Sounds Like ALL-WERT

“My dear brothers and sisters, be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry. Your anger can never make things right in God’s sight.” (James 1:19)

Today I met a man named Kevin from Harrisburg, PA who was looking for a fight. I’ll get to him later, though.

I was having lunch with my friend Richard discussing (among other things) how he used to get picked on by the bigger, older kids in school. Richard told me that he quickly had to learn how to diffuse tense situations and disarm the kids who picked on him with his brain instead of his fists. In the two years we’ve known each other, I’ve seen Richard charm complete strangers within seconds of meeting them simply by being himself.

Roll into a random city to find that you have a team of gruff, obstinate stagehands on your hands? They’re no match for Richard. After he meets them, they morph into helpful, gracious people who love unloading microphone stands and t-shirts from the cavernous underbellies of a tour bus. In sub-freezing temperatures.

What’s that, an unruly concert-goer crossed the line and caused a scene during a show? Not only will they soon see why Richard has called security to throw them out of the venue, but they’ll most likely agree that they were being inappropriate as they’re escorted out.

Are you a flustered airline representative having a horrible day dealing with line after line after line of delayed, dismayed, and disgruntled travelers? Richard’s instantly your friend once he steps up to the counter wearing his favorite Harley-Davidson cap on his head and a smile on his face.

I don’t know how the guy does it. He undoubtedly has a gift for disarming people who need to be disarmed. It’s amazing to see in action, really. He’d lay down his life for his friends without a hesitation. He’s just that kind of guy.

Now that you have a picture of Richard’s personality, allow me to paint one for you of Kevin, the Pennsylvanian construction worker from earlier.

Within seconds of sitting down next to us at the bar of the restaurant (and overhearing Richard recalling some fights that he avoided in high school), Kevin - a goateed guy no shorter than 6’4” clad in shorts and a button-down shirt that opened enough to show off an upper torso of tattoos that lurked below - told Richard that he must not have known how to fight growing up. Richard politely told him that actually, no, he knew how to fight, he simply chose not to when the opportunity to do otherwise arose. Kevin, unappeased, turned his line of questioning to me.

“What about you? If I said “let’s go outside right now” to you, what would you do? What if I got in your face right now?”

I told him that I wouldn’t fight him, but I’d sure as hell defend my family, friends, or someone weak getting picked on for no reason.

He analyzed my answer and announced to us that he had empirically decided that I had “heart” while Richard had none. I respectfully begged to differ.

“No, he has heart. You don’t know him. By the way, my name’s Ryan, what’s yours?”

Kevin shook my hand briefly, perhaps a bit surprised by the gesture, and told me his name. I asked him what he did for a living, where he was from, what he was doing in town, that sort of thing. Once I learned that he was born in San Antonio, lived in Harrisburg, worked in construction, and was on vacation with his kids and brother, his next question totally caught me off guard.

“Are you gay? I mean, your personality makes you come across gay. You look gay to me.”

Obviously, this conversation had nowhere to go but up.

“No, I’m not gay,” I replied after a couple seconds of shock, indicating to my wedding ring.

“How does that make you feel that I just told you that I thought you were gay from the second I met you and I don’t even know you?” Kevin asked.

“Let me tell you something,” I replied, as the bartender and manager silently began to become aware of the situation. ”I perform onstage for a living with nine other guys. You’re not the first person who has told me they think I’m gay nor will you be the last.”

“You’re just very feminine,” he resorted to telling me, meaning “effeminate.” ”You should probably reevaluate yourself,” he continued.

“Thank you for your suggestion,” I told him, trying to bring the conversation to a close.

“What about him?” he blurted, pointing at Richard, who replied in perfect timing with the line of the day.

“Who, me? I love my penis. I don’t want to see his, though,” Richard laughed as he motioned over to me.

“You just come across gay. I mean, if I offended you…” he trailed off weakly, hoping to offend me.

“It’s water under the bridge, man. We’re cool,” I said, taking a sip of water from the glass that suddenly looked like the ideal thing to shatter over his skull.

I’m glad I didn’t follow through with that thought, though, because at this point in the conversation, Kevin began to tell us how earlier he was smoking a cigarette on the boardwalk that surrounds the casino outside and was approached by a “skinny black Muslim,” as he put it, who had apparently solicited cocaine to him.

“I’m here in town with my (expletive) kids, man, and this (expletive) dude wants to sell me coke. I used to (expletive)-ing sell coke, man! I took that (expletive)’s bag from him, ripped it open, tasted that (expletive), and threw it back in his (expletive)-ing face. That Muslim was trying to rip me off! It wasn’t even cocaine!”

