Are you holding a grudge? About?

Hell yeah, I’m holding a grudge. I am the QUEEN of grudges. And it’s not just a grudge, try an infinite number of grudges that I currently hold. If you wronged me, or even slightly inconvenienced me, you better believe that I have not forgotten it. Nor forgiven. I remember everything. Every. Thing.

Passed up for a job because I was a “single mom”. The stupid neighbor posting my kids on a town Facebook page because they were walking on his property. My hairdresser completely disregarding the picture of how I wanted my hair cut/dyed and instead making me look like He-Man and Karen had a love child.

Not saying that those who wronged me didn’t teach me a valuable lesson or mold me into who I am today. Because they did. And… because a few of my readers may be the recipient of some current, front-facing grudges, I’m going to deflect and tell a little story instead…

Once upon a time, there was a mechanic named Ray. Ray was a laid-back type of dude, but was pretty set in his ways about certain things. Those certain things included his lunchbox and thermos. Ray loved his giant green Playmate cooler (lunchbox) and Stanley thermos. One day, a coworker accidentally knocked Ray’s thermos off his toolbox and onto the concrete floor, shattering the insides.

Ray’s grudge would follow him throughout the years. When telling work stories of “Dangerous Dave” and his shenanigans, Ray would lament the person who caused the untimely death and destruction of his trusty Stanley. His daughters did their best to find a suitable replacement. Ray turned his nose up at any potential substitutions.

The amount of hate towards his coworker for destroying his Stanley became comical. His daughters, one in particular, would rile him up on every possible occasion. Even today, when I called Ray to ensure I had the correct brand name for this story….

“Dad, what was the name of your thermos?”

“I don’t have a thermos,” he replied resentfully.

“Yeah, I know. The one you used to have –“

“You mean the one Dangerous Dave broke? He’s dead, you know.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. What was it, a Thermos brand thermos? Or….”

“It was a Stanley. Green. Dangerous Dave broke it. They didn’t fire the sonofabitch ’cause he was a snitch. He almost cut a guy in half, and still they didn’t fire him–“

“I’m familiar with the stories, Dad. I’m writing a blog post about your thermos. I just wanted to get the details right.”

“A blog post? What the hell is that?”

“It’s just – it’s nothing. I’m writing a story about your thermos. How long ago did Dangerous Dave, rest his soul, break it?”

“Oh… I don’t know… a couple of years ago?”

“Dad, you’ve been retired for a couple of years. This happened like ten or more years ago.”

“Eh, I don’t know. Just tell them several years.”

“Dangerous Dave” has been dead for over 11 years. The thermos was broken “about” a year or two before Dave stopped working with Dad, which was around 5 years before that. 11 + 5 + 2 = 18. 18 years my Dad has been holding this grudge.

And this is only one of my dad’s grudges. He has a whole slew of them in his hip pocket, with me being on the receiving end on the majority of them. Like the time I made him puke when I showed him a package of green hot dogs that I took out of HIS fridge (15 years ago). Or when I pulled in a huge catfish on the first cast after he had been sitting out in the sun all day catching nothing (32ish years ago). Or when I tricked him into thinking I ate dog poop (8 years ago). Or when he caught his neighbor stealing a piece of firewood (25 years ago). The man can hold a grudge.

So, I figure – holding grudges is in my DNA. It’s kind of my birthright.