Burning Bridges

What were the circumstances under which you first learned the hard lesson to not burn bridges behind you? For me, it was in fourth grade. I was called into a little room, where I was tested and questioned and the result was that they told me that I was to be advanced to fifth grade, mid-year. Well, I was so excited when I heard this, that I bragged to my classmates. Then, the cold hard truth came. My mother didn't think I was mature enough to be a fifth grader, and I did not advance mid-year. It was a very painful lesson, because my classmates reacted as anyone would to a braggart.

How about you?

reply to post by novacs4me
Sometime between A.C.E. 800-1000 along the Danish coast. We didn't have easy to follow calendars. I was the son of the clan chief returning from a successful raid along the Portugese coast. When we saw the village fires, I ordered the wine to be broken out. Yes, successful raid indeed!

By the time the bow of the long boat scraped against the sand, I was roaring drunk. Laughing hysterically, I jumped over the left side near the bow. As the rest of my crew was pulling the boat higher onto the sand I stumbled backward and fell on the wooden cage that held the white chickens that the witch woman used for divination. I rolled laughing away from the wreckage. By the time I gained my feet, the witch woman was holding up a dead chicken in each hand, glaring at me, awaiting the expected pledge of restitution. I laughed. Leaning forward I laughed again, right in her face.

After I sobered up a bit, I realized the stupid error, but rather than going and making abject apology and restitution, I chose to skulk about staying out of the witch woman's sight. A few weeks later I volunteered to lead a scouting expedition for resettlement land. When we were almost out of sight of land I looked back toward the village and saw the witch woman watching us away.

That's the first time I burnt bridges behind me. We did not find suitable land, neither did we return.

reply to post by pthena
There was this short film about these people on a Polynesian island, that they would show to the young people at church, that was somehow supposed to be inspiration for kids.
There was this flamboyant male character who approached a girl's father, and offered so many pigs, for the privilege of marrying his daughter. It was some sort of high amount, probably twice what the normal rate was. She was this humble, unassuming girl who just concentrated on the family farm chores and never tried to look especially pretty. When she found out how much she, all of a sudden, that she apparently was worth, she brightened up and became more of an extrovert, and looked happier. Not sure what we were supposed to get out of it, maybe realizing that Jesus died for us, and we should appreciate it.
Anyway, the guy in the story, who was all the super extrovert that everyone loved was this guy who sailed away, in your story, or at least that is how I remember having it explained to me, years ago.



[edit on 15-2-2010 by jmdewey60]

reply to post by jmdewey60

Anyway, the guy in the story, who was all the super extrovert that everyone loved was this guy who sailed away, in your story, or at least that is how I remember having it explained to me, years ago.

That movie was "Johnny Lingo" produced by LDS. The moral being, if you value some one highly, they reach their inner potential. I don't remember linking the stories together though, unless it was in a negative way.

I was cursed by constantly being told by people in authority that I "have so much potential", caused me to rebel, as in "potential haa, so what's wrong with me right now?"

I'm sure back then I tried to make the guy out to be cool. Of course there's no way to know what happened to that guy, since I only was him for that one experience, ending with looking back at the beach.

Now that I think about it more, I've glossed over this guy's character too much and for too long. He was a petty bully actually. Much like that Gaston character in Beauty and the Beast. There was a deepseated animosity between him and the witch, and intent behind the killing of the chickens. She was much shorter and with black hair, most likely stolen from Wales. Yet she had more power than the cheiftain's son. He was a jerk, guess I'm a jerk too.

What's funny is I'm looking pretty much like that old man in the mirror. Perhaps the old man is wiser than the punk kid.



[edit on 16-2-2010 by pthena]