I don’t play favorites.
When a parent has commented to me “so and so is my favorite kid,” I’ve been nothing less than shocked. My parents made it loud and clear that they had no favorites. I think playing favorites is bad for the un-favorites’ self-worth. Who does that? What parent even thinks on those terms?
But parenting aside, since I’m no parent, I try not to play favorites. I bitch out my friends when I feel they’ve wronged me. I even scolded a tardy RSVP responder—who is in my bridal party! “If you don’t get me that postcard today, you will have to eat your dinner in the restaurant on your dime because I sure as hell will not have a seat reserved for you.”
My second grade teacher adored a blonde, blue-eyed girl in our class and never hesitated to point it out. When she went to the bathroom, our teacher gushed, “Doesn’t she have the prettiest blue eyes? She makes me melt.” The girl even became a flower girl when my teacher got married. I remember thinking how God-awful I must have been with my black hair and black eyes. My teacher didn’t even think I was smart. My report card was a smattering of Bs and Cs—when all my other elementary school teachers praised my work and my standardized test scores were close to perfect. All I wanted was approval, but as a second grader I thought my teacher was a racist bitch.
Favoritism fuels ill will. I think we should all try to be more like Sue Sylvester from Glee.