One time in church, back when we used to actually go, the minister talked about coveting. Benjamin's hand wagged like a golf flag above his head. The minister called on him.
"That means to be jealous!"
It was great to see that he comprehended the message. When it was time to snuff candles he leaped up to take a turn.
Later that day Ben went bowling with the Rotary Athletes. All of the people there have one disability or another. Half way through the second game he crossed his arms across his chest.
"I am not having fun," he pouted.
"I'm sorry to hear that. You did make a spare! That is pretty good." I glanced at the overhead screen. Even with the help of bumpers, no one had a score above sixty. Ben was somewhere in the middle.
He watched as another player made a strike. His scowl deepened. I understood how he was feeling. But the amazing thing is, he did too.
"I'm jealous." He caught himself red handed.
The very tips of his mouth curled up, like a bracket that fell down. Perhaps I smiled too.
"It's not funny!" He seemed to be scolding himself as much as me.
Although he knocked down a bunch more obstinate pins with his signature both-arms-between-his-legs-heave-ho, he let me know he would not be coming again. I won't hold him to it. Even emphatic declarations can expire.
On the way home I referred to his comment in church. He pondered this. Somehow banishing jealousy is easier in theory than in practice.
"Scrooge was selfish. But he changed. So did he Beast."
He was invited to a birthday party in an hour, and I stopped at the produce store.
"Shall we buy flowers to give the birthday girl? Sometimes trying to make someone else happy makes us happy too." He began to sing.
There is power in telling a room full of people what you would like to be or not be. But that doesn't always mean you will be able to knock those feelings down on the first try.
