Sitting in a Coffee Bean and Tea, writing. A loud woman on her phone was telling someone—extremely loudly—”YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS. BUT JEREMY SCORED THREE GOALS TODAY! YES, THREE GOALS! IT’S HIS BEST GAME OF THE SEASON! AND WE HAVE ANOTHER GAME AT 1! YES … OH, OK. BYE!”
She hung up, ordered her coffee, dialed another number. And, more or less, said this: “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS. BUT JEREMY SCORED THREE GOALS TODAY! YES, THREE GOALS! IT’S HIS BEST GAME OF THE SEASON! AND WE HAVE ANOTHER GAME AT 1! YES … OH, OK. BYE!”
I have tremendous pride in my children. I truly do. And my wife and I brag to each other about them quite often. But I’m keenly aware that the vast majority of people don’t give a shit. You don’t want to hear my brag about my kids’ baseball games and water polo games. My friends don’t want to hear how many goals they scored, what they got on a test. I know this, because I’ve had the following discussion:
Me: “Emmett had two hits today.”
Friend: “Oh. That’s cool.”
Me: “You don’t really give a shit about that, do you?”
Friend: “Not really.”
And it’s true—my friends don’t give a shit about how many hits my son has in a game. And why would they? It’s not interesting. Hell, I’d argue my parents don’t really give a shit how many hits my son has in a game. I mean, they care a little, I suppose. But bare minimum. There are simply more riveting things in the world; more pressing items.
So, take it from me, a guy with children aged 10 and 13: The last time you bragged to your friend how Little Julie just said, “mamamoomoo” and it was so cute and you have a video … and … and … and …
Most people don’t give a shit.
And that’s perfectly fine.
