I spent an hour one recent Sunday afternoon stewing in judgment over a ten-year-old hogging the cornhole bags at a bar-and-grill in Waco, Texas.
Our family and another had chosen the location for lunch because the restaurant had a large, outdoor area where our kids could run around together. When we arrived to see a cornhole set-up, I thought Perfect!
My seven-year-old and I have been enjoying some special bonding over cornhole in recent days, and I knew it would be fun to keep the momentum going. He sensed it, too, because it was not long before he began peaking over at the cornhole boards.
Neither of us, however, walked up to the area itself because a couple of kids were already playing. The boy was probably 10, the girl about 8, and they were soaking in all the surprising joy of tossing old bags at a hole.
Which was fine until ten minutes went by. And then twenty. And then a half-hour. Weren’t these kids going to give someone else a turn?!
True, a more adult version of Bobby could have just gone over and asked “May my son and I have the next turn?”
Instead, I stared and stewed while my son ran around with his friends in another part of the outdoor area.
In my stewing, I began to note how both children were dressed a good tick or two above “bar and grill” attire.
Spoiled, I said to myself a little more readily than I would like to admit.
And how are they so unaware that maybe other children may want a turn?! This, of course, reinforced my spoiled assessment.
Eventually, the girl left to play elsewhere, but the boy kept at it.
Toss. Toss. Toss.
Quickly Retrieve.
Repeat.
“I think he knows!” I yell-whispered to my wife. “I think he is purposely moving quickly between the cornhole boards to gather the bags so that we don’t get them!”
She was involved in a conversation with our friends so I didn’t get much of a response. But I knew he knew. He had to know.
Eventually, I looked over at the boy’s parents, and their beers were still half-full, which did not suggest they were moving along anytime soon. They were nicely dressed, too, and I readily gathered where the child got his spoiled, oblivious ways.
Almost 50 minutes into our time there, my son walked close enough to the cornhole area that it felt natural for him to pick up one of the bags. Without a word, he tossed it.
The boy who had been playing made a motion suggesting that this was perfectly fine. And then the boy said aloud to no one in particular, “I think I am going to take a break.”
A break, indeed! I exclaimed within.
In fact, I decided to make sure it was a decently long break by walking over the cornhole area so I could begin tossing bags with my son.
Nobody is going to mess with an adult taking over this area.
My son and I tossed back and forth a couple of times until the kids’ parents interrupted: “I’m sure it’ll be totally fine with the restaurant if you want to keep playing,” they said, immediately making me wonder why in the world the restaurant was going to get involved with our family finally having a chance to play.
“But you have to give them collateral to rent the bags. We gave them a driver’s license, and since we’re leaving we need to take the bags back. Of course, you’re welcome to walk with us to the counter to provide them with collateral.”
I felt myself step back - and if it had been possible I would have stepped into the recesses of complete oblivion. The step was accompanied by an embarrassment-filled heat rising within.
This really had been their turn the entire, judgement-filled time!
Eventually, I muttered, “Oh! So sorry… Here! We don’t need to play. Let us help.” We proceeded to help them collect the bags, and though they knew nothing of my inner monologue, I felt too ashamed to join them at the counter to rent the bags.
Once the couple finished returning the bags, one of them walked up to our table and kindly inquired, “Are you all local?”
“No, we’re in Georgetown,” my wife replied.
“Love Georgetown!” the parent responded with enthusiastically. “Well, nice to have you here today. Bye!”
—
It never ceases to amaze me how little we really know about what we see.
I saw a selfish, spoiled child.
I saw entitled parents.
I saw cornhole joy hoarded and stolen from my child.
Honestly, the inner monologue was next-level ridiculous.
Not only because I was unaware of the situation (it really was their turn!) but also because…
My judgment clouded me from seeing other very sane interpretations (like maybe they were dressed up because they’d been to church that day)
I showed no inclination to act like an adult and simply inquire about joining in.
Which meant I left the restaurant exhausted not because my children had a lot of extra energy to run off or even because the day had already been full, but because I wasted a ton of mental energy on a story that wasn’t true - and one I had not willing to do a thing about.
Sometimes I wonder if some of the current exhaustion many of us face these days isn’t for similar reasons.
We can stew for hours and days and even years over a…
neighbor
spouse
colleague
work situation
group of people
political figure
political decision
community challenge
global challenge
… and - for a time - it can feel oddly gratifying to bask in our righteous anger.
And yet anger held for very long begins to deplete us. Eat at us. Consume us.
And, worse, what if our anger is misplaced at some level? What if we do not nearly or fully appreciate the reality of that person, situation, or decision about which we are fuming? What if our stewing is clouding us from seeing some other, very sane possibilities for why someone is doing/saying that?
To be sure, there are times when our stewing is at least partially justified. Or more! But even so… what are we going to do about it?
Many of us spew our frustrations, judgments, and anger in gossip, social media posts, and via a constant internal monologue. Which is really just turning a flame of judgment into a campfire - and then a bonfire that becomes a forest fire.
At which point the damage becomes incalculable.
Another route?
Take a deep breath and risk changing the story for good.
And true, you may walk right up to the nicely dressed child and his nicely dressed parents, and you may request to play along with them in the kindest, most sincere voice you have - and still they may say “no.” They may prove jerks! Or not. Either way, their reaction cannot be controlled.
Fundamentally, we can only ever control our own actions and reactions. Fortunately, we usually have more agency, choice, and power than we’re prone to let ourselves believe.
Anything in life calling you to set aside the stewing-and-spewing and see about a new possibility? A different trajectory for the story?
Anything within prepared to discover there may be more to the situation, challenge, or problem than you first knew about?
Anything within prepared to discover that maybe we’ve been telling ourselves a story that isn’t true?
—
Because here’s the basic truth:
We can stand up and act.
Humbleness is the birthplace of growth.
And there is a kind of surprising joy known when tossing that old wisdom at a new problem.
Powerful story how we project ideas into the darkness. And we control the projector!
Really hard to see the world from other perceptions than our own. That is why we need storytellers to expand our horizons. Your willingness to let us explore experience from your thoughtful perspectives helps me to see things I would miss in life. Thank you