DD10 got two cards in the mail a few days ago; a get-well card signed by two of her little sisters and one from XH. The one from XH was one of those sappy cards with a long poem on the front & then the rest of the poem on the inside. The poem was about “it’s not fair that this happened to you, but don’t give up.”
When I handed her the cards, I recognized his handwriting immediately. She said, Who’s this from? When I told her it was from her dad, she said, Oh. Then when she read it, she asked me if that was his handwriting. Then she kept asking why he writes like that (he’s left handed & writes sort of loopy – sort of like the Walt Disney script). He wrote a huge paragraph in the card about how he’s so fortunate to have DD10 & DD13 as his daughters & how DD10 should use her diabetes to help other little girls who are going through the same thing and how she gives him strength to do anything because she has a great attitude.
I know it was nice to send a card & all, but SHE’S NOT SICK. Yes, she has Type I Diabetes, but she’s learning to manage, she’s been doing well. Actually, she’s doing great!
I have been feeling sort of put out with him that she didn’t recognize his handwriting and I want to be glad that he made some sort of effort, but I’m not.
I can totally understand that he’s not got a clue about diabetes. Afterall, he’s not living with it each day. I cannot understand not trying to learn.
XH could know a lot if he wanted to.
And really, the diabetes thing doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that DD10 didn’t recognize his handwriting. To me, somehow, that’s worse.
I’m not sure why it bothers me so much. Maybe because I think handwriting is such a personal thing. The kids recognize mine immedately – just as I recognize theirs, my parents’ and my sisters’ handwriting. I know the handwriting of most of the people in the office where I work and people I’ve known throughout my life. I distinctly remember the handwriting of my 6th grade reading teacher & of my 2 best childhood friends. It’s almost like it’s part of who we are or something. Maybe I’m just weird and am making a big deal of nothing (in my mind).