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Indy Lifestyle Online
TWENTY-SIX years ago, at the Hilton in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, my father strode across the deck of the pool in a suit and tie, his family of five in tow, heading for the restaurant. He cut neatly between two deck chairs and walked straight into a wall of plate glass, much to the surprise of the diners on the other side. He fell to his knees. "For Christ's sake, Bob, get up" said my mother. "I'm trying" he said, as blood dripped from his nose.

I felt embarrassed, but also guilty, because I knew the glass was there. In fact I was keen to demonstrate the illusion to my family, but I hadn't reckoned on my Dad getting that far out in front. I figured God would get me back for it, but He never bothered. I carried the guilt around for years.

Last week my wife and I attended the nursery school fund-raising auction. After several glasses of wine and a couple of arguments, a weekend in Suffolk came up. She sent me out from the warm glow of the room to get some extra cash.

I was angry about several things: being sent out into the freezing night, my wife's inability to keep sufficient cash on hand even though she spends all day with my cashpoint card, and her insistence that I also walk a quarter mile to buy her some rolling tobacco. I muttered my intentions to skip this errand even as I queued for the tobacco. Then I stomped back, cursing her under my breath. Then I ran into a market stall, splitting my nose. By the time I got back to the nursery school I had blood running down my face. My wife suggested a plaster, followed by rehab.

All the guilt about the previous incident with my dad suddenly left me. Thank you God.