Tuesday

Sometime during the winter of 1982, the combined 1st grade classes of Ridgeview Elementary put on the annual music program. You know the drill on these: silly songs, poetry readings, short dramas, sweet hand motions that were practiced for hours and hours. At the time it always seemed we were preparing for a massive Broadway Production of eternal importance. If you've ever attended on of these as a parent, you'll admit the truth: these programs are basically a herd of 60+ kids making noise. Period.

"That's mean man. They're just kids."

Kids that can't sing. There. I said it.

Ours was different of course. We're talking serious music production put on by serious professionals. The show culminated with each student grabbing a hand percussion instrument, leaving the risers to line up on the stage, and boogie down to a rousing recording of Buckner & Garcia's "Pac-Man Fever". Check out the tune here and really give yourself a moment to create the mental picture. This was the big time grand finale, and I was appropriately pumped for the rock-star event, but it wasn't to be.

"What happened?"

It was Ryan, whose job it was to walk down behind the risers and hand each kid their assigned instrument. It was Ryan who missed an instrument somewhere down the line, which meant he was one short. It was Ryan who decided the proper course of action would be to take my instrument and leave me hanging empty-handed for the spotlight moment. And so it happened that as the Pac-Man theme echoed through Ridgeveiw's gymnasium, and the phat 80's beats brought the eagerly awaiting audience to their feet, I was left on the riser alone with no perc. Total humiliation.

For almost 4 minutes I stood there, hands outstretched, lower lip trembling, as the rest of the class completely killed the performance. I still remember the horror on music teacher Mrs. Sargent's face as she tried in vain to direct me up to the stage to at least fake it. It was all the way awful. To make matters worse, I was able to re-live the entire trauma a few weeks later when the tape of this fiasco hit the cable access station. My family only laughed at me for about 45 minutes.

"Didn't you have that messed up lopsided afro back then too? Hilarious!"

Since I know you're dying to know: my instrument was the tambourine.

"Sweet."

I know, right? How cool would that have been?

This past Sunday, one of the churches where I play keyboards, New Hope Church was blessed with guest worship leader Sara Renner. She's pretty well-known around the area as a singer, recording artist, and worship leader. Check out her stuff here. For the offertory, she sang an original song called "Forgive", which has a great story behind it, but the long and short of it is: lack of forgiveness completely binds your life. As I sat there behind the Hammond playing this beautiful song, I began to realize how proud I've become of my ability to hold a grudge for the duration. Every slight, rejection, tease, offense, and injustice is logged somewhere in my mental storehouse, filed away for easy recall. I can even remember at times, purposefully willing myself to remember an event where I felt someone had mistreated me, just so I wouldn't forget to hate them for it.

"Uh... seriously, dude?"

Just like anyone else, I have good enough reasons to be upset with people who have played a part in the drama of my life. The kid who laughed at my hair and glasses. The boy who punched me in the stomach for looking at him too long. The endless harassment for being too tall, too black, too awkward, too poorly dressed, and too socially inept. Being called "uncoordinated bastard" daily in high school (Honestly though, I really was a clumsy fool). Ignore Irmiter days, busted glasses, lost jobs, being lied to, getting screwed, being disrespected, and being publicly blamed for other's blunders. I remember them all. Even more, I'm still angry about all of them.

"Really dude, ALL of them??"

All.

As I sit here pondering whether or not the next unemployment check will cover the mortgage, and scour the interwebs for a new career, it dawned on me, that I'm still trying to define my life by proving to all these that offended me, that I am going to find and do something in life that is really gonna make them pay. (seriously?) Unfortunately success hasn't been found in shaking my fist at the world and screaming "YOU"LL BE SORRY!"

"Dude, you need help..."

I want to say I forgive people. Heck, it's pretty much a fundamental part of my faith to believe that forgiveness is available, attainable, and required of me if I'm to expect it from God. It gets really old to always feel the exact same emotions I felt when an offense occurred. It gets really tiring to be carrying all of these grudges around day after day. It's embarrassing to admit my main goal in life is to exact a little revenge on hundreds of people I'll probably never see again. It's time to clear the storehouse and put these memories to bed. Each day, as these different events come to mind, I guess I just have to choose to let it go. Seems simple, but obviously its super difficult since it's taken me 32 years to figure it out.

*sigh*

I'll start with Ryan. Dude, that was my tambo and you know it, but... I forgive you.

One down...