This morning when a clueless driver incapable of interpreting a big white arrow and a "One Way" sign pulled into the parking lot in the wrong direction and clogged traffic, I wanted to yell--but I didn't. Probably a visitor, I thought; maybe even a potential student. So I sat in my car biting my tongue while waiting for the traffic to untangle so I could park.
Biting my tongue may well be my greatest skill, developed over decades as a pastor's wife. Back when we lived in church-owned parsonages I would often be the target of complaints about, for instance, the parsonage electric bill. I would show up for church Sunday morning laden with children and Sunday-School teaching materials and be greeted at the door by some sweet old church lady waving the electric bill in my face and demanding to be told why it was so high. "Because the house has no insulation so every ounce of heat leaks out while we shiver indoors under layers and layers of wool" is what I could not say, so I bit my tongue, smiled, and bottled up my anger until we got home, where anger sometimes leaked out all over my poor innocent children.
Not a good situation, but this kind of experience, repeated over decades, fully equipped me to avoid saying things I would really like to say. Recently in a class, for instance, I wanted to snap out, "Instead of parroting back what your high school teacher told you, can't you look at the actual words on the page?" Or this morning: "What part of 'One Way' do you not understand? If you can't read the words, maybe you could look at that big white arrow painted right in your path."
But I didn't. Would letting the anger out help the situation? I don't know.
Here's one thing I do know: all that bottled-up anger doesn't just go away. At some point it'll spill out, perhaps over innocent bystanders. So that's why I like to let it out here. Turning anger to humor dissipates its power--and if someone finds it entertaining, I have done my part. Even if that someone is only me.
No comments:
Post a Comment