Were I ever forced to make a final definitive decision about permanently relinquishing the ability to distinguish only one kind of taste which my taste buds would never again be capable of distinguishing it would have to be bitterness. That covers things ranging from radishes to most kinds of seafood. When my cousin Joe and his wife Nancy owned Byer’s Restaurant in Huntington Station during the 1990’s I found out the hard way that ginger beer is on the list too. O that was nasty! I’ve never really had any problem handling sweet, plain or salty foods and drinks. I just don’t like too much of any extreme. Bitterness in food and drink is barely acceptable. Everyone always reminds me that I’m quite capable of eating anything that’s put in front of me. Besides that I make sure I finish each and every single last speck of it too. Wouldn’t it be nice if I didn’t have to notice anything that struck me as less than enjoyable? Unfortunately life doesn’t ever work that way. I try to avoid bitter foods and drinks, scrupulously refusing to ask for them whenever I have to make a decision. One never can tell, though, when something will sneak up upon him without warning. Over the years I’ve had lots of nasty experience with bitter tastes. My problem is not that I get sick from anything like that. It leaves quite a nasty lingering sensation, though, upon my taste buds. I can’t wait to get rid of it.
Ideally I should like to think that I’ve always been quite the good natured sort of a perfect gentleman. Unfortunately, though, I seem to have quite a significant problem with anger and resentment when someone has hurt me very badly. Although I find it very easy to acknowledge my obligation to forgive, life in practice, unfortunately has never made it even the least bit easy for me to do so. I’ve been hurt significantly frequently, and significantly deeply, over the course of my lifetime by exactly the very same people whom I should have every right to trust more than anyone. That kind of complete betrayal is supremely difficult for me to accept. Throughout my life, I’ve been known as quite supremely good natured. That’s very easy when only entirely lightweight matters are involved. When, however, someone deals me entirely too profound a blow, the sparks really start to fly. I get sick and tired of all the platitudes people are constantly throwing around about how lack of forgiveness hurts me more than it hurts exactly the very characters I so bitterly resent, and I also get disgusted with all the accusations of my supposed hypocrisy. Although I can understand that there’s a certain element of truth to those claims, they’re still a bunch of brain dead platitudes. Everyone knows that resentment, or lack of forgiveness, is based entirely upon phony pride. Mankind has always been prone toward this problem since the third chapter of the book of Genesis, and it’s how Lucifer became Satan in the first place. My tendency toward holding a grudge is quite intense. It’s sort of like when someone gets hurt physically and the aftermath of his injury, in the form of bruises, scars, or some diminished capacity, drives him to frustration. The problem with injury of an emotional nature is analogous to that. Dostoyevsky, in his novel, “The Possessed”, rightly points out that “No one recognizes his own stink”. I’ve always bitterly despised liberalism for, among other things, its pronounced determination to foment a sense of bitterness, resentment and entitlement among women, minorities, the sexually dysfunctional and other darlings of the left, over all the real and imagined affronts to which they claim to have been subjected. I do the same thing, though, when I allow my unforgiving side to overtake me. It’s evil when somebody else takes that approach to things. By definition, therefore, it simply must be equally evil when I do exactly the very same thing.