The Wide Angle: Admitting you are wrong is a sign of character

Published 6:11 am Saturday, June 15, 2019

There comes a moment in life when one must admit he is wrong and just maybe “he” is writing this column.

I remember when this happened for the first time. I wasn’t very far out of college and by the rules of being young, I was absolutely right throughout my youth.

Sure the teenage years had been left behind, but it was a time where my percentage of being right was astounding, especially in the face of adults who thought they knew more than I did. So what if they had 25 or 30 more years than I did. I was 16. You can’t ignore that kind of vast, worldly experience.

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And yet, in my early 20s and talking with my dad next to the grill as it cooked hamburgers, I was forced to admit that everything I knew I was a lie.

I was perhaps wrong a few times.

My dad is a humble man and only took the opportunity to give me that smirk. You know what that smirk is. The kind that shows a 20-some-year-old that 25-30 years difference actually makes a difference.

That, in turn is humbling, but I took it like a man and admitted that I didn’t know everything in the world.

I saved my tears for later when I was alone.

It was a humbling experience and I remember that to this day when a teen so confidently tells me how right they are.

And yet, I feel I’m on the verge of having to do this again. It hurts in a way, because I was so sure earlier this year that I would be right on a very specific subject.

But as a rational individual, I have learned  from experience and have learned that other people can be right. Of course, the other caveat is I have to admit a certain local politician I know may be right at the same time and that’s a tough thing to swallow.

So what is this thing that apparently I got wrong?

Well, I am standing … er, sitting here, typing before you that perhaps the Minnesota Twins might be for real and that a certain city councilman with the name of Bason Jaskin, might be correct in what Byron Buxton can do.

I’ve changed Bason Jaskin’s name to protect his identity in case there are any Cleveland Indian fans out there that might take offense at Bason Jaskin’s assurance thatBuxton is a core piece for the Twins.

As of Wednesday the Twins, who failed to make the playoffs last season just a year removed from making the wild card game the previous season, own the best record in baseball.

At 44-21 they are better than everyone else (as far as standings go). Also as of Wednesday, Minnesota holds a 10 and a half game lead over Cleveland in the Central Division and they are winning series left and right with a solid pitching core and just an unreal amount of homeruns I don’t remember seeing in all my years of vast frustration. Even in the 1987 and 1991 World Series years, I don’t remember this many long balls.

I thought there might be a time where they would fall off and perhaps they will. The Twinkies have started so hot and dominating, I just find it hard to believe they would keep this up, but here they are, a day after coming back again to beat the Seattle Mariners 6-5 Tuesday night with — naturally — the long ball.

And, I’m using this forum right now to admit to Bason Jaskin that keeping Byron Buxton, who I thought was really only good at swinging at bad pitches and really good at striking out in spectacular fashion, might have been a good idea.

He’s hitting well, fielding amazingly and playing like the prospect most everybody thought he would be, despite my Debbie Downer tendencies.

Can they keep it up all year? I don’t know. Baseball and the Minnesota Twins are a funny thing. All it takes is for hitters, who are hitting lights out to suddenly start struggling, or a pitching staff serving up soft balls for other teams to go yards.

But one step at a time. Jason Bask … I mean Bason Jaskin, you were right, though I am still holding on to one thing.

However, I’ll leave you all with a cliffhanger this time. I can only admit I was wrong so many times in one column and I don’t want to be in a position where I have to do it again.

The teenager in me won’t allow it.