Forgive me children for I have sinned.
Time for a few confessions. Some dozen years ago, before I was married, I worked in Jersey City New Jersey. I was (computer) Network Manager for a international shipping concern and worked in an office of Information Technology folk. Actually, back then I think we still called it MIS or something. Anyway, in this office of 50 plus computer people, I think 49 of them were guys. We had a Director back then with whom I worked closely. Nice fella, real smart, but he had a mouth that would make truck drivers and sailors the world over blush. This guy could fit more cuss words into a sentence than anyone else I have ever met. He would pepper his conversation with f-bombs the way that you might pepper your Caesar salad.
With this guy in charge and a mostly male environment, the office culture was less than ideal. Actually, it was ridiculous. We all cussed dozens or even hundreds of times a day without any thought. When after a few years I moved to a different office I was finally around normal people who were rightfully offended by the unrestricted use of these colorful euphemisms. Newly conscious of my potty mouth, I endeavored to break the habit, which I eventually did. I hardly ever cuss anymore. Hardly.
Confession number two, I have a bit of a short fuse. This is never more so than when I perceive myself to be on the receiving end of some injustice. I don’t pretend that this is anything other than it is, a character flaw. I must continually try to control my temper and I am mostly successful. Mostly.
This all brings me to Sunday and confession number three. My wife and five kids, ages nine to one, were returning home from mass. Mass this Sunday was a good day. My seven year old son had his first holy communion the day before. He was decked out in his communion suit and was very attentive at mass. Even the five year old, who normally is a total nuisance at mass, was well behaved and attentive. As we were leaving the church, a nice woman complimented us on how well our children were behaved. It was a good day.
In the minivan on the way home I showered them with praise for their good behavior. The five year old volunteered that he was pretty sure that iced cream was in order to celebrate the occasion. I agreed. Thus it was that life was very good when just half mile from home we came upon a roadblock.
The roadblock was in the form of a very large and tricked out dump truck. I didn’t even know that dump truck could have bling, but this one did. There was a man standing in front of it with his hand up indicating that we should stop and of course we obliged. As it turned out he was blocking the road to allow motorcycle traffic to exit the Shrine of Our Lady of the Island which is right next to our neighborhood. Each year at this time, hundreds of motorcycles and their riders descend upon the shrine for a blessing. This seems like a nice tradition and of course we want all of those riders to be safe.
We waited for a few minutes in the van as motorcycle after motorcycle exited the shrine. Finally there was a break in the caravan and the woman blocking traffic from the other direction signaled to dump truck guy that it was ok for us to go and he in turn waved for us to proceed. Now, as my wife will attest, I am not a timid driver. That said, I did have five kids in the car including a now sleeping baby. I eased my way around the dump truck. Apparently the dump truck dude did not think I was moving fast enough and screamed at me, my wife and kids, “HURRY UP! C’MON MOVE IT! MOVE IT!’
Now I was not burning rubber but then again I was hardly moving inordinately slowly and his vitriolic impatience seemed entirely unwarranted. I was displeased. I voiced my displeasure through the use of a fairly mild toot of the horn. This, I felt, was an entirely reasonable yet restrained retort to his angry impatience. Even though I was clearly the aggrieved party I kept my temper in check and we proceeded onward.
As we drove, we approached the lady, and I use the term loosely, who was blocking traffic from the other direction standing directly in front of the entrance to the shrine. Having heard my toot of the horn, this ‘lady’ decided that she would voice her displeasure at us in a different, less agreeable way. As we drove by doing about fifteen miles per hour she leaned in real close and in full throat screamed at my van full of children “F— YOU!”
I was shocked. Appalled. And that is when it happened. This was an injustice that I could not take. Without thought, my intellect, quick wit, and years of training took over and I retorted with the very clever line, “NO, F— YOU!”
Oh no!
I didn’t say it terribly loud but my nine year old daughter, sitting directly behind me, gasped. I hung my head in shame. I thought that I had long ago conquered my potty mouth, but there it was. My past sins had come back to haunt me.
