Anyone who has been following me from the beginning knows the story about that 11^th grade English teacher, Mr. V.  If you don’t know it, you can read the story in my About page.

Today’s post is about revenge versus forgiveness.

For many, many years, I totally hated that English teacher.  So much, in fact, that on my second guest post on Cordelia’s website, I wanted to add a postscript that said:

“F… you, Mr. V!”

Cordelia rejected that .  (I can’t imagine why – but maybe the fact that it was a Christmas post had something to do with it.)

I even had visions of posting Mr. V’s real name and maybe trying to find out where he lives now and posting that!  If I discovered he had died in the interim, maybe I could find his tombstone and post a picture with some kind of wicked comment.  (Yep, Cordelia’s Mom can be a really nasty person if you cross her.)

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became – I could have had a real writing career were it not for that one teacher’s stupid comment.  I wanted to get back at him somehow, and I wanted him to know that I had proved him wrong – I now had READERS who didn’t think my writing was worthless.

So back and forth Cordelia and I went on the draft of that post.  She loved the post itself (who wouldn’t?), but the hatred simply didn’t fit in with the style of her blog.

Maybe I should’ve posted it on:

www[dot]IHateMyOldTeacherAndWishHeWereDead[dot]com.

[Note to readers:  don’t even try, I made sure it’s not a real site!)

I wracked my poor pitiful brain to come up with something that would express my anger but not offend Cordelia’s readers.

Finally I came up with:

“Rot in Hell, Mr. V —  BUT happy holidays to you, too, wherever you may really be!”

That certainly covered it, I thought.  But again, surprisingly, Cordelia rejected it.

Well, I really wanted my guest post published because it was a gift to my newly found readers.

What to do?

I sat back and began thinking (it does happen sometimes.)

I thought back over the many, many years since high school and all the ways that I had found to use my writing abilities.  Beyond the normal work-related material, I had found an outlet once I had children of my own.  After all, who better to write those Santa and Easter Bunny letters than a parent who knows the child best?

“Dear Cordelia:  Thank you for your letter.  I’ll try my best to bring you the puppy you want, but I will have to check with your parents first to be sure they have the ability to take care of it for you.  I have had problems with PETA in the past when I have given a live animal to a child at Christmas time, and then that child’s parents didn’t want it and wouldn’t allow it.  I notice there are lots and lots and lots  of other nice items on your wish list, and I promise to bring you at least one of those. – Love, Santa.”

(No, Cordelia, you haven’t forgotten that one – I never actually wrote it.  But I would have if I had thought of it at the time.)

So, for each Christmas and Easter, each of my children received a very nice, handwritten note from Santa and/or the Easter Bunny.  I even used special pens and papers, and disguised my penmanship so they wouldn’t catch on.  And when Cordelia grew too old to believe, I got her a set of special pens, and she took over the task for her sisters.  Worked out well for all of us.

***

Anyway, back to the issues with my Christmas post.

My rambling thoughts focused back on Mr. V.

Maybe I was able to write such wonderful stuff now BECAUSE I was so angry with him.  Maybe the need to prove him wrong had become the very catalyst I needed to put my abilities into the public light.

My thoughts took an alarming turn.  Instead of HATRED, I was beginning to feel THANKFUL to that cranky old man.  And at some point, I began to feel COMPASSION.

Maybe the reason he had come down so hard on a starry eyed teenager was because he, himself, had failed as a writer.  Maybe in his own, misguided way, he was trying to save me the pain of pursuing a dream that might ultimately cause me more misery than happiness.

(Or, maybe he really was just a cranky old fart who enjoyed dashing a child’s dreams.  We’ll never really know, will we?)

After several hours of this deep thinking (and several glasses of wine), I made the final edit to my postscript on the Christmas post:

“Oh, and a note to Mr. V: While I would not be unhappy if you got coal in your stocking this year, I do want to wish you a happy holiday. Thanks to Cordelia’s readers [*gasp* MY readers?] I have finally forgiven you.”

***

Sometimes, a parent learns from the child.  Cordelia (and her readers) taught me forgiveness.

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As always, I love to hear from my readers.  You may either comment on this post, or email me at:  cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com

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Images by:  andrewbuter, and Aaron Smith/Random Factor, and only_point_five, and Sarah Deer, respectively