Chapter 16 - My Cake
I completed diversion.
The anger class was humiliating for exactly two sessions.
Then useful.
Facilitator asked:
“What did throwing the cake accomplish?”
“It stopped Diane’s smug expression.”
Several people laughed.
“So?”
“It scared my daughters.”
There.
“And?”
“It gave Diane something to point at instead of what she did.”
Exactly.
That one hurt.
Every time I retaliated, I gave the other person an alternate story.
Not equal wrongdoing.
Not equivalent harm.
But noise.
I finished community service at a food pantry.
Yes.
The cake irony was not lost on me.
My case was dismissed after completion.
I told Emma.
“Done?”
“Done.”
“Does that mean you didn’t do it?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
Same lesson as every child who values accurate history.
Then:
“Would you throw cake now?”
“No.”
“What if Grandma hits me?”
“I get you safe, call police, use whatever force is actually necessary if someone is still attacking.”
“No cake.”
“No cake.”
She considered.
May you like
“Waste anyway.”
Exactly.
