I was furious and outraged as I always am in the face of willful destructive behavior.
I know that my strong reaction comes from my upbringing.
Growing up poor one does not destroy things, one preserves and conserves things.
You make things last.
When you come from a whole family of poor people, generations of blue collar working class people, this instinct to save and pamper and guard is even more pronounced.
In my case my early lessons on the haves and the have nots produced a rabid hatred of waste and greed and the cavalier throw away mentality that is so prevalent in our society today (thanks to cheap imported goods, even the poor folks have become wasteful!)
When I was a teen there were occasional opportunities to be destructive, to tear shit up, particularly within the circle of friends that imagined themselves punk rawk, which always created an uncomfortable moment for me, a time when I revealed myself to be some kind of goody two shoes. Truth be told I was not a goody two shoes, however I saw no reason to smash a perfectly good window.
Had I been able to take the window and give it to some needy soul, that I could have gotten on board with. I was much more Robin Hood, than I ever was Sid Vicious.
The one act of rebellion I did do was write the lyrics to David Bowie's "Changes" on the post that held the bus stop sign by my house. I wrote it very nicely in black sharpie over the course of weeks waiting for the number 35, which was often late.
I remember one of the last conversions I had with my grandmother; she was completely irate having watched a snippet of Martha Stewart's Christmas show, the one where Martha makes a big centerpiece out of fresh fruit, by brushing it with egg white, then sprinkling it with sugar to make it all sparkly.
It was a SIN to waste all of that fruit.
Can you IMAGINE the mess it'd be to EAT it after all that gunk was on it?