declaration of error

Apologies are complex. September 2021 a child riding a ride-b4-kids-r-ready style scooter hit Hana. We were in Italy on Lake Como. The setting was beautiful with all parties engaged in leisure. This was a collision that could have passed with a simple "nothing" from the mother and it would have been forgotten, but the mother wanted to be sure her kid would not dismiss his navigational error. I think the mother was so aroused, because she knew we were foreigners, but the conversation quickly turned from English to the Como Italian of Hana’s childhood. Dialing the clocks back . . . Hana marries a local . . . does not immigrate . . does not travel a lot . . with a husband whose obviously local . . . and . . . the mother would have stayed calm . . but pero but . . the ¿Trauma? Hana endured from the collision was now increased by the obligation to assure the mother all was okay . . . . along the way there’s a kid whose supposedly on his way to better navigation. Apologies are complicated. This text will sound like an apology, but it’s not. Rather it a declaration of error. There is an expectation that apologies are supposed to be accepted or rejected, but a declaration of error stands complete. I make it my practice to keep conversations that would be considered by a reasonable third party as private . . . private. I share some relatively personal private narratives in this blog with a risk of making my amigos and amigas feel they might walk the plank with me. M wished me happy birthday, and in response I told a story of a phone conversation. In the story was his broad multi-hemisphere search for a bride, and M is now married. To me the story was a compliment to his marriage and how a broad search often ends great results, but I sense I broke my own rule, and M walked the plank with me. With this text I pledge better navigation.

About Tom Doody

middle-age American living in New Jersey near the Lincoln Tunnel
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