The Bully

Yesterday, thoughts about Mitt Romney gave rise to my subsequent blog about altered memory.  Mitt has inspired me yet again.

Do we all have a bully inside of us waiting to come out?  More to the point, have I ever been or will I ever be a bully?  Given that I have always tried to be conciliatory and accommodating, being mean in any manner constitutes bullying.

It's very hard to admit that I have felt mean, and that I have been mean.  I'm not always mean.  But sometimes, particularly lately, I'm aware of sometimes being unkind and spiteful.  At least I feel unkind and spiteful.

I have previously written about being angered by a member of my family:

"A family member enraged me today.  She is not a blood relative.  Her intent was to give me professional advice regarding my mother.  In fact, she stipulated that she was writing as a professional and not as a family member.  I would have preferred to hear from a family member.

It was unsolicited advice and most unwelcome.  Although I'm sure she would disagree, her letter seemed heartless and condescending.  She attempted to convince me to stop calling my mother in the Memory Unit, but she failed to make a persuasive or a cohesive case for her position."

Since then, without going into particulars, I have won the war.  We are all calling my mother, and some of us are visiting her.  I wanted to call the source of the unsolicited advice and yell, "I was right, and you were wrong,  and by the way, you are a horrid person and I've decided not to get you the birthday present I had promised you".  I wanted to be a bully.

Instead, I wrote an email to all of my family members to say how happy I am that we are all having some kind of communication with my unhappy mother.  Still, I must confess that I felt rather triumphant and vengeful when I pressed "Send".

However, I still am angry, and I still feel mean.  Yet,  I intend to send the offender the particularly special birthday present that I had previously promised her.