Live While You're Alive

We all need to read this one over and over until it becomes part of who we are!

HOW TO STAY YOUNG

1. Try everything twice. On Madam's tombstone (of Waylon and Madam) she said she wanted this epitaph: ' Tried everything twice...loved it both times!'

2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down. (Keep this in mind if you are one of those grouches.)

3. Keep learning: Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain get idle. 'An idle mind is the devil's workshop.' And the devil's name is Alzheimer's!

4. Enjoy the simple things.

5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath... And if you have a friend who makes you laugh, spend lots and lots of time with him and/or her.

6. Disappointments happen: Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. LIVE while you are alive.

7. Surround yourself with what you love: Whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Remember: Your home is your refuge.

8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help. You are worth it!

9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county, to a foreign country, but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

11. Forgive now those who disappoint you and move on. They know not what they do.

Lost time can never be found! So make sure . you find time to love unconditionally.

Rain in Delaware

The rains arrived this morning. I listened to the comforting sounds of the rain glancing off of my skylights in the sun room. I opened my front door, leaving only the glass door to protect me from the rain. The brightly colored flowers that lined the walkway to my front door proudly showed me their freshly washed faces. Thus another new day retired in Delaware. I worked last night at the Inn. I don’t have to go back to work until Monday night. I have the whole weekend to luxuriate in the rain, sun or whatever Mother Nature delivers to my home on Delaware coast. I’m thankful that we’re getting rain this year. Last year we had a drought in this area of southern Delaware. It was so sad to watch the cornfields wither and die because of the lack of rain. So far this year, the unpredictable forces of nature have been kinder to the farmers' fields of grain in Sussex County. From my sunroom vantage I could see a large flatbed truck hauling stacked crates of chickens to their doom this early morning. While I am always sad to see these poor creatures hauled off to their death, I’m sadden more that I have come to accept the loss of a friendship. We go though life, making friends and losing friends. Sometimes friends are lost when we move to a new area of the country. Other times friends are lost because of death. But sometimes, there is a decision to part ways with a former friend because of incompatibility. The reason for the incompatibility is almost always a personality clash based on real or perceived disrespect of the one friend towards the other. Generally, when the first warning signs appear of disrespect. The friend who is being disrespected doesn’t want to believe what is happening. However, over a period of time the disrespect becomes more blatant and hurtful until, eventually, angry words are hurled. In the past I have brought his dismissive use of words directed at me to his attention and that I didn't appreciate it. His response was “get over it!” Thus, dismissing my feelings and very real concerns I had for the continuation of our friendship. My mistake was that I chose to overlook and rationalize what I now know in retrospect, was a serious problem underlying our friendship. I had several discussions by e-mail and one by phone that I didn’t appreciate being talked to in such a manner. All to no avail. Thus the stage was set for Sunday night at a local eatery when my former friend was in high form out in public and my social inhibitions were lessoned by a couple of martinis. It was the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back” incident that provoked my anger. My meal arrived half an hour late, after the others had finished eating. Under normal circumstances (without the alcohol) I would have been angry. However, I was having a good time and wasn’t really concerned. Someone (not me) mentioned that I had not received my meal. Someone else inquired to another waiter (not our original waiter) as to what happened to my order. The waiter left for the kitchen. He came back and said something to the order “Oh, I don’t know what they’re doing out there in that kitchen!” He told me my order would be out shortly. Another 10 or 15 minutes passes. Then the order arrives. There was raw bacon on top of my, now cold hamburger. At least the French fries were