by Paul Beckman
Gammerman knew that he shouldn’t send the email, he even paused and said to himself, “Gammerman, don’t send that email.” And then he hit the send key. That in a nutshell is the story of Gammerman’s life—he always knew what his choices were and when push came to shove he took the one most harmful to himself.
And, like many others in his life, this choice couldn’t be undone even if he wanted to. There was no way to recall the email, not that he considered doing so for even a nanosecond.
“Wait a day, Julius,” his mother always said, “and then mail the letter, but wait a day first.” His wife would tell him not to make the call in anger but to wait a day or two. He never understood the rational behind that thinking because he knew he would be just as upset the following day—maybe even more so since he let things fester and then he’d only want to toss the letter and write a stronger one. Gammerman never regretted anything. Period.
Gammerman was a strange one, alright. The more his actions came back and bit him in the ass the more he blamed other people for putting him in that position and like a dog with a bone he wouldn’t let go of his anger or hostility no matter what or how long.
Gammerman left a trail of his own bones that could be carbon dated back fifty years, but yet, those that knew him were still caught off guard when they received the email telling of his anger at all of them for not acknowledging his sixtieth birthday—a milestone birthday at that, and to thank them he wanted to share a little tidbit, some gossip or perhaps a secret about each and every one of them that would be informative to their spouses or friends in the group and that included his wife. He wanted them to know how hurt he was and for them to share in his hurt.
It was effective. So much so that they canceled his surprise birthday party for the weekend after his birthday which they had planned in order to keep him off guard. His wife tossed him out, and the group of friends returned the new set of golf clubs they had chipped in to buy.
Gammerman, now back in his old bedroom at his mother’s house, refused to allow himself the luxury of regret but returned that first night and every night thereafter to listen to his mother’s lectures on his behavior while the two of them sat in the kitchen eating take-out.

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