Words...May They Never Hurt

Tonight, my heart is heavy laden. This time last year, my cousin lost a battle. It was a battle within himself that no one really knew he was fighting. This evening, a young man, only a year older than my daughter, lost a battle. I did not know him, and I do not know the circumstances. I only know his name, that he was from my community, the high school my daughter will attend next year, and I know the means of his demise.

Our community is shaken. I am shaken. I ask myself, "What am I teaching my children? Is it enough?"

Am I teaching my children the potential power of their language? Words are powerful. "Common Sense," Thomas Paine, 1775-76, those were powerful words. "I Have a Dream," Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., 1963, those were powerful words. These words have inspired millions, in a very positive manner. Hitler's words inspired. They inspired millions of people to march with the Nazi army and exterminate their fellow human beings, their fellow countrymen. It is rumored this evening, that the words of fellow students pushed a young man to his breaking point, and I, in my heart, feel a sadness with unbearable weight, that that child could easily be mine one day. I feel a responsibility, because the aggressors, as well, could easily be my children one day. My hope and heart's prayer tonight is that neither of those is ever my child.

We, as parents, have a responsibility. We have a responsibility to teach our children that words are powerful, more powerful than a sword or single rifle, in Thomas Paine's case, more powerful than six million Jewish people, in Hitler's case. In the coming days, weeks, months, and years, I have a responsibility to use my power, my words, to teach, encourage, enrich, instill, and inspire my children. I must teach them that an utterance can cut deeper than knife, can bruise more painfully than a punch. I must teach them that they have to own their words. If they do not wish to own it, do not say it, and that is a lesson that I, too, must remember. If their words wound someone, they must mend it, and like a cut from a single swipe of one blade is mended with several additional, meticulous punctures of needle and thread, and exponentially more time, mending hurt requires more care and time and remark than the damage required. I must teach my children to resist group think and mob mentality. I must teach them to stand alone in the line of persecution and ridicule, if need be, in protection of another, that their words may ward off an aggressor, or encourage a downtrodden mate. Maybe the most important, and most daunting task of all, I must instill in my children a love for themselves. I have to, with my verbal might, convince each of my children, each day, that they are unique and beautiful and full of worth. With the power of my words and influence over them, while they are still young enough and impressionable enough, I must enrich their young minds, encourage them, inspire them to do good in this life, teach them to trust me and come to me, and I cannot just love them, but make them know that they are loveable.

Word.

Man or Monster?

I sit here tonight, thinking about my past. I am thinking about someone who hurt me and hurt my family. This person is not in my life any longer, but he is still counted amongst the living. A month and some days from now, he will emerge from prison, a free man. He will walk the streets. He may go to the mall. He will shop at Wal-Mart. He will fuel his automobile. He will have to make a living. I may end up seeing him on any one of such tasks. This has caused me stress and worry, not only because I do not want to see him, but also because I do not want him to hurt anyone in the future. Knowing what I know, I feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility for the general population. As far as the state of West Virginia is concerned, he has paid his price. Not much, if anything can be done to change the events of the upcoming month.

As I soul searched, attempting to put to rest my fears and anger, I found, within the recesses of my mind, good memories. For the first time in a long time, I have thought of this person as a mere mortal, a man, not the monster of nightmares past, present, and future. I have found in my heart, forgiveness, compassion, and even pity. I have smiled at memories I had forgotten. I pondered and pondered, and I believe I have come to a reasonable level of peace for the time being. I shared with a friend of mine, that this person, whom I regard as terrible, taught me to love painting and expressing myself artistically. This person, whose name is grit in my mouth, challenged my wit at a young age, and bragged of my brilliance. I believe, in his way, this person cared for my family and me. I believe, during his formative years, this person was harmed by someone who should have loved him. After serving ten years in prison, and having his ancient wrongdoings thrust into the forefront of his life, after having to endure testimony of unimaginable, shameful, and humiliating hurt he caused to people he once professed and promised to love, and knowing that the hurt he caused is hurt he once knew himself and still carries, I believe, in his heart, he feels unfathomable pain and guilt. My own heart is pity laden this evening.

One man has walked the earth that never hurt another. I measure nowhere close to His sanctity. No one does.

My prayer is for this man from my past to find healing and peace and never hurt another soul. I hope, if ever he and I have a chance meeting, I hope I have the courage to say to him, "Your actions are inexcusable, but all wrongdoing is. The hurt and effects of what you did last a lifetime, but you know that, don't you? I am sorry know one knew, and if they did, no one helped you. I hope you have never heaped that hurt onto another person since your release, and I hope you never do. I am sorry someone hurt you, and I forgive you."