I’m a pretty positive guy, and I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt 99% of the time. I learned this when I was a kid from my Dad, an expert in the art of griping all the way through the process of cutting people slack.
For example, one holiday season, after Christmas Day, I noticed one of the trees in front of our house moving. Peeking over the window sill, I saw a miscreant from down the street, nicknamed “Roy Boy” stealing the bulbs from our Christmas lights!.
This prompted a response in me (at age 9 or so) that was pretty intense.
“Motherf*cker! Oh no you di’n't!”
So I leapt into action, burst through the front door, and chased him. It didn’t take much effort because Roy Boy had long hair, and one thing I learned as a precocious youth is that long hair is not an asset when you’re:
1) In a fight
or:
2) Trying to run away from someone
…though now that I’m bald, I realize chicks dig hair.
Whatever.
But I digress…
So here I am pinning this kid down, and you have to imagine how startled my Mom & Dad were by the sight of their nine year-old exploding through the front door and pouncing on someone like a puma. I can’t help but smile thinking about what must have gone through their minds while this was going down…
“Bitch, you best get back here with my light bulbs!”
So here I am pinning this (smaller) kid down, and I’m noticing all kinds of things that were unobserved during the initial pursuit and ensuing hair-grabbing tackle.
For example, now that I’ve caught him, I have no idea what to do with him. It didn’t make any sense to punch him repeatedly. Ditto for practicing choke holds while doing Clint Eastwood impersonations.
Frankly, continuing to hold him down for an indefinite amount of time did not offer a clear exit strategy, so it was clear I needed to take inventory of the situation.
And there definitely wasn’t an exit strategy that would afford me the opportunity to stand under a “Mission Accomplished” banner on the deck of an aircraft carrier.
So let’s see what we have here…
1) One long-haired thieving mofo pinned on the ground. Check.
2) One bag of stuff. Apparently it’s full of Christmas lights from other homes. Check.
3) My Dad. Ch… Hmmm. He’ll know what to do.
At this point, I’m removed from the equation. My Dad doesn’t yell at this kid… which has me befuddled, because God only knows how bad it would have been if I had been caught doing something like this. In fact, as he walks me and Roy Boy back towards the house, he somehow convinces me to go back inside the house without him while he talks to the young ruffian.
Dad comes in a bit later with the bag of Christmas lights… er…. bulbs… and he doesn’t mention much of anything except to laugh about the situation.
Several weeks later, I’m hanging out in my back yard and I see Roy Boy and his little sister riding bikes. BIkes that look strangely familiar.
They are my sisters’ bikes! Motherf*….
They wave at me. And as Roy Boy and his sister are pulling up to the fence, I’m confused.
Should I go in to puma mode?
Does this kid think I am such an idiot that I don’t recognize bikes that belong to my own family members?
How the heck did they get the bikes anyways?
As my Dad walks up to the fence, and begins to talk to them, it becomes obvious.
Dad gave them the bikes.
Hmmm. For a nine year-old, this was pretty hard to grok. After all, it was my understanding that if you do bad things, you get your ass kicked and sent to a jail where you’d be fresh meat for the guys from “Scared Straight”.
(This predates the “Tossed Salad Man” made famous by Chris Rock)
So it took a while for me to process this.. Dad… gave them my sisters’ old bikes.
Hmmmm.
Well, at least Roy Boy had to ride around on a girl’s bike for the rest of the summer.