hot. This was small consolation. No apologies from the new waiter. I did not see the original waiter again. Jokes were made around the table that they would watch me eat. Again, I took it all in stride. I wasn’t really bothered. Blame it on the alcohol. Then, my “friend” starts into a long explanation as to how it is not the waiter’s fault that I got my meal so late. Excuses were made that the waiter was new and the place very busy. That may have been so. My friend reminded everyone that he was once a waiter and they can’t be blamed for mistakes. I casually said “Bullshit. He made a mistake.” Now my friend launches into an impassioned and showboat defense of the poor waiter. For whose benefit was this "performance?" The waiter or those around us? I told my friend that I would not punish the waiter and in fact was not even mad at him. I understood that “things” happen. Yet, my friend, in his typical “I am always right” arrogance continued his defense of the waiter and hurls a “get over it” to me. Those were the words that set me off. I responded “Bullshit! The waiter made a mistake! Say it slow, the waiter made a mistake. It wasn’t my fault. The waiter made a mistake!” My “friend” gives me a deer in the headlights look and says in a voice like one would talk to a child or a dog “Now Ron” thus further fueling my anger. I said to him “Wayne, you too can be wrong you know.” Now my friend was beside himself because he was embarrassed at my outburst at a table full of his friends and onlookers nearby, where just minutes before he was in his full glory. As is typical with this him, it was more about him being embarrassed, than what he said to cause my anger. Awkwardly, our party of six left the restaurant. Since I rode with him to the restaurant, I now faced the uncomfortable prospect of riding back to his place with him, where my car was parked a short drive from my home. I attempted to apologize but he would have none of it. He walked ahead of me and once we got into his car he turned up his CD player to a defending volume. Nothing more was said during the ride to his place. I got into my car and made the short drive to my home. I had heard nothing until yesterday I read a posting in his blog. In a blog titled “Sunday” A Soaring Beginning; a Crash and Burn Ending” he states “What happened? I am not sure.” He wants to blame it on the alcohol but also makes sure the reader knows “but not by me”, thus absolving himself of any responsibility. He states “Perhaps when enough alcohol is consumed one’s true feelings surface. Ugly, hurtful words spoken –or screamed – in my direction. Friends don’t do that unless there is some underlying unresolved issue that has to be addressed and sorted out.” His assessment of the situation was correct. There was an unresolved issue, his thoughtless and dismissive words directed at me. His arrogance is such that he doesn’t even realize what he has done. He made another statement in his blog which has proved to be true. He said “Something died.” Yes, it was our friendship, such as it was, that died. He continues on in his blog, giving an example of how he misused a word before with another friend who took offense. He stated it wasn't resolved until "I finally internalized her translation and she understood mine”. Perhaps I did not have time for his translation of what “get over it” meant when I stated the obvious truth that the waiter made a mistake. In Wayne’s World, no one is permitted to have an opinion except Wayne. Then, to add insult to injury, one of his enablers leaves a comment on his blog that said “seems to me that you have to find the root of this performance, talk it out together and then decide if you think the friendship can be a positive in both your lives.” Note the derisive term “performance” and the singular use of the word “you”. No consideration of what caused the outburst or the offended party (me.) The person leaving the blog note goes on to say “Bottom line is this is NOT about you. It’s about this person’s issues.” Now here is a comment made from a person who does not know me nor was there to witness the event, or “performance”, to use his sarcastic term. This is a classic case of enablement. The real bottom line is that I will decide who my friends are and who isn’t. I have decided to move on. My friend has many good qualities and, at times, is a lot of fun to be with because of his wit and humor. Unfortunately, our personalities do not mesh and it would be best for both of us if I decided to move on. As with most of the things that have happened in my life, I have learned and grown from this experience. I wish my former friend the best. I hope he finds that happiness he is seeking.

