Torn Up Over a Box of Chocolates

Not always as sweet as it looks ... Read on :)

It was in the fall of 1997 that we had a life-changing moment—one of many, many obviously. We were blessed with the opportunity to write for our hometown newspaper, the LaGrange Daily News. The column would be whatever I wanted it to be, I guess—humor, nostalgic, inspirational, spiritual. I thought of that moment as I read recently of the great patriarch Isaac, whose life, as ours, was marked by key junctures and places of his life where the Lord visited. You understand.

The moment we walked into the LaGrange Daily News and received an invitation to write is a key moment where the Lord visited us. It was actually the moment my grandma and I had car trouble out on the Roanoke Road. Stay tuned for that story in a week or two.

You never know from week to week when or how inspiration will visit, or how the pen will relate some earthshattering event. Life, I’ve learned, is filled with hundreds of small things that add up to nothing less than one great miracle.

Inspiration must’ve arrived in rare form on the first Valentine’s Day of our new weekly life officially as a columnist. We know the challenges Valentine’s Day holds for the male population, and none found the challenge greater than the unknown, unidentified, and unsuspecting gentleman in today’s story.

Ah, I have to shake my own head at him again, even as we did way back in 1998. I mean, what would cause a man to do such a thing? Read on, you’ll agree, I know.

…

I have to tell you, it was one of the most pitiful sights I've ever seen.  It was enough to make you downright ashamed of the whole human race.  It happened about a year ago during the season of love and romance we've come to know as Valentine's Day.  I was browsing around a local store the evening of February 14th, just trying to find a few items I needed, when I heard some commotion over in the next aisle.  Naturally, I hurried over to see what the trouble was and to see if I could be of assistance.

               That's when I witnessed it. It was a pitiful, pathetic sight. Half a dozen fellas were wrestling right there in public in the middle of the aisle. They were scratching, clawing, kicking, and biting, and each one was clinging with one hand to the last box of Valentine's candy in the whole store. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Grown men, shirttails hanging out, sweat running down their faces, were battling to the end to gain possession of that final box of candy.

             My disgust was too great for me to stand by silently. I hollered, "STOP IT!" and stomped my foot for added effect. Surprisingly, they all stopped and looked at me, perhaps more stunned than anything. They froze, each one still clinging with one hand to that lone box of candy.

I walked up to them. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," I said. "To think that grown men like yourselves have lowered yourselves to fighting over a meager box of Valentine's candy."

I shook my head in disbelief, then added, "And do you know why you're doin’ this?"

They all answered simultaneously, "Why?"

               "I'm goin’ to tell you why!" I said.  "Because you're too lowdown and sorry to go to the store before the last minute on Valentine's Day to buy your wife the nice gift she deserves! My, you're a pitiful sight, the whole bunch of you. After all your wives have done for you: washing your clothes, cooking your meals, cleaning your house, even bearing your children—and you don't have enough respect for her to give just a little forethought into buyin’ her a gift on a day that's more important to her than any other day of the year!"

I paused to let it sink in, then continued: "Gentlemen," I said, "this is the day when you have a chance to really show her how much you love her, and all you have failed miserably.  All of you!"

        I noticed as I looked at them that each seemed to have a slight tear emerging in the corner of his eye.  But I had no sympathy.

        "Don't start gettin’ sentimental now," I said. "It's too late for that. You should have gotten sentimental a few days ago. I just feel sorry for your wives for being married to such a lowdown, sorry lot as you. I know they deserve better.  I know they do."

        I paused again, looked at them eye to eye, but they all lowered their heads in shame.  Finally, I said, "Aw, give me that box of candy and get out of here. Go on home and take what’s comin’ to you.  I can't stand to look at you anymore."

They released the candy, somewhat reluctantly, handed it over to me and began to walk away one by one, their heads still down. I hollered behind them, just to throw sand in their wounds.

"And put your shirttails in.  You don't have to look pitiful just because you are pitiful!"

 So, I found myself standing there in the middle of that aisle with a torn box of Valentine's candy in my hand. All I could do was shake my head in disgust again at that lot of men I had just faced. Finally, in an attempt to escape the scene of the crime as quickly as possible, I walked over to the young lady who worked the register and handed her the torn box of candy.

"Listen," I whispered, glancing around to make sure none of the six men was around, "since this candy is torn and all, do you think you could, uh, wrap it for me free?"

~ February 1998