The best revenge is to let it slide (lenny feebletwerp) 10.19.01

While covering the 60th reunion of Abraham Lincoln High School's class of '41 last week, I met a man celebrating with his classmates who told me he was still holding a grudge after 60 years.
An underclassman counterpranked him months before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor by erasing a "Class of '41" sign he and his buddies had painted in the street in the dead of night.
This "kid," who must be nearly 80 by now, waited in the weeds until they were done and, using gasoline, undid their hard work.
Wow, I thought, that is a long time to hold a grudge.
Now, I hold grudges like nobody I know, but I'm working on it. And I figure as long as you don't let your life be controlled by hate, you aren't doing too bad.
But this whole thing got me to thinking about the persistence of memory - what you remember and what you forget.
My 10-year reunion was in '96. I was not planning to go because I kept in touch with most of the people I really liked, but a lawyer friend of mine could not wait to go.
He planned on wearing his finest suit just to tell everyone who could not remember him that he was now an attorney.
His closure apparently would not be complete if I was not there to witness it so, long story short, I ended up going.
That night, I met in the parking lot of the Manawa Country Club with my good friend Jim Beam. We had a short conversation about courage.
"Glug, glug, glug," I said to Jim.
"Glug, glug, indeed," said Jim to me.
Then we went in sharing a warm social glow ready to mingle and be happy.
And I have to say that in spite of my earlier reluctance, I had a great time. I saw people I had not seen in 10 years - people I genuinely liked like Laurel and Cheryl Martin.
They were, and still are, twins. I vaguely remember going to a movie with one of them once kind of like it was a date but not really. To this day, I cannot remember which one I went with because I liked both of them at different times in high school for entirely different reasons. Women are shocked by this admission. Most men are amused.
Michelle Aiko Ross was just as cute and quiet as she was 10 years ago and duly impressed that I remembered her middle name.
My good friend Dave, whom I'd known since I was 6, came out - literally and figuratively - and was visibly relieved to know I was not about to recoil in horror.
A guy named Steve did not come out, and that was almost as surprising as anything that happened that night.
The girls who thought the world revolved around them stood in the center of the room for us to snipe about while the guys who drank a lot in high school drank a lot.
The music was a little TOO 1980s K-Tel's greatest hits, but occasionally the disc jockey hit the mark and we all felt like we did when we were 18.
I don't know if it was the bourbon talking or not, but I had fun.
Then something strange happened.
This guy, let's call him Lenny Feebletwerp, comes up to me and springs his own "closure rap" on me like he had been waiting 10 years to catch me in his web.
Lenny had been one of my best friends from the time we were 12 right through high school. He was a little fella with an artistic bent and no visible means of self-defense. We used to play D&D, read comics and listen to U2 back when nobody knew who they were.
I gave this guy rides to and from school daily and kept him from getting beat down just by grace of being his friend.
The problem with Lenny was he was hyperactive, and a caffeine high would make him intolerable. We called him Spaz at such moments and took to not inviting him places.
When he "spazzed," I became his favorite target. He would pick and poke at me like a chicken hawk - drove me nuts.
I grew weary of this behavior once while sitting on a two-story deck.
I gave Lenny fair warning.
"If you do not settle down, stop touching me and stop picking at me, I am going to hang you off this deck," I said.
Lenny did not believe me. A big mistake.
Lenny gave me a wet willie to show me who was boss, and I grabbed him by the ankles and hung him over that deck some 15 feet. Suddenly joviality was the last thing on Lenny's mind.
"Let me up, you [expletive deleted]," Lenny shrieked.
"I'm an [expletive deleted]?" You're an [expletive deleted]," I countered. "Now settle down, you spaz, and I'll let you back up."
The whole thing lasted maybe 10 seconds, and Lenny deserved every moment of it for being such an [expletive deleted] and I felt quite comfortable with my actions.
It was, after all, self-defense and, as far as guys go, pretty harmless.
I guess Lenny had years to stew over this, because at our reunion he comes up to me and I don't know if he had a pre-reunion meeting with Jim Beam or not, but he pulls this completely unexpected movie cliche out of nowhere.
"You remember that time you hung me off of that deck? I never forgot about that."
Needless to say, I was flabbergasted that Lenny did not have my appreciation for that incident. I guess it would be like expecting the Japanese to appreciate the bombing of Hiroshima with the same perspective as Americans.
My only regret was that the country club we had our reunion at had no balconies.
It helps to remember that the best revenge - besides hanging a jerk off a deck - is just to let things slide. Very few people care as much about your demons as you do, and "getting closure" just tips most people off that you have been simmering in your own juices for years.
Let it go and get on with your life.
See you in 2006, Lenny, until then, try to think good thoughts.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. He can be contacted at 328-1811 ext. 279 or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.