**Diary Entry June 12th, 2024**
Regret weighs heavy on me now that Im nearing sixty. Lately, memories of my past mistakes keep creeping inmaybe its an age thing. No matter how hard I push them away, they always find their way back.
Even as a lad, I was hot-headed. My sense of justice burned too bright. If I saw unfairness, I couldnt stand byId always wade in, fists first.
Growing up, lads often came to me to settle their squabbles.
«Tommy, settle this for us,» theyd say. «If Jack and Liam snuck into old Mr. Higgins orchard to nick apples, but only Liam got caught, and he grassed Jack upthen Jack thumped him for it. Liams dad gave Jack a thrashing after. Whos in the wrong?»
Id sort out rows like that, and the lads respected me for it. Time passed. In Year Nine, another injustice set me off. I was a decent athletefootball, rugby, but best of all, cross-country. When the county championships came up, our PE teacher held trials. I won easily, leaving the others in the dust.
«Tom, no surprise you came first,» my mate Jack said. «Course the teacherll send you.»
But the teacher had other ideas. He put his friends lad, Oliver, top of the list.
«Olivers representing the school,» he announced. Oliver smirked at me like a cat with cream.
The class erupted, but the teacher shut them down. I stormed over, barely keeping my temper.
«Whys this fair?»
«Olivers leaving after Year Eleven. He gets his turn nowyoull go next year. Now move along.» He gave me a light shove toward the door.
On the way home, I caught up with Oliver. Didnt think I hit him hard, but he was in no state for the races. Neither was I, after the row that followed. Worse, his mum taught history at our school.
After that, the PE teacher and his history mate made my life hell. I quit school after Year Tencouldnt stomach another day. Mum and Dad raged, but I got a job instead.
«Mum, lay off,» Id say. «I wont last in Year Eleven. Ill lose my temper, and then what?» She knew my temper and let it go.
Only work in our village was at the dairy farm. I hung around old Bill, the vet, learning the ropes. He saw I had a knack for it.
«Tom, shame you didnt stay in school,» Bill often said. «Youd have made a fine vet.»
«I like working with animals,» I admitted.
But fates a jokerOliver qualified as a vet and took Bills place when he retired. I watched from a distance. Book-smart, but clueless in practice. Still, I kept out of it.
«Hes got the certificates. Must know his stuff,» I told myself.
Then the farm manager ordered Oliver to vaccinate the herdsomething I couldve done blindfolded. Oliver panicked and went to Bill for help, but Bill had broken his leg and was stuck at home.
«Ask Tom,» Bill said. «He knows it inside out.»
Oliver had no choice.
«Help me vaccinate the cattle and pigs. Cant manage alone.»
But I still burned over that race years ago.
«Youre the professional. Youll get paid for itkeep the cash.» I walked off.
Next day, the manager tore into Oliver in front of everyone. He begged me again, reeking of whisky, near tears.
«Tom, Im sorry about school. Please help.»
I pitied him then. **Cant hold a grudge forever,** I thought.
We finished the job quick. The manager praised us, but Oliver shoved a bottle of whisky at me as thanks. I stared at him, then smashed it on a stone. He knew I didnt drink.
«A cheers wouldve done,» I muttered, walking off.
Years rolled on. When wages dried up, I bred calves for meat. One day, old Mrs. Wilkins asked for a lift to towntoo frail for the bus.
«Ill not take your money,» I said, but she left cash on the seat.
«Petrol money, Tom. Might need your help again.»
Word spread. Soon, half the village hitched rides with me. Some paid what they could; others, nothing. Didnt matter to me.
Then Ned, jealous, started charging extortionate rates, bad-mouthing me. I snapped when I heard.
«Since when do you fleece your own?» I confronted him as he revved his car.
«Charge what I like. Scared Ill steal your customers?» He laughed in my face.
I swung. He tried making a scene, but no one backed him. They kept coming to me.
Later, I partnered with Dave digging septic tanks. Business boomedwe hired two more lads. Then I fell ill. Dave finished the job, pocketed my cut.
«Dave swears you paid him,» I said to the client, Mr. Cooper.
«Paid in full! Dave swore hed pass your share.»
I asked the ladsDave had stiffed them too.
«Wheres the money?» I cornered him.
«Mr. Cooper barely paid! I gave the lads crumbs spent the rest in town.» He shuffled, eyes down.
I lost it. Thumped him. Never worked together again.
Now, nearing sixty, guilt gnaws at me. Even church couldnt quiet it.
**Maybe my justice wasnt so just.** What if someone thumped my own sons? Id rage. Yet I did just that, thinking I was right.
Too late to fix it now. The weight stays. Sleeps scarce these nights.
**Lesson learned too late: fists solve nothing. Only regret remains. I sit by the window most evenings, watching the road where once I swung first and thought later. The village has changed, but not menot deep down. I still see Olivers face when I smashed that bottle, hear Daves whine as I hit him, feel the shame rise like bile. If I could go back, Id walk away from them allwalk away and keep walking. But all I have now is this quiet house, the ticking clock, and the sorry weight of a man who mistook anger for fairness.
