I seriously dislike promises.
Just ask my kids.
For years, my girls’ paternal gene donor would make and break promises as though they were nothing but twigs. He would make plans, promise the girls they’d get to do this, or be taken there…and then he’d call, often right before he was supposed to pick them up, and cancel. Sometimes, hours after he was supposed to pick them up.
As though they were an afterthought.
Hairy little fucking leprechaun.
“Here’s the pot of gold, girls, go ahead and….WHOOP! Nope! SYKE!”
And it wasn’t just him. Other family members of his would do it, too. One of his sisters once ended up destroying YoungerDaughter’s birthday, by begging me to change YD’s plans for a party with her friends, so that she could have her, take her swimming & shopping…
Only to cancel the whole thing after it was too late for me to fix it & get the party & friends back online.
It all ended in a screaming match between myself & YD’s aunt, on the phone, and YD in inconsolable tears.
I swore, after all the years my daughters had to live with the broken promises from their father’s side of the family, that I would never make a promise I didn’t know damn good and well I couldn’t keep.
And I’ve kept that one promise, that vow, to myself, and to my children.
If I made plans, and decided to tell the kids, instead of simply surprising them, it was always “We’re going to try to do this, or go here, but if that doesn’t work, I have an equally fun alternative.”
Or, I’d simply keep my damned mouth shut, until I had the means in hand to fulfill the thing I wanted to do with\for them.
I’ve had enough promises made to me, as well, over the years.
And enough of them broken.
I don’t believe in promises anymore.
You want to do something for me, or with me? Just do it.
You want to spend time with me? Make the time.
If someone wants to be with you, spend time with you, share space with you… They will find a way and make it happen.
Promise me not.
Because, I won’t believe you.