I've made some mistakes in my life. Some not so bad and some humdingers. I’m pretty sure we all have or will someday.  I haven't always been proud of the way I handled them afterward, but each one became a learning experience. I told you I wasn't perfect. None of us are.

Back in my youth hockey days, I drove a fourteen-year-old and a couple other teammates to a late afternoon game. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the boy had spent the past few hours at a local girl's house having a post-Thanksgiving brunch with her family. As soon as he got in my car I knew something was off. It didn't take long to find out he had some wine with lunch and afterward… more than a couple glasses. Once we got to the rink he spent some time kneeling over the porcelain puke receptacle making multiple deposits. The team hit the ice, but he couldn't do it. It took another 20-30 minutes before he finally got out there playing at maybe 60-70%. I wanted to read him the riot act for his indiscretion. I was his mentor after all. But I could tell he knew he had screwed up and let his team down that day. I didn't have to say a word, and it never happened again.

When I was seventeen working at a City-owned Sports Complex as a Skate Guard (the guy who keeps you skating in one direction on the ice), the facility hosted the First Invitational Mayor’s Track Meet out on the football field and rubberized outdoor track. There were several thousand spectators along with a slew of politicians, including the Honorable Mayor who was a participant. The night before the track meet I caught three kids breaking into the closed snack bar taking a few handfuls of ice cream sandwiches, chips, and candy. I scolded the boys, all who were about 15-16, and told them to make sure it didn't happen again. I told my Manager what had happened, and he was livid and commanded me to point out the perpetrators. He chastised the three boys and suspended them from the facility indefinitely. I thought that was harsh. The next day on the football field while the track meet was in progress two of the boys from the night before, plus a third boy encountered me at the registration table located around the fifty-yard line. They cornered me against the concrete bleachers out of sight of the spectators while I tried to reason with them. Without warning the new kid pulled his hand out of his pocket with a dog chain wrapped around it and slugged me in the face as hard as he could. I staggered a bit falling to one knee and was now out in full view of the spectators. A second kid picked up a wooden folding chair and broke it over my back knocking me to the ground. They all ran. My nose was bleeding, but I was otherwise ok. The following Monday I was at the City Detective Bureau looking through mug shots of little hoodlums when the mother of the kid with the chain called. Her eighteen-year-old son played high school varsity football and was awarded a scholarship to Arizona State. She begged me to not press charges, which would have most certainly rescinded his scholarship. The football player had an otherwise unblemished record yet had a momentary lapse of reason while thinking he was helping a friend. He apologized and turned over the names of the other two perpetrators. With my nose and back still hurting I accepted his apology and didn't press charges. I’m not sure how things turned out for him.

We'll get into forgiveness in a few more pages. This rule is about mistakes. Some mistakes can be undone, or corrected, with little or no collateral damage. That's a good thing. Others are more permanent, like when taking someone's life. There is no turning back the clock, and if it's a big mistake, do-overs are not going to work. The damage has already been done. The best approach is to avoid making mistakes in the first place by always doing the right thing.