Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Projectstarted, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”
This week: My Name is Earl Elizabeth (a.k.a. fixin’ the wrong I done to people).
I was going to start this off with an introduction about four-letter words. Words like “damn” and “shit” and “sorry.” Then I realized that “sorry” is actually a five-letter word. I hate it when words trick me.
Do you remember the TV show, “My Name is Earl”? The one where the main character, Earl, believes a series of unfortunate events happens to him because he’s piled up a lot of bad karma by not making amends for all the wrong he’s done in his life? Each episode, he tracks down a person he’s wronged and offers to make it up any way the victim sees fit.
Since my only two talents are swearing and making mistakes, if I fully commit to the “My Name is Earl Elizabeth” challenge, it could take years. So, I’m making a short list. #1: My mom.
My parents didn’t have a matching set of bedroom furniture until I was in my teens. The nightstand came from this person, and the headboard came from that person, and the ugly-as-sin dresser came from another person. My mom finally took the plunge and bought a five-piece bedroom set from our local Levitz. The mahogany-like veneer promised “the look of elegance without the expensive price tag.” It was pretty pimpin’.
Shortly after the furniture was delivered, I laid out all the essentials for a home spa manicure on my mom’s new dresser. Before I even started, my elbow knocked over the uncapped bottle of nail polish remover and spilled its contents everywhere. When I tried to wipe it off, the acetone spread and removed even more varnish from the dresser.
I did what I thought was best. I ran.
When my mom questioned me about the damage, I played dumb. She never asked me again or accused me. My mom kept that dresser for ten years. Maybe she figured I would confess when I was ready. I’m just sorry that she gave me so much credit. My name is Earl Elizabeth, and I’m calling my mom today. Even if it doesn’t make a difference, I feel like I should own my mistake…finally.
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Would you apologize for something you’ve done in your past, even years later? Anything in particular?
Or, has anyone ever tracked you down to say “I’m sorry”? Did it make a difference?
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image via knockknock.biz
