Haven’t read “Charlotte’s Web?” There’s no help for you. But alright, already…
Charlotte dies in the end.
We started “movie night,” to get used to watching TV in the basement, but also as an excuse to eat popcorn (which, contrary to old diet advice, is NOT a great snack, even unbuttered, because it is made of CORN and CORN is all CARBS and CARBS turn into SUGAR and SUGAR is EVIL, which doesn’t keep us from eating it…but you knew that already. I digress.)
My daughter chose “Charlotte’s Web.” It had amazing animatronics, or whatever the technology of making live animals look like they are talking is called.
She watched the whole thing, from beginning to end. The first time she had ever watched any movie, with me, all the way through.
Probably because I said no popcorn unless she did, but still.
Add to that, two scenes:
First, kindly country doctor calms down Mom, who worries that her daughter Fern believes she can talk to animals.
Circa 1950-something doctor explains, “it’s a phase. She’ll grow out of it.”
Wow. Now, that Mom would walk out with a costly psychopharmacopia and her wonderful, imaginative, magical kid would be drugged into submission, stat. GAAAH!
(But, Fern can talk to animals. So can Doctor Doolittle. So can I. You should hear the conversations I have with Sophie cat at feeding time. She says “Mah-AAAAHHHHM, MAHaaaaaaaahmm Mahm! Mahm MAAAAAAAAHM!” exactly like a whiny, Midwestern toddler. And horses read my mind. But I digress. Again).
Second: Charlotte explains to Wilbur the pig that she has made her “magnum opus,” an egg sac, is languishing, and will die, as all living things do, when their time is up.
My daughter next to me on the couch, holding her now-empty bowl of popcorn, perfectly still, listening.
Thinking about her Dad. (Yes. I converse with cats, silently talk to horses that read my mind, and listen to my daughter think.)
It was the best explanation of death yet offered her, given in Charlotte’s gentle voice.
Before she died, Charlotte wove one last word into her web, after “some pig,” “terrific,” and “radiant,” trying to literally save Wilbur’s bacon, so he can be a spring pig who lives to see the winter snow:
Humility. You let others have the spotlight. You do good deeds without reward or recognition. You are nice, to people and animals (animals are easier). You never think you are better than they.
You do what you have to do without complaint, gratefully.
Stress and caregiving imposed several career setbacks over the years. I did what I had to do. Worked two jobs for a while – 18 hour days — as a headset monkey in a call center (OK, that was snarky, but it was a call center) and in retail at a mall-based department store, a/k/a the 12th circle of hell. I did it to buy food, pay bills and provide health insurance, not always succeeding at all three simultaneously.
The headset monkey employer asked applicants to complete an “optional” assessment. Optional! No pressure here, desperate applicants! Invasive, offensive, personal questions that had nothing to do with job skills, but allegedly could “predict success.”
Our situation was dire.
I sucked it up, filled it out, and took the job.
That was not humility.
That was humiliation.
It just happened again.
While completing an online application that did a good job of pre-populating fields off my uploaded resume, WHAM – another “assessment.” This one, required.
I don’t mind skills-based tests that show you can do things related to the job.
But I do mind having to “strongly agree” or “somewhat disagree” about tossing litter on the street, doing things I didn’t tell others about, obeying the law, or whether I’m a happy person.
During this “assessment,” my sweet daughter wrapped a blanket around me.
She startled me. I missed a question. I barked at her.
For this stupid, invasive, offensive, inappropriately personal “assessment.”
If your job application makes me snap at my kid, you know where you can put your job.
Yep. Just as high up in there as you can get it.
Another place used a questionnaire that essentially asked “when did you stop beating your spouse?,” assuming applicants drink and do drugs on the job, fight with each other, and steal things.
I aspire to be humble, but I’m saying no to humiliation.
I have faith. I believe things will work out. Same day, I got a call for a job more suited to me. I will turn the other cheek (meaning offer the cheek of an equal, not the cheek of an inferior) and never be humiliated like that again.
Trying to regain some dignity and be especially nice to my daughter, I remain,
Your mad-I-completed-the-thing and hoping-they-shove-my-answers-high-up-there-with-the-job,