Living in the world of Wild West gunslingers would’ve been my undoing-I can see the scene unfold.
“One more step and I’ll shoot.”
My adversary chuckles, spits, and takes one more step toward me.
“Really-one more step and I’ll shoot.”
His eyes never blink as he takes one more step.
You get the idea-I’d be a goner.
My kids figured this out a long time ago. Make your beds before you leave, take out the trash, fold your laundry, do the dishes, homework first. All mere suggestions.
When did I become such a wimp?
Establishing, requiring, and maintaining limits have never been my particular strengths. Apparently, I’m not the only one who can’t identify the last straw.
Obese people who become trapped in their own beds because of their inability to physically move their weight didn’t recognize their violating morsel. Experts tell us that abused women experience 11 violent encounters before they report their abuser. Why 11? Why not one? Or two? Or 10? What makes 11 the last straw?
The employee who hands over his badge because he’s had one too many incidents of belittlement in front of co-workers. The teenager who grabs a backpack in the middle of the night and disappears after the final verbal blow by a parent.
The neighbor who calls the city complaining about an unkempt yard. The bullied schoolkid who takes a gun to school-what makes people finally decide it’s the last straw?
A recent movie depicts a character overlooking her husband’s adultery, but demanding a divorce when she finds a package of stashed cigarettes-the last straw of broken trust in an already-broken relationship.
Recognizing the last straw is about identifying the point when the grievances exceed your limits of endurance-it’s about being able to say “enough.” Really.
