“Get out,” I said. “Walk home if that’s how you feel.” My friend stared in disbelief. He got out and slammed the door. “Jerk!” he yelled. I burned rubber and muttered a few choice words I hadn’t learned at choir practice. I didn’t look back. We didn’t talk for years. “A guy has to draw the line somewhere,” I thought. “You don’t just sit there and take it.” So I kicked him out on a country road in Iowa and left him in the corn.
I was 17, and my ex-best friend had just insulted my … car. Yeah, I know, how juvenile. But that ‘69 Camaro was my life. I had never insulted his “piece-a-junk” Chevelle. Just where did he get off – well, we know where he got off … five miles north of Des Moines in a cornfield.
Years later I took a seat on a little commuter plane. Guess who sat down beside me? I’m glad he didn’t throw me off the plane – he owed me one. Conversation was cordial. We caught up on family and careers, but the conversation soon died. My Camaro was rotting in a Polk City junkyard and his Chevelle was probably paper clips. Nothing was gained – much was lost.
Anger elevates your heart rate as it robs your soul.
Have you let a “small” matter rob you of a friend?
Reposted with permission from onehope.net.