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How a Snake and a Cake Taught Me That Revenge is a Dish Best Served Not At All
by Jean Dickson I don't remember the argument. It's the emotion I remember those feelings of rage, frustration, anger. But 40-some years later, I don't have a clue as to WHY I was so angry at my mother. I know it wasn't about wanting to wear a certain outfit - because at three years of age half the time I never wore any clothes at all. I know it wasn't about getting to bed on time - it was afternoon, not night. And it wasn't about going outside and getting exercise as a tom boy, I preferred playing outside. What I do remember is that at three years of age, revenge wasn't in my vocabulary. But it was in my heart. When I saw that undulating line of brown against the lush green grass I realized I had found my perfect revenge. Because even the whisper of the word, snake, was enough to make my mother shiver and shudder in terror. With an evil laugh, I picked up the two foot long garter snake and ran to our front door. Lifting up the bronze flap on our mail slot, I fed the snake through the opening. It twisted onto the hall floor. Giggling with delight, I turned my head to listen. I would like to say that I heard a scream. I would like to say my revenge was satisfied. But I can't. Instead I listened, waiting for the scream. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Ten years later, I was once again waiting. Waiting for my sister's fiancee to get out of the bathroom. I watched him carefully brush strands of hair forward to cover his bald spot. I watched him spray them until they were a solid mat studiously cemented to the top of his head. I shuddered with revulsion. Later, I watched him cavort on the beach, squished into swim trunks several sizes too small. And again shuddered. Then I watched him water ski dopey smile on his face, his sizeable stomach dancing to the drum-beat thump of ski hitting waves, the varnished mat of hair flapping up and down in the breeze. It was during dinner when I saw Don shaking the pepper over his food that I got my idea for payback. There, on the table, a single slice of cake remained. I decided that slice should go to Don. However, being me, I couldn't just give him plain vanilla cake. I had to spice it up. I carefully lifted the icing - and added pepper. Between the layers, more pepper. For good measure, I scooped out part of the cake and added a teaspoon of pepper to that section. Then I reassembled the cake until my alterations were barely noticeable. Fixing an angelic look on my face, I offered Don the cake. And watched as he lifted a fork to his lips. And waited for his reaction. Waited. Waited. Waited. I've often wondered if Don saw me doctoring his cake and decided to spoil my plan by showing no reaction. Or if he was so used to the taste of pepper that he never even realized there was additional seasoning. Or, like my mother, was Don wise enough to know that revenge, like poison, is a dish best served not at all? Ten years earlier, I was three years old, sitting on our front porch, waiting for my mother's scream. I can visualize the scene. She hears a muffled thud and looks towards the hall. And sees IT! Her first instinct is to scream. But hearing giggling outside, she knows that if she screams, I will learn to delight in revenge. If she berates me, well all that will do is build a wall of anger between us. So she gingerly steps over the snake, opens the hall closet and gets her broom. Sweep, sweep, sweep. Down the stairs and out the back door. Although I didn't see it, I know that's what must have happened. Because my mother's favourite saying was, "Things done in spite never turn out right." She was a wise woman. She knew that revenge poisons both the vengeful person and the person who reacts to that vengeance. Those who indulge in the cycle of revenge end up hurt, bitter, and damaged spiritually and emotionally. Today I'm not three anymore. But I still feel those emotions - the rage, frustration, and anger. However, after forty years I'm learning my mother's lesson that getting even gets YOU it doesn't get you even. Revenge, like poison, is a dish best served not at all. Jean V. Dickson is a Canadian-based entrepreneur who adds creativity's ZING to corporate and organizational communications. To add some ZING to your church, see www.fatsheep.org and www.worshipzing.com. For information about creativity, visit www.jvdcreativity.com. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |