A friend of mine called me the other night from her place in the four-block-long line for the Jonas Brothers concert. She was complaining because an acquaintance of hers had just driven by in her new white Denali and given her a wave on the way to the front of the VIP line.
She was a little huffy. "It's like I have to keep watching while she lives the life I was supposed to have," she said.
And suddenly, a name came to mind that I hadn't thought of in 30 years: Beth Dubisar.
Beth Dubisar was the best diver my age at Westward Ho Country Club. I was the second best.
Every year at the Fourth of July celebration, Beth Dubisar would get up on the diving board and do a perfect back layout with no splash and I knew she would take the first place trophy again.
I'm sure she was a nice girl, but in my memory she was a little snobby. But then, who wants to deal with the guilt of hating someone nice?
Sometimes my kids have Beth Dubisars. It is hard sometimes to see them struggling for something that goes to a kid with more natural talent or better luck.
Instead of telling them to keep plugging away, which is the appropriate mother cheer, I sometimes want to tell them the brutal truth: Life will be full of Beth Dubisars.
And my goal in life is for them to be one of them.
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