08/31/2024
I was once at a wedding where I met two really good guys. One was a giant beast of a man with a quick wit and a tender heart. The other was a redheaded fire hydrant, always giving out. The two were friends, almost brothers, with a long history.
As the night wore on and the craic (Irish fun) arrived they began to verbally knock into each other. One-upping and undercutting, poking each other's tender bits, and as the alcohol flowed, the jabs got sharper.
Until a spark was lit between the two that was moving fast towards a full physical eruption. The larger man, starting to lose it. He was bloated with rage and baring down on the shorter man.
It happened so quickly. I felt myself shrinking, wanting to run for safety, not wanting to witness what was surely guaranteed. Not wanting to get hit by the shrapnel.
I grew up on the roller coaster of passion that rolled between the height of humor and the plummet of violence.
I was six or seven the first time I witnessed a fight between two boys. They were out past the playground, under a large tree that happened to be on my route home. And yes, in the 1970s, six-year-olds walked themselves home.
I stopped and watched as a crowd gathered, not knowing what to expect. My mouth fell open as suddenly, with two or three succinct blows, one knocked the snot from the other. And I, a six-year-old, had nothing to offer but shock.
And now here I was again, watching as the heat of hatred boiled between the two men. But instead of backing away and protecting myself from the splatter, I felt myself step forward. I placed myself between the two men, facing the larger one.
And with a sort of composer as familiar to me as hearing my voice speak Swahili, I placed my hands on his chest, looked into his eyes, and repeated one clear and honest truth.
“You are better than this.
You are better than this.
You are better than this.”
My heart was pounding, I had no reason to believe I could de-escalate the situation. But after many repetitions of this mantra, the man did something I never imagined possible: He believed me, and slowly transitioned from a crazy-eyed lunatic to a man of reason.
I will never forget that moment. It healed the helpless child in me.
We have enough war in the world. Its tough out there. We have an unending supply of slings and arrows. We could waste sh*t-tons of time dabbling in our barbed wired banter, while dignity sits unopened on the shelf.
If you're feeling it. If you have gotten yourself tagged and dragged, see if you can, just for sh*ts and giggles, see if you can surprise yourself by serving up some unearned, undeserved kindness. If for no other reason than to see anger back away, sucking its lips and scratching it’s balls.
If you do this, you will have so much more energy to cook yourself a nice breakfast, call your mom, and write the fu***ng book already.
Because the truth is, no matter how tempting it is to be fear’s drunk puppet. We really are so much better than this.
Photos: Because we spent our lunch money chasing dreams instead of dragons, I got to join the angelic powerhouse, Olive MacDonagh in recording a love song to Ireland at Jam Studio in Kells, Meath, Ireland.