I was watching some lame-ass TV show, I don’t remember which one, when I first heard the question, “Do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?” While I’m not discounting that I may have dreamt the whole thing while in a Jack Daniels induced coma, I’m pretty sure I heard this question posed by some Dr. Philesque type self help guru who makes it his duty to keep happy couples happy. You see, while happy couples do happy things like go to the zoo, go to soccer games, join the PTA, go to church and buy pretty furniture from Restoration Hardware, they also tend to fight over stupid shit like whether or not to ask for directions or whether peanut butter is stored in the fridge or the cupboard (everyone knows it’s the cupboard by the way). Then tempers flair, the screaming begins and before you know it the stinkin’ jar of Skippy is causing these two normally rational, lovey-dovey shitheads to start airing their dirty laundry and throwing it in each other’s faces. That, my friends, is not good. That’s when you really have to stop and ask yourself Dr. Chubs’ (or whoever’s) question, “Do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?”
I initially had a whole other intent for this note. I was ready to just go balls-out insane on another opinionated rant that was, at the very least, going to make people cry. I was so hell bent on being, “right,” that I didn’t give a shit about if it was the right thing to do.
Then, I don’t know, something happened. I experienced an awakening yesterday. Sometime between doing my homework and answering the phone at work (and talking to an idiot at a paper mill in Maine who doesn’t know the difference between a computer and his ass), I took a good hard look at the road I was roaring and willing to walk down. A road built on conviction and opinions based 30+ years of experiences sure, but a road where at the end would be the utter decimation of the dignity and feelings of people that I love so very much. A road that if I walked down and had written the note I had intended to write, would have won me pride in spades, but at the cost of tears that, so help me God, I hope I’m never the cause of.
So this is me (I am Jack's complete lack of surprise) biting my tongue and realizing that I don’t always have to win. Not when it comes to my family and not when it comes to my friends. Sometimes (dead is better) shutting the hell up and keeping the peace is worth missing out on a few moments of chest pounding glory.

Perhaps in the end what really matters is not so much being right, but doing right.  Right for the family and most of all, right for her.