Kevin’s agitation was growing with each passing second and I began to feel extremely uneasy, to say the least. My “Spidey senses,” as Richard would put it later, were going off like crazy and I felt a surge of adrenalin course through me as Kevin’s voice heightened.

He reenacted getting in the dealer’s face, unsnapped his shirt (in a restaurant, mind you), moved in within inches of my face and seethed “You wanna go, mother(expletive)er?”

I seriously think he thought I was trying to sell him cocaine in McCormick & Schmick’s.

I could tell that this conversation could end up one of two ways: I could tell Kevin to get out of my face and potentially be stabbed/shot/converted to neo-Nazism OR I could attempt to keep the conversation in as neutral a state as possible until Richard and I could remove ourselves from the situation.

“Wow. What ended up happening?” I inquired, shoveling food into my mouth.

“I slapped that skinny Muslim in his face,” he proudly declared.

If I had been a gaunt, homosexual, black Muslim hearing this vitriol, my head would’ve exploded. The (sort of)fit(ish), heterosexual, white Christian in me, however, was angered almost beyond control by the ignorant bigot that sat three feet away from me. Thankfully, Kevin’s meal was delivered to the bar by a server who shot Richard and me a glance as if to determine from us whether he needed to call security.

As he took to his food like a ravenous beast, I prayed a quick “Lord, be in complete control of this situation and give me an out if I need it.” Immediately I felt protected, although my body remained on high alert.

Looking back on it, I think what I feared the most during the entire ordeal was not the “what is happening right now?” but the “what could happen right now?” This guy all but smelled of evil. His disposition screamed as though he wanted more than nothing else to replace some deeply buried wound from his past with as much hate and bitterness as he possibly could inflict on someone else. He could have had a gun on him and I wouldn’t even know it.

Our bartender friend would tell me later in the evening that she gravely weighed giving him a steak knife with his meal.

Earlier, when Kevin didn’t get the response from Richard that he wanted, he tried to get it out of me. Neither of us gave it to him. In retrospect, that was the best move we could’ve made.

Soon, enough time thankfully passed while Kevin ate mostly in silence and we closed our checks. Richard and I made eye contact, nonverbally communicated a novel in a second’s glance, got up, and wished Kevin a good rest of his day, offering our hands, which he shook.

It wasn’t warm, nor was it curt, our departure. It was straight-forward, sufficiently polite, and void of any flair, really. I can’t report that Richard and I saved the day and Kevin had a true change of heart after our encounter with him, although I wish I could. I can’t say he came face-to-face later with his ignorance and unfounded hatred and became convicted in his soul of his errors. Who knows what he thought of us. For all I know, he thought I was a gay cocaine dealer and Richard was a soft weakling to whom I sold my wares.

What saddened - and continues to sadden - me most about Kevin is how broken he was. Under an armor of poisonous diatribes and outrageous interrogations, was a beat-up guy. Maybe that beat-up guy was a six-year-old kid who was molested by an uncle, or a neighbor, or a pastor. Maybe that beat-up guy was a bright young man who was told he’d never amount to anything so he gave up on his dreams for himself and focused his pain on anyone who was different than he was. Maybe that beat-up guy never knew his parents. Maybe 7th-grade Richard could have become that beat-up guy later in life. Why he didn’t and Kevin did will remain a mystery to me…

Today’s encounter reminded me of a sermon I heard in church exactly two years ago today (talk about chills when I discovered that date in my Bible just now!). Seriously, that’s just weird. Got the signal loud and clear, God. Gracias.

Six types of anger were analyzed, namely:

Suppressed anger, which grows and become displaced into various areas of our lives,
Repressed anger, which is buried and forgotten until it turns against us physically and emotionally,
Aggressive anger, which comes in the form of sarcasm, bickering, and rage,
Passive anger, which comes in the form of pouting, withdrawal, or cold shoulders,
Sublimated anger, which is transferred or vented into an positive activity, and
Assertive anger, which is managed effectively, openly, responsibly, and honestly.

Kevin was angry at something; I can only imagine what. I became angry for numerous reasons during our encounter. Throughout our brief time together, however, I had on my heart the verses that read “Don’t sin by letting anger gain control over you…for anger gives a mighty foothold to the Devil. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.” (Ephesians 5:26-27, 32)

I prayed for Kevin during our encounter - admittedly, more for protection from him should he have decided to snap on Richard or me - and I prayed again for him tonight that he might be blessed and shown God’s love. After all, every one of us is broken at our core, no matter how beautifully crafted the fronts are which we put up daily as experts in deception.

I encourage you, if you’re so inclined, to pray for Kevin. I don’t even know his last name, but I believe that his Creator knows everything about him and that’s all I need to know.

Thanks.

Sounds Like ALL-WERT

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