I’m sitting here in the Arby’s on the side of the highway, finishing my grandiose Father’s Day dinner of a #4 combo as I write this post. Alone.
Yes, there is a degree of sarcasm on the surface. But deeper there is a feeling of abandonment and hurt.
Granted, there are always a minimum of two sides to every story. My wife would say she got up early and made me pancakes the size of a Big Mac and kept our son at bay so I could do whatever I wanted this morning.
My side would be I didn’t mind our son interrupting me, as I wasn’t doing anythig important, and I told her I wanted to spend some family time together and go out to eat as a family.
She left hours ago with our son to go see someone or do something. Now, I’m sure there are things she does for me that I don’t appreciate just like I do for her. We’re human – we make mistakes. Marriages are chock full of mistakes along the line.
The mistakes aren’t what really bothers me, when I take a few steps back and think about it. What hurts truly is the time it takes to come back with a heartfelt apology and some effort to make the situation right.
Most of the time, the real apology doesn’t come until after the defiance or the iron-clad case of defense has been presented. And, I mean from both sides: I’m just as guilty as she is.
Life is short; shorter for some than others. I fear mine is going to be artificially shortened by riding a sportbike. Put aside your pride, your ego and your arrogance.
Babe, I’m sorry.
