By the time he turned sixty, Clive was filled with regret over the mistakes of his youth. Lately, memories of past wrongs haunted himperhaps an unavoidable part of growing old. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, they crept back into his mind.
From childhood, Clive had a fiery temper. His sense of justice burned fiercely, and he couldnt stand unfairness. If he saw injustice, he wouldnt hold backhed leap into a fight without hesitation.
As he grew older, he became the one others turned to for settling disputes. Even the village boys would seek his judgment when they couldnt decide who was at fault.
“Clive, tell uswhos to blame?” one lad asked. “If Mike and Vic sneaked into old Mr. Thompsons orchard to steal apples, and Mr. Thompson caught Vic while Mike got away, then Vic gave Mike up when questioned. So Mike beat Vic for snitching, and Vics dad gave Mike a thrashing. Whos wrong?”
Clive handled situations like these, earning the boys respect. But time passed, and in Year 8, another injustice arose. Clive was athleticfootball, volleyball, and in winter, the best cross-country skier in school.
When the district skiing championships came up, the school held trials. Clive won by a mile.
“Clive, no surprise you came first,” his mate Mike said. “The PE teacherll send you to the championshipswho else?”
But the PE teacher had other plans. He awarded first place to Ethan, his friends son, smirking as he announced, “Ethans representing the school this year.”
The students erupted in protest, but the teacher silenced them. Furious, Clive approached him.
“Why the injustice?”
“Ethans leaving school this year. You can go next time,” the teacher said, nudging Clive away.
On the way home, Clive confronted Ethan. He didnt think hed hit him hard, but Ethan was too injured to compete. Clive was barred too, and the fallout was severeespecially since Ethans mother taught history at the school.
From then on, both teachers made Clives life miserable. He couldnt take it. After Year 8, he quit school, refusing to return. His parents were furious, but Clive got a job instead.
“Mum, stop nagging,” he said. “I wont survive Year 9. Ill lose my temperI might hit someone.” Knowing his temper, she relented.
In a small village, work meant the farm. Clive shadowed Mick, the vet, learning the trade.
“Shame you didnt stay in school,” Mick often said. “Youve got a knack for thisyou couldve taken my place.”
“I like helping animals,” Clive admitted.
Yet fate was cruelEthan qualified as a vet and replaced Mick when he retired. Clive watched from the sidelines, seeing Ethans inexperience. Book learning was one thing; practice was another.
Clive never interfered. “Hes qualifiedhe must know best.”
Then the farm manager ordered Ethan to vaccinate all the livestock. Clive knew howhed learned from Mick.
Ethan, overwhelmed, went to Mick for helpbut Mick had a broken leg.
“Ask Clive,” Mick said. “He knows the ropes.”
Ethan had no choice. “Help me vaccinate the cattle and pigs. I cant manage alone.”
But Clive still resented the school injustice. “Youre the expert. Youll get paidkeep it all.” He walked away.
The next day, the manager humiliated Ethan in front of everyone. Later, Ethan approached Clive, drunk and near tears.
“Clive, Im sorry about school. Please help.”
Pity stirred in Clive. “You cant hold a grudge forever.”
He helped Ethan finish the job swiftly. The manager praised thembut Ethan thanked Clive with a bottle of whiskey. Clive smashed it against a stone.
“A simple thank you wouldve been enough.”
As years passed, Clive often stood up for what he thought was right. When wages werent paid on time, he raised cattle to sell meat.
One day, old Mrs. Clarkson asked for a lift to town.
“Take me to the hospital. The bus is too much for me.”
He drove her, refusing paymentbut she left money anyway. “For petrol, love.”
Word spread, and soon the whole village asked Clive for rides. He never refused, accepting whatever they could payor nothing at all.
Then Neil, a villager, grew jealous and started charging fixed rates. The village complained.
“Youre fleecing them!” Clive confronted him.
“Whats it to you? Theyll pay if theyre desperate.” Neil laughed in his face.
Clive punched him. Neil tried turning the village against Clivebut no one listened.
Later, Clive partnered with Sam digging septic tanks. Business boomed; they hired two more men.
Once, Clive fell ill. Sam finished the joband kept the money.
“Sam, wheres my share?” Clive demanded.
“Look the client paid peanuts. I gave the lads a bit spent the rest in town”
Clive hit him. They never worked together again.
But as Clive aged, guilt gnawed at him. He even went to church, where the vicar spoke of sin.
“Was I ever really right?” he wondered. “Hitting peoplewas that justice? Sams dead now. Not because of me, but still I was wrong.”
Now, nearing sixty, Clive lay awake at night, regret heavy in his chest.
“If someone hit my sons, Id hate it. I thought I was fairbut I wasnt.”
Some mistakes cant be undone. And that, perhaps, is the hardest lesson of all.
