Tuesday, July 19, 2011

How I Lost My Temper

When I was a kid I had a really, really bad temper. It's hard to point to one thing that inspired my explosive temper. I honestly think it was a combination of a lot of factors. Fourth child in a family, growing up in a neighborhood full of boys that fought a lot, being short, or maybe it was just chemical. Teenage hormones are a hell of a drug. Whatever the cause, my frustration was constantly at a simmer, just shy of a boil. If I felt, in any way, that I was being taken advantage of, or was the butt of the joke, my humiliation would send me in to a tirade. And no, I'm not talking about the "got mad at a girl and punched a wall" kind of temper tantrums. Those are completely understandable. I'm talking about blood boiling, screaming and cursing, uncontrollable fits. The kind of performance only perfected by five year olds, minus the cursing.

Maybe that's why I write this blog. If you haven't picked up on the running theme yet, I make fun of myself a LOT. I tell embarrassing tales that most people would tuck away into the recesses of their minds, and would only let them out to torture themselves and exacerbate a sleepless night.

The funny thing is, I don't get embarrassed. Not anymore. I'm pretty comfortable with who I am. Do I wish I had more hair, or less weight, or a 68 ' Cuda? Sure. But, for the most part, I'm a happy person. More importantly (and I know Amanda would scoff at this) I think I'm a pretty well-balanced person. Sure, I have my quirks, like my obsession with the numbers 6, 16, and 36, or my unhealthy relationship with college football, but it's nothing that's going to cause me to put on a dress and go on a senseless rampage. So, I think we're safe.

(you're all wondering about the numbers thing, huh? That's a story for another day)

Two stories from my past represent my temper quite well. While both of these stories make me look like a crazy person, the second one was a very important step for me. It was the end. You'll see, just keep reading.

Story one starts way back in high school. The names will be changed to protect the innocent, but if any of those mentioned read this, you'll definitely know who you are....

My high school physics teacher was an absolute gem. Everyone loved her. I'll say her real name. Mrs. Greene was a very special woman. She was the kind of teacher that started out by giving you the benefit of the doubt. She was on your side first, and as long as you played nice and respected her, that's where she would stay. But the best part about her was, she LOVED physics. It was cool to have a teacher that was just as marveled by the simple experiments we performed as we were. She was absolutely giddy, which made lab days so much fun. Well, one particular lab day we were supposed to measure the distance an object traveled. We would do so by taping sheets of paper to the floor and mark, on the paper, the starting and ending marks of our object's flight.

Now, let me introduce the cast of characters. For this story I'll be playing the part of "lunatic." It's a simple role that pretty much is how it sounds. There is also the role of "Mike" who was the starting linebacker on our football team. Finally, there is "Misty." She plays the role of antagonist.

During the preparatory stages of this experiment we were supposed to share a roll of scotch tape that would be used to secure the paper to the floor. My team was late to the supply table and would have to wait for a free roll of tape to emerge to complete the task. Misty's team finished first and I asked if I could borrow their tape. Misty agreed and I began taping. Since I don't wear skirts, I wasn't too concerned with bending over in a lady-like manner to accomplish this task. I spread my feet, bent over at the waist and got to work. From behind, this pose resembled the letter A, minus the cross bar. Well, a few seconds in to my paper taping extravaganza, Misty asks for the tape back. It would appear that her paper was not as neatly fastened as once thought.

I looked back at her and said "sure, just let me finish." Apparently, that was not satisfactory as Misty would implore me twice more to return her tape. Ok, now I have to screw with her a little. I began to slow my taping down and ensured her that her precious tape would be back very soon. I now realize that Misty might have my same issues with being the butt of the joke.

It's hard to explain what happened next. I all happened so fast. Misty got a running start, and kneed me directly on my rectum. Not my left butt cheek, or my thigh, but right on the bull's eye. I don't think I realized what happened until I felt the cool linoleum of the lab floor on my right cheek. Instantly I hulked out. I bounced back up onto my feet, began screaming at Misty, describing in great detail what I thought my be serious flaws in her character, crushed the roll of tape, and winged it at her head. (I know that's a bit of a run-on sentence, but I felt it was necessary, as all of those things occurred simultaneously.

Before I know it, I'm being hoisted up and dragged out of the room into the hallway. I'm grunting and snorting about not wanting punch a chick when Mike grabs me by my shoulders and screams in my face to get my attention. "Jesus man, I'm a linebacker. Why am I having to calm down the showchoir guy. It's ridiculous! Get a grip." He was right. That's when I realized that I might have a temper problem. But that was just the beginning. Later that year, I would get kicked out of band (my first true love) after threatening our wormy little band teacher when he cornered me with our principal and accused me of things that were simply untrue. He was a real piece of work, but I shouldn't have threatened to kill him. Lesson learned. The words "I swear to God, I'm going to kill you" never win an argument. If anything you just get arrested, which I didn't, thankfully.

Story two takes place a few years later. I've bragged, on this blog, about how Amanda and I rarely argue. That was all very true. What I failed to mention was, when we do fight, it's legendary. Our different styles of arguing do not allow for an easy resolution. She can't understand why I react the way I do, and I can't understand that I could be wrong. See what I mean, nasty recipe.

One argument in particular pretty much ended all that. We have only had one serious one since.

I have absolutely no idea what we were arguing about, which is the first sign of a truly dangerous argument. In the absence of valid points, pointless frustration wins out. You both begin to say things simply in an effort to "score points" rather than searching for a solution. This argument took place in my car, while driving. The zingers were flying around left and right. We were both working the body well, with an occasional head shot. On second thought, scratch that. Boxing references will on serve to confuse you on the actual severity of this argument.

I remember thinking "holy crap Jamey, she's got you dead to rights. There is no way you are going to win this one." That when I reached my boiling point and did the only "logical" thing left. I squeezed the Coke. That's right, I squeezed the Coke. In the vacuum that was my ability to rationalize this defeat I grabbed a 3/4 full can of Coke from my center console and squeezed the bejeebers out of it. Apparently my grip was a little stronger than I imagined, because Coke literally showered me, Amanda, and pretty much my entire car.

The moments following this explosion would prove to be pivotal in our relationship and my life. The world stood still for what seemed like an eternity as my pea brain tried to process what in the world possessed me to paint the interior of my car a syrupy brown color. Just then, Amanda laughs. Not a "oh Jamey, that's so funny" laugh. More like a "wow, my insane boyfriend just threw a kid-like hissy fit" laugh. It was at me, not with me. And, I completely deserved it. I lowered my head, laughed aloud, and beat her to the punchline by admitting that I was acting like a complete child. I apologized, profusely, and was truly humble in the fact that I needed to chill out.

From that day forward, nothing really gets me that worked up. I get aggravated with people now and then, yell for a second, then it's over. I spend more time focusing on the fact that there's not much worth me losing my temper over. I focus on the positives, like the fact that I have a great wife, beautiful kids, a good job, and most importantly a Coke free interior.

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