This is how I "cool down"...

I tell my kids that responsibility is "knowing the difference between a good choice and a bad choice, and being willing to choose the good choice."

I wish that adults, like me understood that concept, as well as my kids do. I wish they were able to realize that there is more than just an end and a means to an end, but complex good choices and bad choices along the way, and potential casualties, as a result of choosing potential bad choices.

I don't mean to insult anyone. I do mean, however, to illustrate to my vast readership (all three of you), that one can and should consider the manner in which their behavior can and will be perceived by friends and casualties, or friends who have become casualties. There are certain behaviors when exuded by irresponsible young men and ladies that are most certainly inappropriate and transparent. One cannot hide his/her motive from his/her actions, when the action is never modified, as one's motives are a link in a chain of behavioral patterns that, regardless of their quality (good or bad), will NEVER change, if one is blindly unaware, or unwilling to change them. As a result, the motive is time and time again, perceived and remembered by friends and casualties, and is as readable as a Dick and Jane Early Reader.

I would like to title this conundrum "The Mary-Kate Syndrom" in honor of someone I knew long ago, and am glad to never see again. Although, her motives were less readable, her behavioral pattern was consistent. Mary-Kate was pleasant in public and...unpleasant in private. I was victim of Mary-Kate's unjudicious acts in private, and alone in my victimhood, except for one very sweet Mexican woman, Ernestina, with whom I lived. Ernestina, and a homeless boy named Jesus, were my only link to kindness in Mexico. Ernestina understood me and my intentions and predicament with honest perception. Jesus trusted me.

Although, Mary-Kate went blind as a result of consistent, selfish, behavioral patterns (stealing my water bottle in the night and drinking the last of the water, when my water bottle was actually filled with a Mexican potion to cure the symptoms of bronchitis)...I took the blame (a thorough verbal beating) from he who was trusted with my health and well being.

I was alone, misunderstood, and mistreated. But I did not feel it, as I held my tongue and packed Mary-Kate's things through the night, previous to our departure. I felt love for she and myself as I served her. I got over my selfish hurt, and looked outside of myself. I knew the difference between a good choice and a bad choice and was willing to choose the good choice even if it killed me.

It didn't. And now, when I recount the story of my blind Mexican roommate, I do so in jest. I can look back at what appeared to be the end of the world, and laugh. So, I will be responsible now, if no one else will. And I will serve he/she by whom I am hurt. And I will feel love for she and me. And I will have done the right thing, even if it kills me. These are my last words. Over and out.