Shelly Called

Shelly called the other day.

It was a call with no particular purpose (so it seemed), so I wasn’t prepared to hear what she was about to tell me.

She went on a business trip to Singapore recently (that was great! I said) and, since she only had one day stay there, she got hold of a phone book and called everybody there with the same last name as my ex’s.

“Why?” I was a little alarmed.
“To tell him how the kids are doing.”
“Why do you want to do that? Don’t you remember what happened last time he tried to get in touch with us?”
“No. What happened?” It didn’t affect her family so I guess it didn’t make an impression with her, even thought she knew because I had to change my phone number.
“He wanted Andy to go down there to help him!” This is a father who didn’t pay any attention to the kids while they were growing up, but now that my son was old enough to be of any use, he wanted him back with him. There was no mentioning or care about me or my daughter. I cried for a few days before I changed my phone number.

“How old was Andy when this happened?” She asked.
“About 20.” Why does it matter? I thought to myself.
“Well, it’s not up to you then—he was over 18 and an adult. He can make his own decisions. Kids are not your properties, you know.”

No. Obviously they are her properties, and she has the right to meddle. I don’t know what kind of rights she thinks she has with my kids, or what kind of relationship she had (or has) with my ex, but she obviously knows no boundary when it comes to other people’s family affair. I know a couple of marriages were ruined because of her. I know she has no sympathy to anybody’s misfortune (they deserved it, she said), and the kids and I put up with her mockery and put downs for years. “Don’t grow up like Andy’” is one of her favorite things to “teach” her kids, and she proudly told me so. I don’t even want to imagine what she said about me to her kids.

I used to “make” the kids to go with me to visit her because, even though with the lack of our pictures in her living room, we are families. These couple of years I stopped doing that. Life is too short for people lacking compassion and having warped sense of superiority. This call was the last straw. I haven’t talked to her since. She will no doubt turn things around and tell our mother how hard she’s trying and I am just too cold to get close to. Frankly I don’t care anymore. She was never of any help, emotional or otherwise. I see no point of keeping in touch with her, except adding misery to my life. I’m not sad over what she did. I’m just mad.

With a sister like her, who needs enemy?