We've been getting too many phone calls from organizations associated with political parties. Because I worked as a telemarketer as well as an "Executive Interviewer" in my career, I tend to at least listen to the person on the other end of the phone - as long as it is an actual person and not an automated script. I don't pretend that what I say actually matters to the person on the other end as, because of the work I've been paid to do in those aforementioned roles, I know that the person on the other end sees my name and information as "just one more phone call I have to complete" before going home. I get it and, very sincerely, I have sympathy for the person on the other end of the phone who is being paid to call me. So, yesterday, I answered the phone twice.
I thought I was funny.
The first time, the person on the other end verified who I was and if I was registered to vote. Then she asked if I commented on political issues online or had a blog that talked about political issues. I paused and said, "Yes, I can answer yes to that question" because of this blog.
I thought I was truthful.
The second time, the person on the other end asked to speak to Megan. I typically pause when someone asks for her. I don't give out her number - ever. I tell the truth, "She doesn't live here anymore." The person on the other end said, softly, "I'm sorry to hear that." I think the person on the other end thought Megan had died or something tragic. I said, "Oh, no, she just moved out. It's okay."
Megan has been living in her North Liberty town house since early July. It's early October as I write this. It was the first time I ever have said that "it's okay" that Megan is not living in our house. It took me by surprise to hear myself saying that, but I firmly believe that sometimes the truest form of honesty comes out of me when I am talking to someone who doesn't know me - I'm not saying I'm a liar or anything like that - I'm just observing a trait of my personality. I miss Megan, but I also want her to thrive as a woman independent of her father.
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