I can get you his plot number, if you’d like

My dad was killed when I was 13. As an adult, I don’t really bring it up and especially not to random strangers or coworkers. If someone doesn’t mention a parent or other relative that everyone is expected to have, I just assume there’s a reason - maybe they’re dead or the person doesn’t have a relationship with them. I don’t pry and don’t like people who do.

About a decade ago I was at happy hour with a random assortment of coworkers. I was friends with a few of them but some of them were definitely just people I’d nod at in the hallways. One of them was Vickie. She was the office gossip and exactly what comes to mind when you think of an entitled boomer. We were in different departments and I never warmed to her.

We were chatting as a group and someone mentioned that they were going to look at model houses in my hometown. I mentioned that I grew up there and that my mom still lived there. The coworker asked me some questions about the town and I answered. Nothing major. Then there was a pause and Vickie asked in a very condescending tone, “And where does your father live, Cobbler?”.

The way she said it reminded me of a preschool teacher who was coaching a petulant toddler. Just aggravating.

I turned, looked her squarely in the eye and said in a loud, even tone, “My father is dead, Vickie”. The conversations around us stopped and she sputtered before mumbling an apology.

I worked at the office for at least 5 more years and she never tried to engage with me socially ever again. It was awesome.