I have related here
before the heightened levels of anger I experienced and acted out as a boy–my
killing of birds, shooting out of a streetlight, throwing a dandelion digger at
our cat.
before the heightened levels of anger I experienced and acted out as a boy–my
killing of birds, shooting out of a streetlight, throwing a dandelion digger at
our cat.
There are other
manifestations of my inner rage that I have not told. For example, there is the time that I shut
off the electricity in our neighbor’s house when they were away on
vacation. Or when I hit the hubcaps of a
passing car with a stone flung from my slingshot. Then, there’s my all-time most daring feat of
disgruntlement when I wrote an anonymous, deprecating note to a bunch of older
boys and left it where they would be sure to find it. They, to my shock, surmised the source and
came immediately to me expecting a confession.
I, naturally, denied any knowledge of the blasphemy, whereupon they
demanded a sample of my handwriting. I
compliantly agreed and, when handed a pen and paper, copied the words of the
note in my very best left-handed printing.
The lack of resemblance left them dumb-founded and they turned away in
search of the real culprit.
manifestations of my inner rage that I have not told. For example, there is the time that I shut
off the electricity in our neighbor’s house when they were away on
vacation. Or when I hit the hubcaps of a
passing car with a stone flung from my slingshot. Then, there’s my all-time most daring feat of
disgruntlement when I wrote an anonymous, deprecating note to a bunch of older
boys and left it where they would be sure to find it. They, to my shock, surmised the source and
came immediately to me expecting a confession.
I, naturally, denied any knowledge of the blasphemy, whereupon they
demanded a sample of my handwriting. I
compliantly agreed and, when handed a pen and paper, copied the words of the
note in my very best left-handed printing.
The lack of resemblance left them dumb-founded and they turned away in
search of the real culprit.
I could easily blame my
parents for my anger. My father was
gentle and kind but incapable of understanding me or my juvenile emotional or
psychological needs. My mother lacked
empathy.
parents for my anger. My father was
gentle and kind but incapable of understanding me or my juvenile emotional or
psychological needs. My mother lacked
empathy.
I was isolated as an
only child and a withdrawn one at that.
In addition, I was the bearer of a horrible secret about the most
shameful of subjects–my sexuality. I
felt myself to be kind and loving, yet an unworthy aberration of God’s creation. I had no role-models, for I did not fit the
“role” of any other human being I knew. So, I compensated by seeking to act like–and
perhaps be–an apprentice of God while feeling like one of the
“unclean” on the inside. It’s
no wonder that the tension found an outlet through acts of blatant hostility.
only child and a withdrawn one at that.
In addition, I was the bearer of a horrible secret about the most
shameful of subjects–my sexuality. I
felt myself to be kind and loving, yet an unworthy aberration of God’s creation. I had no role-models, for I did not fit the
“role” of any other human being I knew. So, I compensated by seeking to act like–and
perhaps be–an apprentice of God while feeling like one of the
“unclean” on the inside. It’s
no wonder that the tension found an outlet through acts of blatant hostility.
I recently attended my
50th high school reunion. My high school
years, as I have said here before, were miserable. I had few friends–in fact, had no idea how
to make any, other than by using my intellect to impress. I had no interest in sports and was
intimidated by the very sight of a girl.
If I had thought that I had any sex appeal at all, I would not have
known how to take advantage of it.
Consequently, my lowest moment at the reunion was after taking the tour
of my high school, now having undergone a $30 million refurbishment. What little of it I could recognize brought
back memories of a childhood lost or, at least, spent in a depression-induced
daze. I have long suspected that the
same could be said of most of the folks who never show up for reunions.
50th high school reunion. My high school
years, as I have said here before, were miserable. I had few friends–in fact, had no idea how
to make any, other than by using my intellect to impress. I had no interest in sports and was
intimidated by the very sight of a girl.
If I had thought that I had any sex appeal at all, I would not have
known how to take advantage of it.
Consequently, my lowest moment at the reunion was after taking the tour
of my high school, now having undergone a $30 million refurbishment. What little of it I could recognize brought
back memories of a childhood lost or, at least, spent in a depression-induced
daze. I have long suspected that the
same could be said of most of the folks who never show up for reunions.
So, what is the state
of my anger today? I suspect that it may
be out-of-sight but not out-of-mind, much like an old childhood scar, hidden
beneath my clothing. I still curse a
blue-streak at the slightest frustration.
Perhaps this is healthy, as I believe anger suppressed leads to
depression. I suspect the neighbors in
my apartment building would complain were it not for the fact that I live in a
corner apartment with a laundry room next door.
of my anger today? I suspect that it may
be out-of-sight but not out-of-mind, much like an old childhood scar, hidden
beneath my clothing. I still curse a
blue-streak at the slightest frustration.
Perhaps this is healthy, as I believe anger suppressed leads to
depression. I suspect the neighbors in
my apartment building would complain were it not for the fact that I live in a
corner apartment with a laundry room next door.
I think much of my
anger comes from shame. Shame is a
condition much more difficult to express than anger. Shame then builds, leading to more
anger. Next thing I know, I’m feeling
ashamed of my anger, which is really depressing. I think I’ll go shopping for a punching bag.
anger comes from shame. Shame is a
condition much more difficult to express than anger. Shame then builds, leading to more
anger. Next thing I know, I’m feeling
ashamed of my anger, which is really depressing. I think I’ll go shopping for a punching bag.
© 7 June 2014
About
the Author
the Author
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I came to the beautiful
state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I
married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas
by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working
as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman
for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured
that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I
wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just
happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both
fortuitous and smooth.
state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I
married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas
by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working
as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman
for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured
that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I
wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just
happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both
fortuitous and smooth.
Soon after, I retired and we
moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years
together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One
possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group
was there to light the way.
moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years
together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One
possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group
was there to light the way.