Darn it all anyways. My kids, now entering their thirties, get some kind of wicked pleasure out of remembering my worst moments. Worse yet, I get the same wicked pleasure out of remembering theirs as well. Telling these stories brings on gales of laughter and all kinds of hooting and hollering and what have you.

I got to thinking about it, and realized these stories get told when we need to cut some tension. Somehow or other, remembering our worst, keeps things in perspective.

I agree - anger is the womb of chaos.