Anger by Lewis

I have related here before the heightened levels of anger I experienced and acted out as a boy--my killing of birds, shooting out of a streetlight, throwing a dandelion digger at our cat. 

There are other manifestations of my inner rage that I have not told.  For example, there is the time that I shut off the electricity in our neighbor's house when they were away on vacation.  Or when I hit the hubcaps of a passing car with a stone flung from my slingshot.  Then, there's my all-time most daring feat of disgruntlement when I wrote an anonymous, deprecating note to a bunch of older boys and left it where they would be sure to find it.  They, to my shock, surmised the source and came immediately to me expecting a confession.  I, naturally, denied any knowledge of the blasphemy, whereupon they demanded a sample of my handwriting.  I compliantly agreed and, when handed a pen and paper, copied the words of the note in my very best left-handed printing.  The lack of resemblance left them dumb-founded and they turned away in search of the real culprit.

I could easily blame my parents for my anger.  My father was gentle and kind but incapable of understanding me or my juvenile emotional or psychological needs.  My mother lacked empathy. 

I was isolated as an only child and a withdrawn one at that.  In addition, I was the bearer of a horrible secret about the most shameful of subjects--my sexuality.  I felt myself to be kind and loving, yet an unworthy aberration of God's creation.  I had no role-models, for I did not fit the "role" of any other human being I knew.  So, I compensated by seeking to act like--and perhaps be--an apprentice of God while feeling like one of the "unclean" on the inside.  It's no wonder that the tension found an outlet through acts of blatant hostility.

I recently attended my 50th high school reunion.  My high school years, as I have said here before, were miserable.  I had few friends--in fact, had no idea how to make any, other than by using my intellect to impress.  I had no interest in sports and was intimidated by the very sight of a girl.  If I had thought that I had any sex appeal at all, I would not have known how to take advantage of it.   Consequently, my lowest moment at the reunion was after taking the tour of my high school, now having undergone a $30 million refurbishment.  What little of it I could recognize brought back memories of a childhood lost or, at least, spent in a depression-induced daze.  I have long suspected that the same could be said of most of the folks who never show up for reunions. 

So, what is the state of my anger today?  I suspect that it may be out-of-sight but not out-of-mind, much like an old childhood scar, hidden beneath my clothing.  I still curse a blue-streak at the slightest frustration.  Perhaps this is healthy, as I believe anger suppressed leads to depression.  I suspect the neighbors in my apartment building would complain were it not for the fact that I live in a corner apartment with a laundry room next door. 

I think much of my anger comes from shame.  Shame is a condition much more difficult to express than anger.  Shame then builds, leading to more anger.  Next thing I know, I'm feeling ashamed of my anger, which is really depressing.  I think I'll go shopping for a punching bag.

  

© 7 June 2014

About the Author  

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn't getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.

Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband's home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.