Through the years, I’ve done some pretty boneheaded things. Like the time I drove my brother’s new scooter into the side of my Dad’s truck. At 12, I was relatively new to driving motorized, two-wheeled vehicles, and on my first go ‘round, I wasn’t 100% confident in my ability to distinguish between throttle and brake, both of which were conveniently located on the right handlebar. Looking back, I probably should have solidified that in my mind before assuming the reigns. But I didn’t. So, as I sped towards the side of the parked truck, I reached for the brake, but instead choked down on the throttle. The little red Toyota never saw what hit it. In a flash, I had lodged the scooter securely into the truck’s rear quarter panel, ripping it in two. That was boneheaded.
But of all my ridiculously dumb moves, the worst, by a country mile, are the ones committed while under the influence of anger. I once was conscripted by the Mrs. into attaching sun screens to our windows in our Arizona home. Her desire, which I have to admit was a noble one, was to provide us with the means to save on our electric bill. However, her timing couldn’t have been worse. It was the middle of a Arizonan summer’s afternoon. It was hot. Hellish hot. On top of that, it was Sunday – or as I like to call it – nap day. I would have gladly done it after my nap… after it had cooled down a bit. But that wasn’t good enough, and she let me know it. So I relented, but I did so under the influence of anger.
A funny thing happens when you’re angry – you lose all ability to think rationally. Such was the case with me, anyways. In my rush to get the screens up, I made several costly mistakes. Mistake #1- I measured incorrectly. You see, the windows ended up being about a half inch wider and a half inch longer than the hastily made screens. But I was not about to make my mistake the focal point of the afternoon. No way, in pig-headed determination, I pressed on, thinking I could somehow screw the screen into the window frame at an angle and miss the glazing entirely. Which leads us to mistake #2 – I tried to correct a previous mistake with another one. As I drilled through the frame of the screen, I heard distinct pop. It wasn’t a pleasant sounding pop, such as the sound of pop corn or rice kispies. This was an ominous sounding pop, like the sound of a blood vessel exploding in one’s head. I rushed inside to assess the damage from another angle. From the outside, it looked as if the window was in 7 different pieces. Hopefully , it would look better from the inside. As I walked into our bedroom, I found my wife lying on our bed. I was furious. I couldn’t take my anger out on her – I hadn’t hit her once in the 7 years we had been married, and I wasn’t about to start today. Instead, I quickly rushed to mistake #3 – I tried to kick one of my son’s toys, which was lying innocently on the floor of my bedroom. Notice the word ‘tried’. In my state of anger, I completely missed the toy. As I whiffed on the toy, I heard another pop. This, too, was not a pleasant pop. This one came from my knee as I hyper-extended it by about 90 degrees. I walked with a limp for days, and sometimes, when it’s really cold, I can still feel the pain in my knee.
Last night, my old friend anger dropped in at the worst possible moment. We were in bed. I was exhausted. I came very close to falling asleep. Then Heather tossed. Now, I must clarify something here. My wife does nothing half-way. It’s all or nothing, even when she’s tossing and turning in the bed. As she inexplicably levitated off the bed, rolled over in mid-air and then allowed her body to come crashing down on the mattress with a loud THUD, I was awakened. “No matter,” I thought to myself. “I’ll just drift off again.” A few minutes later, it happened again. Then again. Then again. I finally lost count of just how many times we replayed this dreadful scene, but with each deafening thud, I got a little bit angrier. I politely asked Heather to stop moving, but it turns out, she was asleep the entire time. So after an hour and a half of angry frustration, I got up out of bed and headed into the den to sleep on my loveseat-sized couch. As I made my way through the hall in the darkness, I heard another pop. Like so many that have gone before, this was not a pleasant sounding pop. This was the pop of my ring toe smacking against the tire of my daughter's tricycle which, for some unknown reason, we keep in the house. I bit my tongue as the pain shot through my foot, up my leg and rattled around in my head. But like that sunny day in Arizona a few years before, I was too proud to stop and see about my wound. No sir, I went straight to the couch and slept like a baby – literally… I had to, because I’m in the fetal position, I won’t fit on our couch. I woke up the next morning, to the sight of a battered toe. Thinking I had just jammed it real good, I decided to give it a good yank, so as to pop it back into place (there’s that word again). This was mistake #2. The throbbing finally quit around lunch time.
I’ve heard you can tell a lot about a man by the company he keeps. Those of us who keep company with Anger… often walk with a limp.
