“COLIN, DON’T TELL MOM!!” was what I heard when I got back from my run this morning. It was followed by a grumpy, “I WON’T!”
“Boys,” said I. “Is there something you would like to tell me?” They both looked directly at me and said together as casual as could be, “No.”
I was so amused by this rare show of solidarity that I didn’t push the issue. Fortunately, I can still outwit my boys and followed the trail of clues to the bathroom where there had been some sort of accident, cleaned up by the older brother — who, I think had been roused from teenage sleep. Good man.
I didn’t sleep very well last night. It’s been storming here and every man and dog found his way to our bedroom. To top that off I was thinking about one of those things that’s so much worse in the middle of the night.
Yesterday when I was out running, I surprised two ladies on the trail who did not want my apologizes or my humor. They just wanted to be mad. I spent some time in the middle of the night trying to figure out what I should have done differently. Maybe I should have stopped. I didn’t. Maybe I should have started yelling long before my “EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!” Maybe I should wear bells.
This morning I am reminding myself that I apologized with sincerity and if that wasn’t enough, maybe they need to learn to be more aware of their surroundings on a public path.
Sometimes a shared mutual trauma is enough to bind us to the wrong thought instead of the right one like “Surely she didn’t mean to purposely scare us” or “Won’t Mom be pleased that we worked together to solve this problem instead of mad because there was a problem.”