The other day on the five o’clock news a Houston television station aired a news breaking story of a crime complete with telling video catching the culprits in the very act. A local family had a huge – I do mean huge – inflatable Frosty the Snowman erected in their front yard for the holidays. Upon arising on several mornings, they found him beaten down and a tad deflated. Since everybody knows he is a jolly happy soul, his benefactors had no choice but to suspect foul play. They did what surely any of us would do. They set up a video camera to catch what they probably surmised would be underage hoodlums playing sick pranks. That’s not what they found. The newscast interviewed the husband who awakened once again to an aired-out soul with a corncob pipe and a button nose and two eyes made of coal. Upon the discovery, he called to his wife (this is my favorite part), “Frosty’s down!” They threw the video in the player and to their great astonishment, the footage rolled upon two grown men punching, socking, pummeling Frosty with angry fists. Why, I ask you? What had Frosty ever done to them? Which brings me to the point. Sometimes the person we’re punching isn’t the one we’re really angry at. – Beth