what hurts more...words or cuts?

I’m finding that I’m a different sort of person in the world of candlepin. And that’s probably due to my parochial upbringing and life experiences as a child. They shaped the way I see things today (as an adult and a teacher) and have given me a fairly unique world view. Allow me to explain.

As many of you know, my father was a congregational minister. In fact, he held a divinity doctorate, so he was pretty well educated. And those who knew my father and watched me grow up have stated repeatedly that I’m a carbon copy of my dad (other than the fact that I wear glasses…that was from my mother’s side of the gene pool…LOL). And in growing up, I followed my father wherever he went. I learned his way of thinking through observing him with his parishioners, not to mention through the direct instruction he gave me on a daily basis.

The one thing he always taught me was respect. And I don’t mean that in the sense of calling elders “sir” or “ma’am.” I use the word respect in several different manners.

• Respect means doing my best to avoid the teasing that I feel would result in feelings getting hurt or that would result in old wounds being opened. My father always told me that I have no right to reduce anyone’s self image in order to boost mine, not to mention the fact that I have no right to pick at someone’s old emotional scars for my own advantage. Dad taught me that doing that was tantamount to the worst physical bullying anyone could do…emotional scars and broken hearts and/or feelings take far longer to heal than physical ones.
• Respect means refraining from the gloating about your accomplishments. Dad taught me that a modicum of pride in yourself is one thing, but shoving your highlights down someone’s throat makes you look horribly small. That bloviating makes you a far smaller person for reveling in the fact that you’ve done things others haven’t yet. I try to make sure, in discussing my accomplishments, that I mute them with respect for my conversation partner’s place in life.
• Respect means not changing the way you treat someone depending upon the situation. If you’re a friend to someone, Dad always told me to revere that friendship as it could be taken away from you at anytime. Life is short, and can end at a moment’s notice. Do you really want your last words to a person to be words of anger, bullying, hurtfulness? That’s hard to live with, isn’t it?

That’s only three of a long list of life lessons my father took the time to teach me. And while I’m trying to relate all of these lessons to my 9-year old son, I’m having a hard time reconciling them to myself at times. I’m finding that my worldview of respect for all doesn’t fit well in this age. We’re conditioned by whatever outside force to ensure we boost our own egos at all costs…in an effort to get a leg up and succeed. We’re also taught to “look out for number one” and take what we can for ourselves while we can get it. Well, that’s nice, isn’t it? Had that idea been prevalent during the Great Depression, our society would have collapsed beyond repair.

So the question remains…why would I be typing about this in my blog today? What sparked this? Well, study on dear reader.

I subbed in Ware last night. I love going in there to see my friends and bowl in a house that cares about candlepin and the bowlers. It’s like going to see family. The nights I bowl up there are special to me. We talk about bowling, the Red Sox, joke about our homes and families and the silly things we do together. Yet last night was special in a different way... and I had a fairly decent night…hitting my average with a 305.

For some reason, the friends I usually go to see were a much different party last night. It seemed they wanted to make sure that I knew I wasn’t really part of the gang…blasting me about recent accomplishments (such as getting published) and ensuring I knew one of them picked up the Hi-Low Jack again. In fact, the teasing really rattled me in my second game, causing me to fail to hit 90. Had I just hit my average in that game, I’d have had a 328 night. I was pretty shocked at the dramatic difference in the way I was treated, and I don’t mind telling you it hurt. There were no kind words at all…not a one…not even a “hi, how are you?” There was a shot about my reading ability, too.

Those things affect me more than most…I have a sensitive heart and a somewhat fragile self image. That doesn’t mean I go home shattered each instance of someone giving me a hard time. It means that I carry myself differently than most, and my personality steers me to taking them to heart. I get over it, but it takes me a little longer than most.

So, yeah, I’m different. I like to have a good time, but not at others expense. I guess that’s why I don’t fit in with a room of guys like other men do. I enjoy mixed company more as it tempers most men into behaving better than they would if a woman weren’t in the room. That’s why I’m not so sure I’d be very good in a men’s league as the general locker room crap that takes place many nights wouldn’t fly with me. I’d never say anything; I’d just take it home and deal with it in my own way. And I’d eventually become a silent bowler…come in on time, bowl, and run out the door when it’s over so the B.S. wouldn’t overwhelm me. And that’s not what I want to do.

The question remains as to why I had to go through that last night. Why was that abuse (and I don’t believe that’s too strong of a word here) was heaped upon me? It was really out of left field. But at least I understand more about the group I hung around with up there. I don’t like what I understand, but I don’t have to…life isn’t about liking everything and everyone. It’s about building knowledge and experiences, family and foundation, love and trust. I have a family and a foundation with my new family. I have love and trust with my Kathleen. I have knowledge and experiences…both good and bad.

Therefore, in closing this, I’ll ask you, gentle reader, to understand that you’re not the only one with an ego. Please understand that words hurt…sometimes more than physical assaults. And the results of those words tend to stay with the victims for far longer than the results of physical attacks.

Update: now I’m being called conceited? I don’t get it. Gee, maybe it’s time I took a look at the way I carry myself and make an effort to adjust myself accordingly? Apparently, I’m violating a lot of the principles my father taught me.