Brad was tightening the final lug nut on the wheel after changing his tire when the wrench slipped off the nut and his knuckles slammed into the concrete driveway full force. Jerry, who was watching from behind winced in sympathy. Then as Brad brought up his injured hand and they saw blood streaming from the skinned and swelling fingers, they both grimaced. Jerry braced himself as he anticipated a stream of profanities and curses, but to his surprise none came.
Brad left his tools in the driveway while he rushed to the hose faucet on the side of the house and ran cold water over his hand. The coolness helped lessen the burning sensation, while the water rinsed away the blood and dirt. He tried wiggling his fingers and they all moved okay. It appeared the discomfort was only from the abrasion and bruising, so he was happy. He’d only need to wrap it with a small bandage rather than go to the hospital for an x-ray and a cast.
Jerry had been silent as he watched Brad clean his injury, but now he could restrain himself no longer. “Man,” he said. “If I’d banged my knuckles that bad, they’d have heard me yelling a mile away. How in the world did you stand that? Didn’t it hurt? Didn’t it make you angry?”
Brad smiled at his friend. “Getting angry, or not, is just a choice.” He then walked away leaving Jerry to ponder that.
After Brad had bandaged his hand and put away his tools, he and Jerry went into the kitchen to get a couple of cold drinks. As he pulled the tab to open the can a large splash of foam spewed into his face.
Jerry laughed out loud, then held his own can away from himself while opening it, but his didn’t spray out. He took a long swig, then watched as Brad blotted himself with paper towels. Once again he was amazed at his friend’s self-restraint.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Anyone else would have had a few choice words if that happened. Are you going to explain or not? What did you mean getting angry is a choice?”
Brad dropped the used paper towels into the trashcan, took a long swig from his drink, then sat down at the table. He inhaled deeply, held his breath a moment, then released it slowly as if a long sigh. At length he looked at his friend and answered.
“It goes back to my teen years,” Brad said. “I was a very angry youth. Everything made me mad. I don’t know how many people I beat up and how many times I got beat up. I was always blowing my top about one thing or another. My parents and teachers were at their end. They were sure I would soon be in a prison or a morgue.
“Why was I like that? I don’t know. Even now, after all these years, I can’t come up with a good explanation. I just remember a constant feeling of helplessness because I couldn’t control myself. And that frustration only aggravated me more.
“The end came when I nearly killed my younger brother. I got mad at him for eating the last of the chips when I wanted them for myself. I know that’s a stupid reason, but at the time it made me furious.
“I hit him from behind and knocked him to the floor. Then I grabbed a kitchen knife from off the counter and held it to his stomach. I told him I was going to get those chips back even if it killed him. I raised my arm and was about to slam it home when my mother came into the room and screamed.
“The look on her face froze my heart. I knew I’d gone too far. I dropped the knife and ran out of the house. An hour later I was picked up by the police and taken to the juvenile center.
“The court made me stay in detention for six months while I took anger management classes. But I didn’t need them by then. That day with the knife had changed everything. In that hour before I was picked up, I swore I would never, ever, let myself get angry like that any more. I never wanted to lose control again.
“I had hurt my mother. I’d nearly killed my brother. Even as it was, I left him emotionally scarred. And I had shamed myself more than I could bear. If they hadn’t found me when they did, I’d have probably ended my own life that day.
“Since then I’ve kept my vow. The first few weeks the shock of what I’d done kept me from even thinking of showing my temper. After a while it became a habit. Now I don’t ever feel any angry stirrings no matter what the provocation is.
“I saw my mother regularly until she passed away some time ago. But my brother never forgave me and I haven’t seen him since. I can’t really blame him, I guess. I sent him letters apologizing many times but he’s never answered. He may not even have read them. So in a sense I did kill him that day.
“I’ve learned that, yes, anger is a choice. Most people don’t recognize that. But even when you tell yourself it’s beyond your control, it’s only like that because you let it be that way. Once you really want to control it, you can.”
Jerry sat silent for several moments. He’d never known any of this about his friend. He didn’t even know there was a brother. Of course, how could he since Brad had never talked about him. He was also surprised that his friend whom he thought he knew so well had such a dark event in his past.
But perhaps what was most surprising was that Brad had just mentioned the very excuse Jerry used so often after erupting in one of his own angry outbursts — he couldn’t help himself, it was out of his control. If what Brad just said was true, then he could master it. He knew he had hurt others repeatedly, and each time he justified his actions by blaming others for provoking him.
Now Jerry knew better. Brad had just given him the key to changing himself. Deep down he sensed it was true — once you really want to control it, you can.
Jerry stood up and looked at Brad. “Thank you. Thank you for sharing something so personal. I have to go now. I have a lot of apologies to make.”
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