Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark
For the straightforward pathway had been lost
-- Dante, The Divine Comedy
Go back two months ago. Nobody wants to die, least of all at the gym while walking on a treadmill watching an episode of National Geographic's Drain the Oceans: Sunken Treasure on the small television attached to it. And I'm not talking about having some health issue either. I like a nice and easy pace so as not to interfere with watching the sunken Spanish galleon slowly reveals its secrets. After all, if you must concentrate on breathing, then why watch television while using the treadmill?
No, I'm talking about the senseless gun violence that seems all to prevalent these days. It was right as the scuba diver was radioing, "I found the gold! I found the gold!," that I heard the loud "Pop!" sound. Instinctively crouching my body to make a smaller target, I yanked the earphones off my head and turned to see the source of the gunfire. To my surprise, all my fellow patrons seemed oblivious to the small arms fire I had just heard. They cycled, they crunched, they curled without any concern for their safety. Then completely without warning came the second loud "Pop," and I spied the shooter on the very last treadmill down from me -- but instead of using bullets, his ammunition was explosive chewing gum.
Go back 51 years. I'm in the backseat of my father's car with my sister. My dad is driving, totally relaxed with his left arm propped on the open window of the car door. The radio is playing a new song by Bobby Gentry that I am totally transfixed by. Then right, after I hear that Billy Joe McAllister has jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge, my sister decides to snap her gum. Big Mistake! With the dexterity of a stunt driver, my dad pulls the car over on the side of the road, coming to a complete stop in 3.28 seconds while simultaneously twirling in his seat and sticking his right hand, palm open, directly in front of my sister's face. Dutifully, she spit out the offending gum in his hand. The rest of the trip was made in silence, and I was left in suspense about what exactly was going on up on Choctaw Ridge by that bridge. But my sister had broken my father's ironclad commandment: Positively, Absolutely, Thou Shalt Not Snap your Gum or Die.
Now doctors call it misophonia, which is an intolerance to certain sounds. It's possible that could have been it. After all, my father served in World War II as a bombardier, and maybe gum snapping -- if done correctly -- bears more than a passing resemblance to the sound of anti-aircraft fire coming at your plane. Whatever the reason, he was so demanding on it, that to this day, if you give me a piece of gum, I will chew it for about 60 seconds and then spit it out, based on years of perfecting a technique designed not to raise the irritation of my dad.
Go back again two months ago. My nemesis I give the name of "Snapper." He is about 25 years old, deeply tanned and always wears a hoody no matter what the temperature outside. For the weeks that follow, he seems to mirror my schedule at the gym. The high-volume snapping of is gum soon becomes unbearable to me. I need a Virgil to guide me from this purgatory I find myself in. That is when my wife shows me a quote from the Greek philosopher named Epictetus: "Any person capable of angering you becomes your master ... Bear and forebear, or endure and renounce." He taught we should strive towards apatheia -- which means tranquility of mind -- as well as equanimity to do the best with whatever life happens to throw at us.
It works. I soon see Snapper has a nervous condition and its clear the gum helps. Plus, there is no doubting this guy has some crazy snapping skills. I relax, and soon Snapper does too. The popping is now at a tolerable minimum.
And, full disclosure, the next time I have some gum, I might just give it a try. Sorry, Dad.
NAN Our Town on 08/16/2018