Those Who Didn't Make It

Don S., Kenny V., Joe M., Alice K., Linda T., Jerry L., Bob S.. Those are just a few of the friends, former classmates, co-workers and lovers who did not reach the retirement age of 65. Actually, none of them even reached the early retirement age of 62 years. Don S. was only 56 years when he died in 1997. We were the best of friends during our Commercial Course days in high school. Ours was a friendly competition to see who could get the best score in bookkeeping. Don usually won. Kenny died in Vietnam. I found out that Kenny died when I attended my first class reunion, which was the 20th. I felt guilty that he died. Not because he died in Vietnam but because Kenny was the first person I had a fist fight with. We were in 7th grade waiting in line to go into Mrs. Roger’s science class. He shoved me (Kenny was a bully). I shoved back. Next thing we were both rolling on the floor, thrashing about with elbows flying. I don’t think either one of us landed a blow. We both ended up in the principal’s office, sweaty, disheveled and embarrassed. I don’t believe we ever spoke again during our remaining high school years. Yet, I still felt guilty when I heard that he died. Kenny was only 24 years old. Joe was another friendly rival. Joe and I were similar in appearance and also had a friendly competition. Our competition was different than the one Don S. and I had. Joe and I used to frequent the Westbury Bar, a gay bar in center city Philadelphia. We would compete to meet the same guys in the bar. I usually won this “competition”, much to Joe’s chagrin. Joe died in 1992 of AIDS related causes. I met Alice when she arrived in the personnel department of Girard Bank to escort me to my new place of employment in the trust department. Alice was the secretary of the head of the trust department. When I first saw her smile I knew she was someone I would be friends with. Alice was warm and friendly and even more naïve than me. She had a genuineness about her that is rare. We shared many bus rides to our homes in the Roxborough section of Philadelphia. We bowled together and our team even won the championship in 1969. We went to lunch and shared our life’s frustrations and joys together. Alice and I laughed a lot. She was like the sister I never had. Alice killed herself in June of 1989. She was in her adopted daughter’s bedroom when she put a gun in her mouth and blew her brains out. I will never forget Alice. About a week before she committed suicide, she called me at the new bank where I worked and left me a voice mail. She wanted to know if I could go to lunch with her. She wanted to discuss something with me. I was too busy to return her call. The next time I heard about her was a voice mail left by her husband telling me she had killed herself. I couldn’t believe it when I heard his message and, in a way, I still can’t believe it. Alice was 49 years old when she died, leaving a husband and two adopted Korean orphans behind in this world. Linda T. was my cousin. Like Alice, Linda was a sweet, beautiful and uncomplicated woman. She was open and friendly, almost to a fault. Like Alice and I, Linda was naïve in many ways about life. Linda never married. She lived at home with her mother and bachelor brother. Linda fought ovarian cancer for eight years. I lost count of how many times she lost her hair during her chemotherapy treatments. Linda was a naturally beautiful girl but the loss of her hair didn’t faze her. She would always say “But Ronnie, when the treatments end I get all new hair!” That’s the way Linda was. She always had a smile on her face. I saw her two weeks before her death. She was at home wheeling around her intravenous feeder. She would go about the house as if she was perfectly healthy pushing that intravenous feeder. The last thing I heard her say was a warning to another member of the household that if he didn’t stop drinking she would come back to haunt him. Linda Lee T. died in 1998. She was only 48 years old. Jerry L. was another classmate of mine from high school. Although we didn’t have any classes together, Jerry was one of those rare guys, friendly to everyone. In high school, where social status is so important to many students and cliques abound, Jerry didn’t follow those rules. Although he was a football jock and could have easily limited himself to that clique, he was friendly to me. The last time I saw Jerry was at our 25th class reunion. He had recently lost his job through a layoff and was dejected. He didn’t want to attend the reunion because he was embarrassed he didn’t have a job. His many friends talked him into going to the reunion anyway and we all had a good time getting reacquainted. Jerry didn’t make it to our next reunion (the 35th). He died in an automobile accident in Ohio at the age of 42. Bob S. What can I say about Bob? When I met Bob I was a very young 22 and Bob was 27 years old. I met Bob at an after hours gay dance club in Philadelphia. At 27 I thought he was so old. In spite of his “advanced years” I thought he was very attractive and personable. He asked me to dance. It was a slow dance. I had just recently discovered the pleasure of slow dancing with a man. I loved to dance and had always enjoyed dancing with women. But, when I first danced with a man I discovered a new dimension to dancing. What a revelation. I thought “No wonder dancing is so popular!” Short, slight of build, and fine featured, and possessing a self confidence that wasn't arrogant; Bob was just the type of man I was attracted to. Bob told he had recently been transferred from Seattle Washington to the Philadelphia Boeing plant. He also told me he was married and had two children. We danced some more. After the club closed Bob asked if he could see me again. He had to arrange it so his wife wouldn’t know where he was. I told him where I lived. He would visit me every other Saturday morning. Bob was the first man I was intimate with. However, after months of lies to his wife, hiding (the time my Mother came over to visit my apartment Bob hid in the bathroom) and living my life as a “mistress”, I tired of it and called off the relationship. I was young and wanted to go out. That was in 1963. A few months ago, searching through the Social Security death index as part of my genealogical research, I put in Bob’s name to see if anything came up. His name came up. He died in 1990 in Washington State. I do not know the cause of his death. He was only 57 years old. These are but just a few of people who have passed through my life and are responsible for the person I am today. Don’s friendly competition with me helped me to overcome my lack of self-confidence. Kenny was the first bully I stood up to and refused to be bullied anymore as I was during elementary school years. There were others who tried to bully me after my “fight” with Kenny, but I always stood up to them and let them know I wasn’t one to be bullied. Kenny was the turning point. Joe M. taught me the terrible lessons of the consequences of selfishness and promiscuous, unprotected sexual activity. I saw a once handsome and proud man reduced to an almost unrecognizable shadow of his former self. His lowest point perhaps was when a small child standing next to him on the street pointed to Joe and said to his mother “Look at the ugly man.” Joe broke down in tears. Even in the advanced stages of AIDS, Joe was still cruising the streets of center city Philadelphia for anonymous sex. Linda taught me to face with bravery whatever bad hands life has dealt. Linda never once lost her sense of humor and never felt self pity. Jerry taught me to accept all people as they are. Jerry was one of those rare people who was friendly with me even though he had nothing to gain by my friendship. We had absolutely nothing in common. He accepted me, a genuine dork (at least during my high school days) who was no threat to his social standing with the football jocks. He always had a smile for me. Then there was Bob S. Bob was the first person who didn’t make me feel like a pervert because of my sexual identity. Our sexual relationship made me feel like a natural person. It is ironic that my first sexual relationship with a man would be with a married man who had children. We never talked about his wife or children. I don’t know why, we just didn’t. Bob also had “the smile.” As you, the reader of this blog, can tell by now, I’m a pushover for a genuine, accepting smile. None of these people who were so much a part of my life would live long enough to enjoy their retirement years as I am doing now. If I should die tomorrow, I will always be thankful to these people for shaping my life and to help make me the person that I am today. I am indeed a Fortunate Son.

