Everyone has ghosts. . . Everyone has skeletons in their closet; those annoying little memories we wish would go away but keep resurfacing every so often to remind us of things we’ve done that were so embarrassing or painful that we wish we could burn them out of our mind. Usually these memories are attributed to life lessons.
The greatest teacher of all is life. Unlike the moderately overweight, balding guy in the plaid leisure suit that tried to convince you that geometry was the most important thing you could ever know, life has a way of commanding your attention. Hearing someone drone on about the area of a triangle being expressed in terms of A=(1/2)ab just doesn't grip one's interest as much as, say, learning that you should never spit a mouthful of Listerine into your campfire. I do, of course, speak from experience and, even though it makes a pretty awesome eruption of blue flame, do NOT recommend you try this. It has a tendency to melt your shoelaces.
When life teaches you a lesson, it is very necessary and, often, involuntary, bringing to light a common sense issue that can oft be punctuated with the phrase, “Should have known better.” Whether that lesson is ‘pay attention to where you’re going’ or ‘never use alcohol-based mouthrinse solutions near an open flame’, you have no choice but to absorb its wisdom.
There are some lessons that take a little longer than others to sink in, requiring repeated experiences to get their points across. For me, that particular lesson was ‘think before you speak’.
One of the largest drawbacks of the human species is the spoken word. Both a blessing and a curse, there is no language on Earth that cannot be used to hurtful ends. Regardless of the species, animals have the ability to communicate in the simplest of fashions and, though the message may only be ‘get back’, ‘watch out’, or ‘that’s mine’, they never have to worry about tact or subtlety.
Since a young age, I’ve been cynical and outspoken and more than willing to launch my opinion into low-Earth orbit for all to partake of. Subtlety has always been one of my strong suits; a finely-honed weapon to wield when the situation called for it. My weakness was tact. Simply put, tact implies delicate and considerate perception of what is appropriate for the given situation. It took me a long time to learn that I was lacking in this skill, allowing my emotions to override the brain’s ‘think ahead’ safeguards.
I remember the place and the time, but I don’t remember exactly why we were there; it was either a football game or track meet. I was there for her, because she was my best friend, perhaps more. At the time, she was seeing a fellow who was, for all intents and purposes, a grade-A git, but she was still a couple of weeks away from that realization, herself. Sparing the sorted details, in one line I expressed my opinion of him, speaking the words just as quickly as they formed in my mind. Seven little words, and she was furious. All I cared about as I spoke was letting her know how I felt, totally oblivious to the fact that, being newly in love, she was blind to all but her own perceptions. She needed to be told, yes, but it should have been tactful; instead, I dropped a nuke in her lap. I know that she’s long forgiven me, but the thought that I hurt her so badly still burns.
I was told a story long ago about a boy, his father, and an old wooden fence. The boy had an awful temper, prone to explode at any time for any reason. One day, his father handed him a bag of nails and told him that, every time he lost his temper, he was to drive a nail into the old fence out back.
The first day, the boy had driven more than thirty nails into the fence but, in the days that followed, that number dwindled. He discovered that it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails.
Finally, the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. When he told his father, he suggested to the boy that, for every day he doesn’t lose his temper, he remove a nail from the fence. Days passed and, finally, he was able to tell his father that all the nails in the fence were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence and said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence; it will never be the same.” The story’s meaning, of course, is that every wound, physical or verbal, leaves a scar, no matter how many times we say “I’m sorry”.
Life lessons come at us during times of abandon or recklessness, or just those ‘switch off’ times when the brain’s common sense circuit breaker pops off. Some of the best achievements are made when we ask ourselves, “I wonder what will happen if. . .” Unfortunately, that is where humans usually begin their misadventures. Perhaps the reason behind this is the fact that we are attracted to dangerous situations--we think they're fun and exciting. The problem is that, by the time we've asked ourselves that question, our mind already has a good idea of what the outcome will look like. Unfortunately, not everyone can see the reality of the situation to come.
The moral of our story tonight: Look before you leap, and don’t forget to think as you’re looking. And to all my friends, I hope I’ve not left too many holes in your fences.
