 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| |
The Choice How do you choose to look at your life? So much of your future delight or sorrow is a matter of choice. Choice. Consider the elderly man who sat red-faced and fuming in his car. He shook as he tucked the nitroglycerine tablets into his mouth, hopeful they would forestall another coronary. "You have no idea how to drive that van, young man," he shouted. "Did you call the police?" he asked the sneering fellow. "You ruined it, my new car. "Worked all my life for a car like this," the old man muttered to the air as he closed his window. "What if the police believe that young fool? What if they say it's my fault? Why, he was going too fast, never even looked around. I've been driving on this street thirty years. "I need to drive. I know I don't see so well, but I need to drive. I'm an important man. And my wife needs me to drive her, especially now that she's sick," he decided, rationalizing, trying to calm his racing heart. "There's no way we can get around by taxi. Not here. How would we ever go to our cabin? What if the police believe that young idiot? He's acting like it's my fault. Snickering at me. When I was his age I thought I owned the road, too. If I can't drive, how will I see my grandchildren?"
The policeman, who looked like a high-school kid, approached the old man. "Have you ever had a course on how to drive a car, sir?" The old man lost his breath and collapsed in another heart attack. Sure that he had been found guilty, the elderly gentleman chose to think he had lost almost everything. Fortunately, he lived to learn that the policeman was new at his job and was required, because of a survey, to ask all drivers in all car accidents whether they had been to driving school! The poor man had chosen to see matters in a tragic way.
Reproduction of material without written permission is strictly prohibited. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