A New Day in Delaware

As the song “Nature Boy” by Nat King says, “The greatest thing is to be loved, and love in return.” That sentiment can be applied to a person, a pet, a hobby or a state. I love Delaware. And Delaware loves me in return. Rain or shine, cold or warm, I love Delaware. Each day I roll out of bed I think of how lucky I am to live in this wonderful state. Yes, other states have their charms. They may have their mountains, rivers, historic landmarks, cultural attractions. Delaware is perfect for me in this, my retirement. Even though I work part-time, I still consider myself retired. My job is fun and without the pressure of a five day a week, 50 week year grind. The people I work with are a varied and wonderful group of folks. We all have our individual personalities with our strengths and weaknesses, but we all work together towards the common goal of providing excellent service to the guests of the bed and breakfast where we are employed. What more could on ask for other than to appreciate and give thanks that the time has finally arrived after all these years of working for this goal. Are there bumps along this happy road of retirement? Sure. Route 1 is still torn up after 20 some months of construction. That nightmare is scheduled to end May 23rd, before the Memorial Day weekend rush of tourists. We shall see. The price of food and gas keep going up without any end in sight. The war continues in Iraq. Our best and brightest are still dying or coming home permanently injured fighting in a conflict that has no rational reason. And Delaware still doesn’t have a Wegmans grocery store in Sussex County. Those negative factors do not affect the pure beauty of a day like today. The sun is bright and clear, the birds are joyfully going about their business. The flowers are freshly washed from the early morning application of the sprinkler systems. Some neighbors head off for work. Yes, it will be another good day in Delaware.

