Keep On Rolling!

I've been told by some people that I'm a very angry person. I'll admit that I'm pretty good at getting upset. I'm one of those people who is not assertive. I smile and nod and slowly get angrier and angrier until I snap. Not 'going postal' snapping; more like 'that kid forgot to take his medicine' snapping. I notice more people with raised eyebrows when I lose my temper than people running for cover. I also have an exaggerated sense of fairness. If I feel that something is not fair, I am more likely to go from sweet kid to unbalanced lunatic in no time flat. So to sum things up, I know that I'm good at being angry.

What I'm even better at than BEING angry, though, is manipulating other people into becoming angry at me. I'm sure I've developed this skill throughout my life, but I'm so good at it I think I was just born with the ability to royally piss people off. I don't even have to bring up religion or politics. For that matter, I don't even have to say that many words. I just have an invisible sign that says 'Angry people apply here'. An aura, if you will. With all of this in mind, I want to tell you a story....


It was the fourth of July last year. Katie and I were going to be lighting fireworks with her brother Nate, his girlfriend Nicole, Nicole's mom, and my mother in law. We were over at Nicole's mom's house. We showed up while it was still light. We ate some burgers and dogs, enjoyed some good conversation, and eventually it was time for the light show. Katie and I had stopped by a local fireworks stand on our way over, but not Nate. No, Nate was not satisfied with roman candles that merely flung sparks while laying on the ground or flowers spinning centimeters from the ground. He wanted the real deal. In order to buy the Real McCoy, though, it required that he go out of state. This was in the days when gas was not $4.15 a gallon, so Nate thought nothing of driving to Wyoming to purchase the illicit pyrotechnics. He would have made any adolescent boy proud with his ambition.

As we gathered in the street, we could hear the hullabaloo of nearby families happily enjoying the fireworks and each other's company. We started small. We lit some of the lesser fizgigs purchased by Katie and I. Soon, though, the desire for flames soaring through the sky overcame us and we started lighting Nate's contributions. If you've ever seen the lighting of the Christmas tree on the Garfield Christmas Special, you would know how we appeared as we stared into the sky with glee. And so it was, that staring into the sky I heard a low methodical humming noise. It took me a while to register, but eventually it grew louder. When I realized the noise was getting closer, I looked around. And like a cowboy slowly meandering into the light of a fire, a vision slowly became apparent. That vision was a 75 year old man in a wheelchair. And not just any 75 year old man riding a Jazzy. This handicap parker had taken upon himself a noble goal. His goal was to rid his neighborhood of the riff raff and criminal activity that had plagued it for too long. So coming into the light, he firmly told us that we were done lighting our illicit goods. As I started to light one of our ground locked firecrackers, I told the good sir not to worry; we were almost done firing off our wares. On the side of righteousness, he told me that he didn't care if we were almost done or not. We, he told us, were done firing firecrackers.

As he was talking, he was slowly moving towards me. I had a firecracker in one hand and a lit match in the other. I warned him that I was lighting a 100% legal firecracker. Seeing that I was telling the truth and he had saved his suburb from lawlessness, he turned to go. Then it was that I uttered the words that have haunted me each and every day from that one to this: 'That's right. Keep on rolling, old man."

The mechanical whirring stopped then started again as he slowly maneuvered the Jazzy back towards me. I realized that I had made a grievous error. My intrinsic ability to cause anger in others had struck again. As Katie told me 'Troy, stop!' and my mother-in-law reminded me to 'Respect your elders', I stood my ground against the aggrieved neighborhood watchman. By now the match I had lit to start my firework was out. I stood there with an extinguished match in one hand and a lifeless flower in the other. Captain Jazzy came to a stop inches from me and asked me a thought provoking question. 'Do you want to fight?' he asked. But before I could answer or even ponder the invitation, he followed the offer with 'Just because I'm in a wheelchair, don't think I won't fight you.' Considering his first offer withdrawn, I felt it impolite not to say anything. 'I'm not going to fight you' I said. We were like gunslingers standing (except that one of us was sitting). Each waiting for the other to make a move. Eventually, my non walking friend put his wheelchair back into motion. The threat having passed, I lit another match and started my firework. Since that incident, nary a day goes by without my battle cry being thrown back at me by a friend or family member: 'Keep On Rolling'