Have you ever had someone tell you something that they need to tell you but that you really just don’t want to hear. Eventually you may reconcile that it was the right thing to do . . . telling you. But when they initially say those startling words, its much like when someone hands you that can that is supposed to look like peanuts but it really doesn’t look very appealing and then you open it and it turns out to be one of those really offensive springy snake things that leaps out of the can and scares the pajamas right off of you and you feel like kicking yourself because you knew it really wasn’t peanuts in that can, but it made you jump anyway and just for a brief moment, no matter how close you are to that person, you really hate them for giving you the can of peanuts under the auspices of a gift.

That has happened to me a number of times, but two of the times stand out in particular. What does that say about me, that I continue to take the “cans of peanuts” and believe that they are what they say they are.

My first husband told me of some indiscretions he had allowed to happen. Though he seemed posed to tell me, and managed to put us in a public surrounding so that I would not get hysterical and start yelling at him and possibly committing battery on him, I was completely unprepared for that big springy snake. There we were, buying little heart-shaped boxers of chocolates for our 4 children the way we always did on Valentine’s Day when he handed me the can of peanuts. Out popped that awful serpent. It sprang from its can and began to bounce around the store out of control. What could I do? People were staring. How was I to react? How could I possibly get that snake back into the can? I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t want to see it. But it just kept ricocheting around my head, out of control. I hated my husband in a way that I thought myself incapable of. The feelings were so dark. How could he give me that can and let me open it with no warning? Should I have seen it coming, that dreadful and offensive asp? I mean, this would be a stunt to pull on, say, Halloween. Or perhaps April Fool’s Day. But on Valentine’s Day? After a few moments, I began to understand that I could get control of that snake and get him back into the can. But I sensed that it wasn’t the right thing to do. That would allow him to do it again to someone else. Instead, I grabbed that snake and put it in my purse until I got home. Then, once we celebrated the day with our children and had them safely tucked in bed, I pulled that snake out and handed it back to my husband. He had persuaded me to open the can, thereby releasing the snake. Now it was his turn to deal with it. It was no longer my problem. But he would have to carry that snake around for the rest of his life and know that I would never by quite the same after that.

I have since opened that “can of peanuts” and each time I am gullible enough to open it and forgetful enough to be shocked and speechless as the snake leaps out at me. And though it hurts and takes time to get beyond the assault, I hope I never lose the abilithy to believe that someday I will open the can and find the actual ingredients that are listed on the label. Real nuts.