On Being Right

I've always known - well long known, actually - that being right about something is not the penultimate goal. Nurturing friendships and relationships, especially with one's own sons - adult sons - trumps being right. Always. However, in the Rotisserie emails last night, I threw down my gloves. Eloquently, in my own mind, at least. All the old well-burnished blogging & flaming skills came into play. I pulled no punches.

• Segues? √ 
• Chronology? √ 
• Sarcasm? √
• Victimhood? √ 
• Martyrdom? √ 

All admirably covered. At this point, no reaction from any of my eight recipients, not to mention four of my sons; and not to mention the number one League Commissioner (my son). At this time, I figure I am in a losing position because I invested much more time in this litigating of League rules, poorly crafted as I allege they are, than my son wasted in provoking me. But I stand to lose much more than my relatively successful rotisserie team, which I have threatened in an unveiled manner, to withdraw. (Things should go my way or I would go on my highway.) I might lose some relationship points with my sons. I might lose the totally enjoyable experience of competing with them while we are in remote, geographically speaking, locations. Those will be significant losses. I am right. But I wish I wasn't.