"I'm Sorry . . . I was Wrong"
WHY IS THAT SOOOO HARD?
Maybe it’s just me, but I think that there are large portions of we humans who REALLY struggle with the concept of apologizing. And right up there, in terms of difficulty, is admitting, “I was wrong.”
I lovingly recall a visit with my father decades ago. We were talking about something, no doubt heated, and the conversation found us walking through his stuffed garage. There was a narrow path between a bunch of boxes on the one side and tools and lumber on the other. As we worked our way down the center toward the open garage door, I asked: “Don’t you think you could stuff a few more 2 by 8’s up there?”
In front of and above him was an enormous stack of wood hanging on a few 2 by 6’s. Those boards were diagonally braced with another few 2 by 4’s, but they were seriously bowed outward on each end. My father was an engineer by trade and he knew tons about things like live loads, dead loads and material strength. But there must have been five hundred pounds of wood above him.
He started to say something like, “it could hold it” as he reached up and gave the center support a jar. Within a second, all three supports had broken or pulled out of the wall and the load came straight down. My father dove backward and landed on a bunch of boxes -amazingly not getting injured by a single board. He could have easily been killed but all he did was move a couple of boards that had grazed him and kept talking as we left the garage - no doubt continuing the conversation.
He never said anything about being wrong or stupid. If over the course of our lives together he ever admitted he was wrong or sorry, I certainly don’t remember it. He was admittedly strong-willed, and always had “good reason” for why he wouldn’t budge from his positions - just like other members in my family and those I’ve met over the years. I screw up almost every day and frequently admit I was wrong - maybe just to lighten my load of guilt. My wife of four decades is the same. Admitting at times that we’re wrong hasn’t killed either of us yet - but we’re young, it still could.
Compromise: a four-letter word
Another memorable incident took place February of 2009. My wife and I drove from upstate NY to Florida to visit my 84-year-old father and his lady friend “Dorothy.” Their relationship was floundering and he had recently gotten his own place. After visiting a couple of days, it somehow leaked out that I had voted for Obama, which was unthinkable to him, an extremely conservative Navy veteran. My father turned quiet as we ate breakfast. I vaguely remember all of us walking on the beach in the afternoon but between the weather in the 30’s and my father not talking, it was bitter.
As dinner rolled around, Dorothy said to me - “You and Emily have been married quite a long time and seem to do pretty well working through your differences… do you have any advice for us since we’re not doing quite so well?” I thought for a second or two and responded, “ I think what’s helped us more than anything is learning how to compromise.”
Well, the man who hadn’t said squat in the last five hours, exploded! His face turned red, he started yelling, his face went on to purple. I was terrified that this guy who I loved and respected was going to die right there on the spot. The last thing I remember him yelling was - “You’re the most unpatriotic person I have ever known.” After throwing the greatest insult imaginable, he left the table.
Maybe an hour later he led me toward the bathroom and said - “I want to show you something.” His color had cooled. I had just closed the door behind me as he reached under the sink and pulled out his 22 magnum pistol. With shaking hands and no words, he loaded the pistol in front of me. He hesitated and then put it back under the sink. I have no idea why I didn’t just grab his gun - maybe some warped sense of respect?
My wife and I slept with a dresser in front of the door of our bedroom that night and left early the next morning. My father never did say he was sorry, or apologize. We talked a few times and he never again brought up politics. The following year, he drove his well-used Toyota up to NY so our son could have it for his senior year of college and beyond. The year after that he treated my siblings, Emily, and me to a wonderful cruise in the Caribbean. That to him was much easier than apologizing.
One of my subscribers left me a message on FB which I'd like to pass on -
"The words seem so simple, but yet so profoundly hard for so many. I find that very sad. No one can be right all the time! Communication and compromise are what is the best balm for relationships. Thanks for sharing." Thank you - SZK
Thanks so much for your feedback Steve. My wife and I were recently talking about the challenge AND the many ways of dancing around apologies - some being more effective than others. People can get a sense of how effective an apology has been based on the response of those who were wronged. In my case, I've been blessed with an inability to hold grudges well. I certainly despise the way my father thought of me and treated me but I have let go of my animosity toward him after his sizable attempts at reconciliation.