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.