It’s interesting to reflect on the wrongs and rights we have acted upon during our lives. I often try to think of the worst thing I’ve ever done. It’s difficult for me to do as I’ve never actually done anything really awful. That’s not to say I’m a good guy. It’s just that my spectrum of moral decisions doesn’t really reach into either extreme; I don’t really do anything good or bad.
Let me give you my daily spectrum of morality. Something really bad might be me skipping a scheduled appointment or not doing the dishes. Something really good might be me making eye contact with a homeless person and pretending he exists for a few more seconds than he’s used to. See? There’s nothing extreme about either of those things.
So what’s the worst thing a guy like me could have ever done? I thought about it for a long time, and I finally narrowed it down to single event in my life. It all started on September 11, 2001. I came home from school to see my family (and the world it seemed) distraught from the horrific news of the day. I, too, was frightened of how uncertain and bleak the future appeared from that moment, something that was augmented by me only being thirteen-years-old.
Being thirteen-years-old caused another thing though: I immediately thought about how I could use what was going on to my advantage. Therefore, despite the image of my mother crying in front of the television as the 24/7 news channels played the footage over and over again, I asked, “Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” To which she replied with an incomprehensible sob. “Sweet,” I thought to myself. “I’m totally gonna stay home, play video games, and jerk off all day.”
Essentially, since September 12, 2001 was one of the best days of my youth, it was one of the worst things I’ve ever done.