Damn It

"My father passed away," the Employee said. "I need some time off."

"Damn it," the Employer said. His head dropped and body melted into the chair. Like a bullet had just ripped through his sturdy posture. 

He didn't reach for hope. He didn't offer advice. He just sat there as "damn it" floated through the air.

—

I've never been good at consoling. But my father is. One of his many qualities I envy. My dad is the Employer in this story. The Damn It Deliverer. And while it's not how I would've responded to the unbearable news, "damn it" was the perfect response.

Picture this. 

A person is lying down in a hole. Looking up at the circular light. Another person is standing. Looking down into the hole. "It's going to be okay," the standing person yells down. "I'm so sorry. Let me know if I can do anything for you." 

Now picture this. 

That same person is lying down in a hole. Looking up at the circular light. Another person climbs down into the hole. Lies down next to that person, and let's out, "damn it."

That's the difference. 

It takes me 500 words to make an impact. It took my old man two. Damn it.

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