When I was six, I had a dog named honey-ball. A golden retriever, you guessed it… that looked like honey. One day my father came walking through the front door with honey-ball in his arms. He had just been hit by a car.
I went into shock. Honey-ball was my best friend.
He wasn’t dead, but his leg was badly broken. As I stretched out to stroke his head, my father took a step backward. “Wait,” said Dad. “When a creature is in pain, he’ll often bite whoever is near.”
When I was in college I came across an angry young man who insisted on letting me know what he thought of me. I never knew this person but assumed he’s noticed me. The malice of his words was truly astonishing, as I had done nothing to deserve it.
Rage sharpened my wit to a razor’s edge and focused my mind on a supremely crushing response. I took a deep breath as to prepare to unleash a snowstorm of piercing vowels. Then I recalled the words of my father.
I began by apologizing for what I had unintentionally done. I then added, “I fear, however, that you have overanalyzed me and this whole scenario. None of the motivations you accuse me of ever crossed my mind.”
I assured the young man that whatever annoyance I caused him was unintentional and closed by asking him to forgive me.
Respect for his privacy keeps me from sharing his response, but I will share two pivotal points: “Actually, I’ve had a terrible semester and think I am going to fail the year. My parents just split up and my father declared bankruptcy.”
Honey-ball hobbled around the yard for a few weeks with an awkward cast around his leg. Afterwards, he was fine.
I think, perhaps, there are other wounds less easily mended.
-Martin
