Dear Reader:

He was Cuban. I don't remember his name. Or the sound of his voice. But I do remember his face as I hit him. The Comet cleaning product spraying the tile floor. The quiet thud my scrub brush made as it hit the sink. The shock on my fellow recruits faces. The shock in myself as I hit him again. And again. With nothing but vindicating thoughts of Wonder Bread dancing in my head.

If you've ever been lucky enough to attend the US Marine Corps Parris Island Boot Camp, you'll already know that you spend 13 weeks there being unbelievably hungry. While some recruits fantasized about sex or killing, I dreamt about food every solid night. Fried Chicken. A&W Root beer. Wisie's M&M Cookies. And above all else: Bread.

Once per week, my platoon was allowed the ultimate privilege of having a slice of bread with breakfast. Since I had to eat double rations, because of my small stature, I was allowed two slices. I craved this breakfast throughout the week, and it served as my primary inspiration to make it through each day.

During one of these "bread breakfasts", I sat at the table next to the Cuban who was overweight by Boot Camp standards and not allowed any type of carbohydrate. He took two glances at my tray and before I could speak a word took both slices of bread, rolled them into balls, and shoved them into his mouth. My inspiration for the week, as well as my slices of bread, were gone in less than 30 seconds and a quick slurp of canteen water. I sat there in shock and felt a burning sensation grow in my stomach. It wasn't just hunger, but rage. So for weeks after, I held this feeling and let is grow. I did more push ups. I ran faster. And I waited for my moment to seek revenge.  

He merely asked for my scrub brush to clean the bathroom floor. Instead of an answer he got pummeled by an enraged recruit spider monkey. While I gained the respect of my fellow recruits for fighting someone twice my size, it didn't bring my bread back. And it didn't actually make me feel any better. Looking at his bruised face, I realized that he stole my bread not because of ill will towards me but because he was starving. Besides having "Fat" spray painted across all of your clothing should afford you the right to steal bread whenever you want.

Looking back at this situation, I realize that I've been the ultimate grudge holder. If you know me well enough, you'd probably go as far as saying I can be a hateful person. Whether you gathered a crowd of students to chant, " Michael, Michael motorcycle sit on the key and watch him pee" on the playground in the 5th grade or recently spoke ill of me during a drunken stupor, I grudge thee. My friends often laugh at how I can remember the slightest details of every grudge filled life story, and fill with rage upon telling it.  During my Summer of Self Reflection, I now realize that this isn't a good business practice for life. And it certainly isn't gentlemanly. 

Occasionally in life, sometimes more often then we'd like, individuals wrong us. In the moment is the time for anger not days, months, or years down the road. With every wrong done forgiveness must come, or else we'll never move forward. 

Alright, I'll get off my Oprah soap box for now. Besides all this talk of dancing bread is making me hungry.

Best, 
HPG