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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Angry man’s blessings go uncounted



 (The Spokesman-Review)
The Spokesman-Review

I have an old friend — we go back more than 30 years — who I refer to in my mind as the “angry man.”

I’m not talking about the fire-in-the-belly kind of anger that stirs you to action and gives a spark to everything you touch; I’m talking about the kind of anger that holds you in place, like a chain around your ankle, and keeps you from moving on.

For as long as I’ve known him, my friend’s razor-quick wit and sarcastic jabs have made me laugh. (Unless they’re directed at me; then they aren’t funny at all.)

He is smart, surprisingly kind, and a good friend, but always, just under the surface, angry.

We each married and, like so many friends and classmates who scattered across the country, moved away from our hometown. And busy lives mean that we don’t talk very often. Whenever we do reconnect, his wit is still sharp, but the anger — cloaked in sarcasm and bitterness — is still there, too.

I tease him that he has grown into the classic “angry white male,” blaming the world for his plight.

He calls me a societal lightweight, someone who doesn’t grasp the seriousness of life or the weight of responsibility.

I tell him to stop feeling sorry for himself and looking at his glass as half empty. He finds my “at least I’ve got a glass and it’s got something in it” attitude irritating.

We’ve had the same conversation for years. Nothing is ever resolved, but we have managed to remain friends. But lately, to be honest, I don’t have the stomach for it.

On the surface, my friend has a lot to be happy about. He is successful and financially comfortable. He has a beautiful family, including a wife who has stuck with him, and his quiet anger, for 20 years.

I don’t know what chains him to his unhappiness, why he is so unhappy with himself and the world around him, but time is running out. Just like me, and the rest of our old friends, he is edging out of his 40s. We are busy with marriages, raising families and building careers. It’s time to let the anger go, get help if it’s needed, and move on.

Thinking about my friend reminds me of the Coleman lantern we used to take on camping trips when I was a child.

The “mantle,” the glowing fabric sack that gives off light as it burns, fascinated me.

I was cautioned, specifically called by name and warned, not to touch it, but it drew me like a moth circling a flame. Finally, unable to resist, when the lantern was not being used I stroked the mantle with my index finger. Shocked, I watched it simply disappear, dissolving into a pile of ash.

I think that’s what anger does to us. It burns until the fiber that holds us together is burned away. Until it’s the anger within us that makes us glow and, eventually, we’re only real while we burn.

Left untouched we look as solid as ever. But the slightest pressure can cause us to crumble.

My heart aches for my old friend, but I can’t bring myself to laugh at his caustic jibes any more. And I don’t want to watch him waste the years, and wonderful gifts he was given, being angry and unhappy.

If he can’t let go, and he won’t get help, I’ll have to move on.