Lunch With Barbara

This morning I awoke to another coastal Delaware gorgeous spring day. As I lay in my bed, I reviewed in my mind what I wanted to do on this beautiful day. The freedom to decide what to do is perhaps the best benefit of being retired. Although I work part-time (I worked late last night), I now have the next two days off to do as I please. What to do? Clean the house? No. Clean out my storage room in the basement? Definitely not. Ah, I will get outside and soak up the sunshine, fresh air, and the sounds of the many birds chirping and going about their business. First on the agenda was to refresh the bird baths that surround my acre large backyard. That done, it was time to make the short drive to the Ace Hardware in Milton to stock up on supplies. I needed a new hummingbird hook, inpatients plants, a miniature petunias for my planter, and a can of Bartender's Helper to remove the stain in my stainless steel sink. The drive to Milton past flat Delaware landscape was as pleasant as ever. To see the horizon is always invigorating. Some may be put off my southern Delaware's lack of hills and mountains but not this new Delaware resident. To me, the open landscape is like the open floor plan in my home. I feel totally free. I can breath. My neighbor Barbara greeted me as I drove into my driveway. I had an idea. Why don't we try the new Mexican restaurant in Lewes? Barbara was up for it. Her husband was away for the day fishing. We agreed to meet at 12 PM at my house. About 15 minutes to high noon Barbara appeared at my door. We were off to Lewes via New Road. No construction today on New Road. That was a break. After stopping at the Lewes post office to take care of some "Barbara" business, we went to the new Mexican restaurant, which is named Agave (I believe). It was closed. Wouldn't open until 3 P.M. Lewes has great restaurants but it is frustrating to find out when they are opened or closed. Perhaps it has a lot to do with the flow of customers. Our second choice for dining was Gilligan's Restaurant on the canal. It was a good choice. The special of the day was black bean soup with grilled chicken. Sounds good? It was! Just the right amount of spiciness to command one's attention but not too much that caused pain. I also chose the asparagus quiche. This entree came with a light spring salad. Delectable. My lunch partner Barbara chose the grilled vegetable foccia sandwich. Once she saw me groaning in ecstasy eating my grilled chicken black bean soup, she motioned to the waitress and said "I'll have what he's having." A short time later our waitress delivered the second bowl of grilled chicken black bean soup. Barbara loved the broth and black beans. She doesn't eat chicken because, a long time ago, she was taken on a tour of a chicken processing plant and it put her off forever to eating chicken. Pushing the morsels of chicken aside, she luxuriated in the bold flavor of the bean soup. Her foccia sandwich arrived. She eyed it and said "How am I going to eat that?" It was huge. I told her I could eat it. She said her mouth wasn't big enough. Apparently, mine is. I have yet to met a sandwich that was too big for me to take a bite out of. I suggested that she cut her sandwich with a fork. It was a good suggestion. Barbara said the portabella mushrooms tasted like fillet mignon. During our meal, we gossiped a bit, got into a political discussion of the merits and negatives of Hillary Clinton and Barrack Obama. We agreed that today's primaries in Illinois and North Carolina may decide the Democratic nominee. She said although she's always hated Hillary, she would rather see her get the nomination than Obama. I didn't agree with her but kept my opinions to myself. We were having such a pleasant lunch and I didn't want it to deteriorate into acrimony like my dinner at the Purple Parrot on Sunday night. I took my good friend Bob's advice, "let it go." It wasn't worth it. Thus, we continued to enjoy out lunch. We did a bit of people watching, which is always fun. Barbara watched in amusement as a woman customer was trying to fit into her seat into her desired seat in the restaurant. Unfortunately, the seat she wanted backed up to another patron. The woman had just too much booty to fit into the chair. After several futile attempts to seat herself, she surrendered and sat at the other side of the table. Apparently she was after the best view of the canal. The "view" or "on the water" is very important to many who visit Lewes and other seaside resorts. It's all about "am I on the water?" Well, she still had her view but she would have to turn her head. Our check came and we departed. I told Barbara I wanted to stop in the Inn and say "Hi!" to Monica, who was manning the front desk today. Barbara borrowed a cigarette from Monica and had one of her two cigarette allotment for the day. We said our goodbyes to Monica and left for home. Yes, a very pleasant day for we two recent retirees to Delaware. Life is indeed good here in Delaware. We'll keep the secret.

