Adam Hall was furious. Irate. Beside himself. He ranted, he raved, he fumed. Thanks to what he discovered, his wife was completely unaware of the fight they had. Here is how it went down.
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It was Wednesday, which meant that I had to pick the girl up from climbing. The boy did not want to go. I had left him home once before when I biked over to get her at top speed, but it was too snowy and icy to bike now, and I was not going to leave him home alone for 20 minutes. Climbing ended at 4:30. It was 4:10. Dragging a protesting boy behind me the walk would take ten minutes. The countdown began.
I was going to try to stuff him into his winter outerwear and force him to walk the three blocks with me, but that day was different. My wife had an online class that started at 4:30. She would need to set up her computer at least 5-10 minutes early, as she always does, which meant she could not take the 4:15 bus home, getting her here right at 4:28. She would take the 4:00 bus, and be home at 4:13. This meant that the boy could stay with her while I ran to get the girl. And so I, in a fit of idiocy, told the boy about this plan.
Now it is 4:15. My wife is not home. I am starting to freak out. I have not actually discussed this plan with my wife in the slightest. I just know she has a 4:30 class which she will take at our dining room table. I text her. “What time will you be home?” There is no immediate response. The boy is happily playing Rescue Bots on the floot. Now it is is 4:17.
“I need you to start getting your stuff on,” I tell the once happy boy, as I check out the window over and over again, looking down the long sidewalk where I will be able to see signs of my approaching wife. Where is she?! I am getting upset.
“NO! I’M GONNA STAY WITH MOMMY!” he shrieks, as I grab him mid-dash and begin to shove warm things onto him as he struggles to escape.
“Mommy is not HOME yet!” I shout, checking the window again. Then I check my phone. Then I check the window. Then I check my phone. Then I check the window. Then I check my phone. Now it is 4:20. “We’re LATE!” I accuse loudly and unfairly.
I manage to get most of his winter stuff on while he cries and refuses to go with me. I check the window one last time and herd him out into the street. I run up to the sidewalk, hoping beyond measure that I will see the speck of my wife walking towards us. I can get to climbing in 5 minutes on my own, so if she were to appear, there would still be time. She does not appear. It is 4:23.
I grab the boy and move him along as fast as I can, furious, furious, at, of course, my wife. My wife who was an unknowing participant in my plan. My wife who really had nothing to do with any of this. I picked up the boy and put him on my shoulders as I tried to speed through the slippery streets. As soon as we were juuuuust far enough away that we could not turn back, my phone buzzed. “Just getting home now,” it said. It was 4:28.
The number of angry thoughts that went through my head were exacerbated by the number of angry pounds that were going onto my head, via the 4-year-old boy who was perched up there smashing away. Why wasn’t she home earlier? Why does she need all that set up time for her class on other days, but not on the one day it would be helpful to me? Doesn’t she know how upset she has made the boy?
And then, through divine providence, most likely, I actually followed my questions through to their logical conclusions. Maybe she missed the first bus. Maybe the bus was late or didn’t come. Maybe she does need the set up time but she is late and is now stressed out at home trying to get her laptop ready. And no, she does not know that the boy is upset. Because she had no part in this whatsoever. She did not tell him that he could stay home with her. I was still feeling angry, but it dawned on me that I was being ridiculous, and that I needed to decide not to be angry. Besides the point that I had no leg to stand on in this argument, and I was in a mess of entirely my own making, we were going to get home to a woman that was in the middle of a class for which she might possibly have been late, and whose mother was coming over for a birthday dinner later that evening. She needed support, and not condemnation, even if she had done something wrong, which of course she hadn’t.
We arrived at climbing at 4:29.5 and I retrieved the girl with no problems. We all walked home together, and I cleared my mind of negative thoughts.
It was not easy. I was still stressed out and upset. But I did not bring up any issues to my wife, who is reading about this for the first time just like you are. I smiled and made dinner. I forgave her for the imagined offenses that she had committed in my mind. Which is how it should be. It wasn’t about whether she had actually done anything wrong, I needed to do something I often forget. I needed to decide to forgive — for me. Sometimes we have to forgive people because it isn’t for them. It’s for us.
It is all about decisions ultimately. Forgiveness is a decision.
As hard as it can be sometimes to make, happiness is also a decision. And that is the decision I made that night.
Originally appeared on Tenor Dad.
Photo: Flickr/Aliciejj