My kids knew your name.
“She makes money for being famous, Mom.”
“Famous for what?”
“Famous for being famous.”
“But what does she do?”
“Nothing.”
“Where did she come from?”
“Her Dad saved OJ.”
“Wrong,” little brother argued. “Her dad ran the Olympics.”
My kids know about you. And now that I cannot drive my car, turn on my computer, or listen to the news without hearing your name, I need to know about you, too. Your website says you get 40 million hits a month, which means a whole lot of people listen to you, emulate you, and are influenced by you. That makes your thoughts, words, and actions significant.
But who are you?
Your bio says you “grew up with an almost fairy-tale childhood.”
News reports say that you sold the rights to your wedding for $17.9 million dollars. Did you really make $10,358.80 pmh- per marriage hour? Who sells the rights to their wedding? Who gets paid for being married?
Fans say they are devastated that your marriage is over, and they can no longer watch you and your handsome athlete play house, argue, make-up, make dinner, pay the bills- or invest your astonishing pmh earnings.
You say: “I’m a hopeless romantic! I love with all of my heart and soul. I want a family and babies and a real life so badly that maybe I rushed in to something too soon…It just didn’t turn out to be the fairy tale I had so badly hoped for…”
So, that’s who you are! A Disney Princess caricature! It’s obvious that at the tender age of 31, you need guidance. So brace yourself, Precious (my fairy tale name for you.) Allow me to tell you the most important thing about life.
Life isn’t a fairy tale.
You can’t ‘play’ life for film crews, cameras and fans, and hope it becomes authentic. If you truly ‘want a family and babies and a real life so badly,’ pack up your millions, turn off the cameras and join the rest of us in reality. That’s the place where we live. We worry about paying our bills, yell at our kids, and don’t have time to put on mascara. We fight, say terrible things to the people we love, then work like hell to make it better. Sometimes, we lose our jobs. Our homes. Our self-respect. We even lose our loved ones- to illness, old age, tragic accidents, neglect- and it breaks our hearts and spirit.
You say “….I hope you respect my courage because this isn’t easy to go through.”
Rather than seeking sympathy or respect, Precious, I think you should consult a dictionary. Look up the definition of ‘courage’, and you’ll discover that divorcing a guy you chose to marry- after 72 days- won’t be listed. Courage is working at marriage and enduring heartache, loneliness, stress, fatigue, anger, resentment, boredom, illness, infidelity and a whole lot of un-fairy tale like hardships; understanding that when two people commit to living together year after year, life is grand or it’s life. Courage is staying the course when caring for your kids, a debilitated spouse, or a child with special-needs robs your energy, passion, and ability to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Courage is getting up every morning and looking for a job so you can support your family, even though every interview ends with “Thanks, and good luck.” Courage is being your kids’ parent instead of their friend; paying attention and engaging in yet another battle when the simpler response is to acquiesce. Courage is holding a hand when the diagnosis is ‘cancer’, and holding a head in your hands when the curls you loved so much are gone. Courage is juggling way too many balls in the air: giving your best effort day after day, learning from ups and downs, and cherishing those precious, fleeting moments where joy and laughter grace reality.
You say “…my dad always told me to follow my heart and I believe now that I really am.”
Well, now you have my sympathy, Precious.
Fans say they are devastated that your marriage is over, and they can no longer watch you and your handsome athlete play house, argue, make-up, make dinner, pay the bills- or invest your astonishing pmh earnings.
You say: “I’m a hopeless romantic! I love with all of my heart and soul. I want a family and babies and a real life so badly that maybe I rushed in to something too soon…It just didn’t turn out to be the fairy tale I had so badly hoped for…”
So, that’s who you are! A Disney Princess caricature! It’s obvious that at the tender age of 31, you need guidance. So brace yourself, Precious (my fairy tale name for you.) Allow me to tell you the most important thing about life.
Life isn’t a fairy tale.
You can’t ‘play’ life for film crews, cameras and fans, and hope it becomes authentic. If you truly ‘want a family and babies and a real life so badly,’ pack up your millions, turn off the cameras and join the rest of us in reality. That’s the place where we live. We worry about paying our bills, yell at our kids, and don’t have time to put on mascara. We fight, say terrible things to the people we love, then work like hell to make it better. Sometimes, we lose our jobs. Our homes. Our self-respect. We even lose our loved ones- to illness, old age, tragic accidents, neglect- and it breaks our hearts and spirit.
You say “….I hope you respect my courage because this isn’t easy to go through.”
Rather than seeking sympathy or respect, Precious, I think you should consult a dictionary. Look up the definition of ‘courage’, and you’ll discover that divorcing a guy you chose to marry- after 72 days- won’t be listed. Courage is working at marriage and enduring heartache, loneliness, stress, fatigue, anger, resentment, boredom, illness, infidelity and a whole lot of un-fairy tale like hardships; understanding that when two people commit to living together year after year, life is grand or it’s life. Courage is staying the course when caring for your kids, a debilitated spouse, or a child with special-needs robs your energy, passion, and ability to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Courage is getting up every morning and looking for a job so you can support your family, even though every interview ends with “Thanks, and good luck.” Courage is being your kids’ parent instead of their friend; paying attention and engaging in yet another battle when the simpler response is to acquiesce. Courage is holding a hand when the diagnosis is ‘cancer’, and holding a head in your hands when the curls you loved so much are gone. Courage is juggling way too many balls in the air: giving your best effort day after day, learning from ups and downs, and cherishing those precious, fleeting moments where joy and laughter grace reality.
You say “…my dad always told me to follow my heart and I believe now that I really am.”
Well, now you have my sympathy, Precious.
Someone should have told you to grow up.
QUING HEREBY DECREES: Henceforth, rather than celebrating fame, we will celebrate COURAGE.
No comments:
Post a Comment