Amitié, Partie Deux

After a good night’s sleep, I have reviewed what occurred last night during our weekly get together at the Purple Parrot. I admit that I probably overreacted to the condescending and dismissive remarks my friend made to me when I was served 25 minutes after everyone else at our table had already eaten. Granted, the restaurant was busy and the waiter was new. There were so many prime rib specials ordered from our table (four) that my modest “Wimpy” order (a half pound hamburger) got lost in the shuffle of green order slips in the kitchen. When my friend made his totally unnecessary and thoughtless comments to me, excusing the waiter from his mistake, I responded by saying “That’s bullshit, he made a mistake.” My friend did not approve my response and put it back on me again by saying “Get over it Ron”, thus throwing more gasoline on the fire of my anger which was fueled by two martinis. After I repeated my “Bullshit!” response, my friend gives me a look like one would give a school child or dog and said very slowly “Ron.”, which only had the effect of making me even angrier. Under normal circumstances, which means without the alcohol, I would have let his haughty demeanor towards me pass as I have often done in the past. Last night was not that night. This morning I received an e-mail from another friend who was also at our table. This is a friend who I have the utmost respect. I will take his advice. It was:

“letting him know u disagree is ok....dragging it out was a bit much...we all say and/or do things that annoy other people....the secret of maintaining the group is to make ur position known and then drop it...”

This is excellent advice that I will take and use. He was right, sometimes friends do disagree and we all say and/or do things to annoy other people. Where I am guilty is that I did not let it go. Unfortunately, it was a situation where each of us was determined to have the last word. My friend who made the ill timed remarks that set off my anger is used to not being confronted with his cutting remarks. It was a shame that the rest of the group had to be brought down at the end of a very enjoyable evening. The next time it happens, and it will, I’ll make my position known and move on. I value my friendship with the other members of the group more than I do confronting someone who has a habit of making condescending and dismissive remarks to his friends.