Later in the day I took my daughter aside and apologized for what I said. “Daddy lost his temper and said a very bad word and I am very sorry. I should never say a word like that for any reason and neither should you.” My daughter assured me that all was forgiven but she did so with a just too large smile on her face. I think she knows that she has me. I have ceded the moral high ground and she knows it. I think she thinks that she has at least on get out of jail free card coming her way. Maybe she does. The thing that hurts is that I feel I have lost something in her eyes. Daddy is always supposed to do the right thing and this time he didn’t. I suppose she already accepts that even Daddies makes mistakes sometimes, but I have a harder time accepting it. I wanted to be the ideal Dad for as long as I could. Now I feel that I have lost something special in the eyes of my daughter. I hope I can get it back.
As for dump truck dude and his potty mouthed lady, well they can go and ….
Well, you get the idea.
April 21, 2009 at 9:39 am
Didn’t St. Paul tell the Galatians he hoped the ‘knife slips’? Even Homer nods. Admitting your slip to your daughter was humble and a great example to give. Keep up the good work and find other words to use.
April 21, 2009 at 10:32 am
Some quick notes: good story. But using the word “cuss”, although not as bad as saying “irregardless” is still rather low-class, as the word is a bastardization of the word “curse” which eventually made its way into modern usage through slack-jawed soutnerers who could not pronounce the letter “r”. Also, instead of repeating an expletive at someone who is clearly a lost-cause, you might try smiling and say “back atcha” or “bless you too”. But it sounds like this was a one time slip and you already broke yourself of the habit.
April 21, 2009 at 10:39 am
St. Francis de Sales had such a bad temper that he would chase his students with a sword. He corrected himself that he became the model of patience, charity, sweetness and gentleness that St. John Bosco put him up as a model for educators and named his order after him i.e. Salesians of Don Bosco. If the saints had their failings, what more for folks like us. So as the monks say every morning, “Nunc coepi” Now, I begin or start over.
April 21, 2009 at 12:55 pm
Children, especially those just old enough, serve as an ever-present call to holiness for their parents. I recognize this most clearly, as you have Patrick, upon the instant of my transgressions of their innocence. In this sense, as in so many others, we know that they are truly gifts from God.
April 21, 2009 at 1:39 pm
Patrick,
Great post. I grew up in Bayonne,NJ-just next door to Jersey City- the “F” word seems to be like the “county word” of Hudson County NJ. And isn’t it amazing the hearing capacity of 9 year olds.
Thanks for you humility with some humor.
April 21, 2009 at 1:40 pm
Hey, the fact you took her aside and squared with her – she won’t forget that either, trust me.
Well, here’s my cuss story for what it is worth (nothing I’ll bet): When the Navy sent us to tour in Augusta, GA, I was quite unhappy about it. We had to take a flat that was run-down (no better word) and I loathed the place . . . upon arriving “home” I would mutter under my breath, “I hate this f***ing place”. Well, one day my beautiful little girl (two at the time) beat me to the punchline upon arriving home. Oh, boy! So, you see, I had that talk with my girl at age two and again at age three, at four and so on. She’s thirteen now. She has a PILE of get out of jail free cards. But, I’m still working on my potty mouth – at lot harder these days than previously, because I can’t stand to offend God with my mouth and I do not want to be 41 and still cussing like a sailor (Hey, I’m married to one that has more control than I do) and offending anyone else.
If you always apologize sincerely and try to make ammends, I believe that speaks volumes. Never stop trying to be better.
April 21, 2009 at 4:39 pm
My mouth is worse than my husband’s, but when he has his moments we say that he is “turning Irish”; he is Portuguese-Canadian…. :-)))
Blessings – humbling ourselves and asking forgiveness will always carry more fruit than not sinning in the first place. Wasn’t it St. Augustine who exclaimed “oh happy sin that brought us our Savior”?
Mum26
April 21, 2009 at 7:11 pm
I believe that the ability to admit your mistake and to ask for forgiveness is much important than appearing perfect in your daughter’s eyes. Anyway, that has been my experience with my four children (ages 17-4).
Blessings,
Heather – Doodle Acres
April 21, 2009 at 8:09 pm
Yup! coulda bin me!
April 21, 2009 at 8:51 pm
Been there, done that, own a doublebutt ton of “tee” shirts from it. Just keep trying, life is about improvement and not perfection.