The Grudge That Stole my Memory
And became a friend
I need Donald Trump.
He gives me a reason to get up in the morning.
When my energy flags in the early afternoon, Donald is there for a boost.
He’s like a chocolate chip cookie.
But sugar is bad.
Grudges
Elizabeth Emerald is a healthy version of Mr. Trump.
Her little essays are often the first thing I see when I open my computer in the morning.
She’s like a carrot.
And carbohydrates are good.
Yesterday, Elizabeth wrote a piece on grudges. You can find it here.
Healthy food for thought.
Even better than a carrot, proving life is always better than a metaphor.
Elizabeth wrote: “I fear that I may need my grudge again someday.”
Her essay is an honest reflection on why she keeps grudges, thank you very much.
And made me feel uneasy.
Is that why I need Trump? Do I need a devil?
Elizabeth got me thinking and it didn’t stop with Donald.
It lead me back to Mike.
A high school reunion
Last week my partner, Rebecca, and I attended my 55-year high school reunion.
I have only good memories of this class of 1967 gathering, with one exception.
And that one dominates my reminiscence slideshow.
Mike was standing two feet from me; our backs were almost touching.
He’s still a big guy and, I had heard from another friend, handled court room opponents the way he took care of opposing running backs.
I think it was the winter of 1966, so we were high school juniors. There were five of us packed into Jerry’s car. We were returning from pick-up basketball at the YMCA.
Someone posed a question to which my response was something along the lines of I don’t have an opinion. Big Mike was riding shotgun. He turned around, without missing a beat, and said “Gardner, you never have an opinion about anything.”
Humiliation
The spat-out surname hurt my feelings.
But the quickness of his never-have-an-opinion retort humiliated me.
Mike was speaking truth to powerlessness.
In Life in the Last Quarter, I wrote about the challenges of being over 70. I suggested that every life quarter had tests, even the first.
In Do You Remember Your First Date?, I admitted to feeling overwhelmed on my first date.
Who would want to be 16 again?
Too unsure, too unformed, and too damned vulnerable.
A grudge as friend
At the reunion, I wanted to tell Mike about this incident and what it meant to me.
To thank him.
Because I’ve spent half a century proving him and other doubters wrong.
Of course, I didn’t.
Was it because I still need that grudge, just like I need Donald?
Elizabeth is right. Grudges are friends.
More carrot than cookie.
