Where does somebody learn the concept of forgiveness and how to use it?  Is it something we learn in childhood, or is it a genetic or chemical reaction?  Something to do with the way our brain is wired?  I wish I knew, because I have a very flawed sense of forgiveness.  I seem to have very little trouble forgiving anyone else for things that they do, if they are sorry and express remorse…and often even when they don’t.  If I am slighted, forgiveness is rather simple, since I put myself on such a low level anyway.  Those who offend my friends and loved ones may have a harder time gaining my forgiveness, but it is possible.

The problem is, I cannot forgive myself.  I simply do not know how…or else I do not believe I am worthy of that forgiveness.  To forgive myself would, in effect, be letting me off the hook.  And using whatever warped measuring stick I have in that brain, I have not yet earned that forgiveness…not for anything.

Memory is a tricky thing.  Why we remember one thing or another, but forget most of what we say and do is beyond me.  But I seem to have a knack for remembering things I wish I could forget.  Big things, small things, embarrassing things; regrets clog my mind for years at a time.  I cannot forget them, and I have not learned how to forgive myself for them. 

It could be once when I kicked my brother Jon in the side as kids, in anger, and watched him cry.  Or, it could be nearly cutting my finger off with another brother’s pocket knife and claiming I fell on it (which is stupid, because I know that my father did not believe that story; he yelled at my brother for leaving it where I could get at it, but I still have not forgiven myself for lying and blaming him).  For stealing a comic book from a friend when I was eleven.  For pulling a dog’s hair (even though he bit me for it).

Then there are the big things.  All the moments I see as failure in my relationship and marriage to Mara, moments where I look back and wish I had said or done something different.  Sometimes I wasn’t kind enough, sometimes I was too kind and too accommodating…eventually becoming her enabler, all the while carrying the burden of her deadpan statement that if I ever wanted a divorce, just to let her know so she could kill herself.  So many decisions I wish I could redo…thousands of them.  Even not being strong enough to break up our marriage years earlier; that too is something I have not forgiven myself for.

Not going to college.  Not succeeding in business.  Not making more money.  Not having more friends, being more popular.  I blame myself for feeling like an outsider all the time, as if I chose to not fit in.  For having no fashion sense.  For being oblivious to social rules and life lessons that somehow I should have picked up on.

And, of course, for committing a federal offense.  For putting my family, and Heather, through the pain of me being in prison.  For being a burden to anyone, anywhere, anytime.  For not being there when my father died.  For not being there when Mara killed herself.  I even hold open a spot of blame for things I don’t know I did, or damage I may have caused unknowingly.

For others, I easily accept that they are human.  They make mistakes.  They err.  They’re just stumbling through life, doing the best they can, sometimes making poor or selfish or just unlucky choices.  Mara cheats on me?  Okay.  No problem.  Andrea forgets my birthday, or gives me nothing on Valentine’s Day – not even a card?  It’s okay, I forgive you. 

The only one I demand perfection from is me.  And as that never occurs, I am eternally a failure.  I am responsible for all bad things; I am powerless to provide any good.  And when I do, like when I love Heather and treat her well, or when I am charitable, or when I care for animals…well, I get no credit, because those were my natural inclinations.  It’s like Schindler’s List.  I could have done more.  With this ring, I could have saved one more life.  Nothing is ever enough.

Or, as Rip Torn explains in Albert Brooks’ masterpiece defending your life “If I change your flat tire for you, and three years later I lose your garden hose, by your logic I get no credit for the tire.  I’m just the dumb guy who lost the hose.”

That’s me.  I’m the dumb guy who lost the hose…a million times.