Friendship

Since I’ve retired to Delaware, one of my traditions is to meet with friends at the Purple Parrot restaurant on Sunday night in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The Purple Parrot offers a Sunday night special on prime rib. My friends partake of this Sunday night special, I don’t. I order what is called “The Wimpy” which is a half pound hamburger. Tonight six of us met at the Purple Parrot for our Sunday night weekly get together. In the past this has been a convivial grouping of friends gently teasing one another, and having a few laughs at each other’s expense. Tonight was different. It started out well enough. I met my friend who lives nearby. We alternate on the Sunday nights we drive into Rehoboth Beach. Tonight it was his turn. Driving down to Rehoboth Beach my friend played a CD he had burned of 70’s disco, which featured the Trammps. Driving down Route 1, with his car sound system turned up to hear the full effect of the disco sound, brought back fond memories of summers past spent in Provincetown, Massachusetts listening to classic disco like the Trammps. We were in a festive mood when we entered Rehoboth Avenue. The difficulty we had finding a parking space confirmed that we were entering into the summer season in Rehoboth Beach. We entered the Purple Parrot restaurant to the cacophony of sound of a reggae band. The Purple Parrot was celebrating its anniversary. We found a small table and ordered our drinks. The music was thundering thus making it difficult to have a conversation. However, the beat was infectious and we were enjoying ourselves, even though we had to shout to have a conversation. After about a half an hour, our favorite table was open. We settled ourselves at the table by the awning which overhangs Rehoboth Avenue. We could people watch and they watched us. I ordered another Appletini Martini. Our friends arrived about a half an hour later. Once all six of us were settled at the table we ordered our meals. Four of the six of us ordered the prime rib special. One person ordered the guacamole bowl. I ordered a hamburger called “The Wimpy.” The music was so loud, that when the waiter took our orders, I got up from my seat and walked over to him and gave him my order specifically. Mine was the first order. My friends ordered then ordered their meals. Our waiter left with our orders. Later he returned to take orders for a second round of drinks. The reggae band disbanded, they were only to play until 6:00 PM. Two of our party we had not seen since the cold days of winter. We were all getting reacquainted. About 10 or 15 minutes later, the prime rib orders arrived. One of our party, who had ordered the guacamole bowl, had received his order and was digging in. He offered me some of his meal. I declined. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. I still had not received my order even though I had been the first to place an order. One of my friends asked a different waiter why my order was taking so long. The waiter checked and came back and said my order would be along “shortly.” Another ten minutes goes passes. By now, most of our party has finished their meals. I’m still waiting for mine. Another inquiry is made. Finally, my order arrives. Jokes are passed around that everyone will watch me while I eat. I take it all in good humor. After all, I was working on my second Appletini Martini. I eat my dinner while jokes are still being passed around good naturedly. Finally, I finish and the check arrives. Someone asks, and is informed that the waiter was new and overwhelmed and something got “screwed up” in the kitchen. That’s understandable. Mistakes happen. However, when the evening really started to go off the rails was when my friend mentioned in his usual superior condescending sarcastic manner, “Ron, you’ll just have to get over it!” I responded by saying, “No, that’s bullshit. The waiter made a mistake.” I understand that mistakes happen and I wasn’t going to punish the waiter for his mistake. However, I took offense to the offhanded manner in which my friend dismissed the whole episode as if it was my inability to handle a waiter’s mistake. I understand that my friend used to be a waiter. I was one myself. When I made a mistake, my response was to say “I’m sorry.” I would apologize. I have done that. My ego isn’t that outsized or vulnerable that I cannot say “I’m sorry” and move on from there. However, I would get no apology tonight. All I would receive was a dismissive “Get over it Ron.” This kind of condescending superior attitude unfortunately hit the wrong button on my control panel this evening. Again, I responded “No, that’s bullshit!” Apparently, my friend was either incapable of or so disrespectful of my feelings that he was unable to agree with me that he waiter made a mistake. I asked my friend to just say that, not that I should “get over it.” There was nothing for me to “get over.” The waiter made a mistake. Let it go at that. I was going to pay for the meal and even give him a generous tip, as I usually do with waiters and waitresses because I know it is a difficult job. But, my friend was unyielding. He insisted that I should “get over it.” He said “Ron, let it go.” I didn’t have a problem with the waiter’s mistake. My problem with was my friend’s dismissive and condescending attitude towards me, his friend. This friend of mine is one of those individuals who have a unique inability to see any of their own faults. I’ve met other people like him. They have a cognitive inability to acknowledge a mistake. One thing they do seem to have in common, they all see therapists. One would think if they saw therapists they would recognize that character flaw in themselves. However, that does not seem to be the case. While none of us is perfect, including me, I know all to well what triggers my anger. That is someone dismissing me and my feelings as unimportant. The comment “Get over it Ron” doesn’t work. What works is “The waiter made a mistake.” I was fine with that. Then, let’s move on from there. Not, “Get over it Ron.” What’s for me to get over? That kind of comment says more about the person saying the comment and what he thinks of the person he is giving it to. What he is saying is “I have no respect for you at all. The waiter is more important than you.” This is the kind of person it is difficult to be friends with. A friend who respects his friend would not make such a comment. One wonders would he appreciate such a comment if it was made to him? I doubt it. So there we are. My feathers got ruffled tonight at what was supposed to be a friendly weekly get together of friends. Unfortunately it degenerated into an ugly exchange of hurtful words among friends. Sometimes this happens. Sometimes this is necessary for one friend to realize that to maintain friendship there has to be mutual respect. Until that person looks in the mirror and recognizes his own faults, it will be difficult for him to maintain friendships. For myself, I have to ask myself the question, do I need friends like this?