When the arrangements for my granddaughter Sarah’s wedding took an unforeseen turn,
Jim, my spouse, and I had to deal with her startling entitlement complex.
What started off as anticipation for her special day swiftly turned into a lesson in respect and gratitude that neither of us could have predicted.
Okay, folks, I just had to get this off my chest. We were thrilled for my granddaughter Sarah, who is soon to get married. Jim, my spouse, and I were ecstatic when she informed us of the news. We immediately began discussing the wedding and considering how we might contribute to making it unique.
But a few days ago, everything was different.Sarah wrote us a letter that very about broke both of our hearts. I can still clearly recall opening it.
There was a $5,000 check and a note that felt like a verbal abuse.
The note said, “This year for my birthday, I want to go on a vacation with my fiancé.”
“Cash for it. I’m hoping you have enough saved up after giving me cheap, junk gifts for years. I’ll give you some history now.
Jim and I have consistently made an effort to support Sarah. While we’re not wealthy, we have provided
what we were able to. We have given her ancestral jewelry, created her handcrafted quilts over the years, and even assisted with a down payment on her first automobile. We also paid for a portion of her education costs.
We’ve always assumed that she valued these things. Jim took a seat at the kitchen table with me.
The letter and check were lying there between us, unlucky charms. Anger and hurt made my hands shake.
“Is this really true?” Holding out the letter, I posed the question. My eyes pricked with tears.
“After all of our assistance to her?” Jim’s expression was one of disappointment. “This is blatantly incorrect,”
He spoke, his voice laden with melancholy. “This is how she repays us for all that we’ve given her?”
Though I could feel my heart shattering, a resolution was beginning to grow behind the pain. “We must not let this slide,” I firmly stated.
“She must realize that there are repercussions for her actions.” Jim slowly nodded. “You’re accurate. She must acquire respect and thankfulness. But how can we get her to realize that? We chose to collect everything Sarah had ever received from us.
Although we were deeply troubled by the choice, we knew it was essential. We started by storing a lot of priceless objects from throughout the years in the attic. Jim whispered, “Lead with the quilts,” and opened a big cedar box.
Inside were the carefully folded quilts that I had spent months creating for Sarah. I touched the elaborate designs with my fingertips.
Recalling the numerous hours I had invested in every seam. I whispered, “These quilts were made with love,” as I started to cry.
“I assumed she loved them.” Jim put his hand reassuringly on my shoulder. One day, he said, “she might realize their value.”
We gently folded the quilts together and put them in a big box. We then proceeded to the guest room that Sarah frequently used.
I gave her the heirloom pieces I had given her when I opened the jewelry box on the dresser. Every item had a backstory and a memory associated with it.
I removed a lovely necklace made of gold that had belonged to my mother. “Remember when I gave this to her?” Jim was asked as I raised the necklace.
“She wore it to her graduation from high school.” Jim nodded, a serious look on his face. “I recall.
Regretfully, she left it behind.” We wrapped each piece of jewelry in tissue as we carefully boxed it.
paper to shield it. The things she had forgotten over the years swiftly filled the box:
the earrings she owned, the locket she wore to prom, and the bracelet she wore on her Sweet Sixteen
borrowed for her initial interview for a job. We discovered the old bike we had given her for her tenth birthday in the garage.
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