Years ago, my best male buddy told me about a movie whose title I can’t recall. The story revolved around a deranged man who traveled from town to town wielding a large, wicked axe. Whenever he encountered someone who inflicted grief and pain on others—not the kind of jester from Elizabethan times, but rather the type of fool Mr. T. would pity—this so-called "fool killer" used his axe to "make the world a better place."
Making the world a better place was his way of explaining his behavior. Of course, you and I see his mistake. We believe in distributing happy endings to everyone, regardless of merit.
If you're one of my regular readers, you may be surprised to learn that I haven't always spread goodness and light without prejudice. In fact, In my younger days, I dealt with the Mr. T. type of fools by telling them precisely how foolish they were. I considered my honest reviews to be doing them a bit of good.
In my mind, confronting the inconsiderate people of the world with the truth about their ugly behavior might motivate them to change their filthy ways. I thought my technique was in line with that of late-night talk show hosts, but in retrospect, I probably behaved more like Mr. T.
I discovered that fools sometimes do change their behavior, but it doesn't happen instantly. The immediate response was to tell me where to get off. They told me where I should stick it. Sometimes, they gave me a look that said, "Oh, yeah?" and then took action. You can imagine the rest.
I often received a black eye for my trouble, and I don't mean a metaphorical one. I mean an actual black eye. Once, I was hit in the face with a bar stool, taking a chunk out of my nose and leaving a scar that can still be seen from twenty paces.
It was all very exciting, of course, and I considered the downside worth it. Making the world a better place has never been easy--consider Gandhi, Mandela, and just about every Catholic saint I've ever read about. Being called by God seldom works out well for the messenger.
As I said, it was exciting but not as exciting as the arrest warrant issued in my name for physical assault, breaking dishes, and damaging a bar stool. Yes, I had to pay for the blunt instrument used against me.
I know what you're thinking. You wonder why you're only learning of this now? How could the Genome be such an angry person?
Here's the thing. My younger sister died when I was a teenager. I was in shock, and desperately wanted someone to help me deal with the grief. I don't want to share messy details here. It's enough to say that I wanted the emotional pain to ease. I looked for help, and people were willing, but ultimately I found nothing to ease the distress.
Living with nonstop grief filled me with anger—and the anger grew over time. It wasn't the selfish anger that wanted to make others suffer with me. It was righteous anger aimed at correcting wrongs, defending the helpless, and making the world a better place. I didn't feel like a menace to society; I felt like a crusader for justice.
And what was my reward for fighting for truth and justice? I lost all my friends. Twelve warrants were issued for my arrest. All my personal belongings were auctioned off to cover damages and unpaid rent, and I was given the choice of jail or being remanded to an addiction recovery center.
As I said, it was exciting but not as exciting as the arrest warrant issued in my name for physical assault, breaking dishes, and damaging a bar stool. Yes, I had to pay for the blunt instrument used against me.
I know what you're thinking. You wonder why you're only learning of this now? How could the Genome be such an angry person?
Here's the thing. My younger sister died when I was a teenager. I was in shock, and desperately wanted someone to help me deal with the grief. I don't want to share messy details here. It's enough to say that I wanted the emotional pain to ease. I looked for help, and people were willing, but ultimately I found nothing to ease the distress.
Living with nonstop grief filled me with anger—and the anger grew over time. It wasn't the selfish anger that wanted to make others suffer with me. It was righteous anger aimed at correcting wrongs, defending the helpless, and making the world a better place. I didn't feel like a menace to society; I felt like a crusader for justice.
And what was my reward for fighting for truth and justice? I lost all my friends. Twelve warrants were issued for my arrest. All my personal belongings were auctioned off to cover damages and unpaid rent, and I was given the choice of jail or being remanded to an addiction recovery center.
You're probably thinking it couldn't have been pleasant for me, and you're right, it wasn't. But if you think that was bad, just wait until Ms. Wonder reads this post.
Did I learn anything from all that? Why, yes, I did. I learned my lesson and then some. I learned to behave in a much more civilized manner, which meant thinking nice thoughts, smiling at everyone, and hiding all the anger that continued to grow inside me.
And so, here I am, restored, strong, firm, and steadfast, with a bucketful of anger to get me through another day.