It was my turn next. I turned 10 last week. I was old enough to drive the tractor in the field as we gathered hay. It was going to be great.
I would guide the huge machine and wagon expertly while my little brother went ahead and made the “road” for me. My big brothers would flex their muscles to throw hay bales into the wagon. I was simply waiting for my parents to make the assignment.
For now, I kicked another bale out of the way as my Dad drove into the field. Any moment now he would call me up to the tractor seat to take over. Meanwhile, I plodded ahead to clear the path through the first turn.
I completed the way and looked back. What was this?! My LITTLE brother was driving? He was too young! I was next! What is going on? Not fair! My older brothers started at age 10. I was now 10. The little twerp should have to wait 2 more years!
I was angry. I crossed my arms and sat on a bale in silent protest. My little brother shouted at me to keep moving bales out of his way. I pouted and glared back. He waved his tiny arms and screamed urgently. I sat.
The tractor approached a bale threateningly. If he ran over it and smushed the bale, he would prove he wasn’t ready for the job. Little brother stood on the clutch and brake pedals while pulling hard against the steering wheel for vertical leverage. He managed to stop with the front wheel touching the bale.
My Dad came out from behind the wagon to see why they had stopped. I still sat on a bale with an angry pout. Little brother shifted to neutral and told him I wasn’t doing my job. Silently, I agreed. I should be driving. HE should be working for me. It wasn’t fair.
My Dad came to me to investigate. Through angry sobs I made my case. Dad didn’t seem too concerned with the affront to me. He simply needed someone to guide the tractor through the field at a crawling pace. It wasn’t truly difficult. That’s why he had put the 8 year old into the seat.
He did tell the twerp to switch places with me and I drove the rest of the day. The victory was hollow. I would always be the one who drove AFTER my little brother. It wasn’t fair.
Share a story where it was very difficult for you to forgive the perpetrator for wronging you, but you did it — you forgave them.