domestic. Hannah was little and I couldn’t imagine saying such things to her.  I simultaneously felt mean doing it and powerless to stop. 

I hadn’t considered myself sarcastic, and was disturbed by this parenting flaw. 

Last year, out of the blue, I found a sarcasm ball on my desk at work. When I enquired about it, the coworker who supplied it bluntly called me the most sarcastic person she knew. 

I was taken aback. I consider myself a nice or good person, which didn’t jibe with sarcasm, but low and behold, here I was declared the most sarcastic person in someone’s entire life. 

I’ve been in the process of some hefty personal development, and one of the things I am learning is that people won’t always like or accept me. 

People will unfriended me. 

People will be annoyed by me. 

People might find me too much. Or not enough. 

And I’m learning that it’s okay to be my sarcastic self, even when I make my teenagers roll their eyes. (By the way, Hannah’s 17 now, and I’m just as cynical with her, it wasn’t Chelsea, it was me). 

That doesn’t make me less or not okay. It means that I’m fallible and human, even though I am perpetually chagrined about it. And evidently more than a bit sarcastic. Who knew? (besides everyone but me?)


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