When someone was rude to you
I would not have thought of relating this incident had it not been for its chastening influence on me. My brother and sister refer to it as the lucky incident for it, in their opinion, has endeared me more to my father. But now as I recall it after a lapse of six months, I feel I should not have been disobedient and I should have saved embarrassment and displeasure to all concerned.
The afternoon was dull and sultry. I was annoyed by my father’s rather deep-toned voice which when raised would mean that he is caught in a bad mood. I ignored it at first but for about three full minutes it continued to assault my ears. My little brother’s short answers in subdued voice made it clear to me that my father was again at, what he calls, his fatherly responsibility of guiding and advising. For a moment I thought that the language of advice should be pleasant and shouting could only mean anger and that all my brother did was to give an evasive answer to his question where his pen was. I was indeed impulsive and irrational when I gave vent to my annoyance, first, by banging on the piano and then slamming the kitchen door. In fact. I should have minded my business and should not have demonstrated my anger.
My double banging had awakened my mother who was rather indifferent about all that happened and I thought I had caused, with impunity, ample irritation to my already irritated father. But I was sorely mistaken; it was only the beginning of the trouble. By little brother came down to me to deliver my father’s oral command to go upstairs immediately and account for my erratic demonstration of anger. Was I summoned to any royal presence was my immediate response. I was quick to run upstairs ready to face the music and if necessary turn the situation to my favor and cause discomfiture to my father. He seemed to ignore my prompt arrival and readiness to enter into a verbal battle: he was rapt in thought. Then, he suddenly turned to me and asked me why I banged. I cannot remember what I said in reply. Possibly he ignored my reply and asked me to write down my reason. The battle for which I thought I was prepared took a different turn:
I: Why should I have to write?
Father: To be fair to you and to provide you the chance to compose your mind and think correctly.
I: I am composed and I can give you the reason in a minute.
Father: Do so then.
I scribbled something to the tune that when one is angry one is entitled to give expression to one’s anger. But I thought my father was exacting when he asked if it was not an irrational show of anger. I was blatantly rude to claim my right to express my anger and when pressed for a cogent and logical answer, I made a hurried exit from the room, to the great chagrin of my father. My father conferred with my mother who informed me very shortly that I must apologize for my rudeness. The matter had become serious and I continued to believe that I was right and that an apology from me was totally unwarranted .
Two days elapsed and I was often reminded by my mother of the responsibility to apologize and admit the mistake. I consulted my bosom friends, John and Eric and both were emphatic in denouncing my disobedience. I was convinced of my error and the need to be realistic. The only thing that prevented me from shouting out the apology was the little vanity in me. I summoned up sufficient courage, dispelled a hit of my ego and apologized.
Today I wonder if it was my immaturity or pride that made me drag the matter. My father has taken it as something not unnatural to a boy growing up and I feel I must subscribe to his view. Perhaps, in future. I would succeed in preventing my emotions from getting the better of my reason. I feel I was to blame.
