“Holding a grudge doesn’t make you strong; it makes you bitter. Forgiving doesn’t make you weak; it sets you free.” — Dave Willis
When people hear the word “grudge,” they probably think about something negative and unpleasant that someone is still holding on to and can’t get past. That’s true, to a certain extent, but another saying tells us, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them.” So, where does that leave us?
When I was four years old, I had a terrible habit of spilling milk. At one point, it was a near-nightly occurrence that at some point during dinner, I’d spill the milk. We didn’t have sippy cups then. They might have existed, but not in my house. It was incredibly annoying to my brother and my parents, because without fail, my milk would wind up ruining one of their dinner plates.
One particularly nasty night, when the wind was howling outside, my father had been stuck in terrible traffic, dinner was late because something burned on the stove, and it was not a happy, fun night at Casa Kelley. I spilled the milk because, of course, I did, and it became one of the few times I’ve ever seen my father angry. He was never that way, but this was just the tipping point on that evening. He jumped up from his seat and said, “How does this keep happening? Can’t you figure out how to sit still for ten damn minutes? You are such a slob!”
Ouch.
Not his finest moment, but we’ve all had them, especially as parents. I began to howl like a wounded bear, dinner ended abruptly, and everyone went to bed fuming. While leaving for work the next day, as I sat on the couch with my dolls and breakfast, he said, “Daddy is so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, you’re not a slob, and I know you didn’t mean to spill, just like I didn’t mean to be so grumpy.”
I wouldn’t even look at him. He came home that night and again said, “How’s my girl? Want to play some checkers before supper? I have time.” I sniffed as if a skunk had entered the room and walked away. I meant business. Over the next few days, he made several attempts to cheer me up and cajole me out of my black cloud. After about a week, I decided to let it go, and we still talk about it in our family. Thou shalt not cross a four-year-old, especially not an Irish redhead.
Despite a mostly happy life, I still retain the ability to hold a grudge longer than anyone I know. Yes, I know that attitude plays a big part in our lives. We can choose to be positive or negative, optimistic or pessimistic, but I can’t help it. I talk a lot about memory, and at this point in my life, it’s often about the frustrating part of forgetting important information, dates, and commitments. Other issues, though? I still retain so much in some section of my mind that I refuse to self-edit and let go, even when it doesn’t serve me. An aunt calls it “Irish Amnesia,” where you forget everything but the fights. She’s not entirely wrong, at least not for our family. I know it’s not the best way to be, and it complicates matters sometimes, but I don’t think I will ever ditch the habit altogether.
It’s because my concepts of fairness and justice are strong, and if something happens to me or someone I care about, that seems unfair, my inner banshee (which, quite honestly, isn’t inner) is activated. It’s not like I will boil someone’s pet bunny or anything, but there have been times when I’ve been a wee bit petty to someone over something no one else but me remembers. I’m working on it.
The flip side is that my memory of people who have helped me or really been there for me seldom fades. It probably sounds like I am keeping score somehow, and maybe I am, but I am unfailingly grateful to anyone who’s been my friend, so perhaps that balances it out a bit.
As always, I will try to be more positive than negative. I’m no longer the slob I was, and I have not spilled any milk in forever, but don’t call me names, even if I do. There’s not much room left for me to keep track, because my third-grade teacher has yet to apologize for not letting me be the line leader on my birthday, but I promise I’m trying.
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.
