Tuesday, January 24, 2012
I remember the person I was growing up and I’m not entirely proud of it. I was intolerant; minimalized others for differences to obscure my own inadequacies. I wish I hadn’t. There’s nothing worse than seeing the look of pain on someone’s face, especially when you’re the one who created it. And yet, I see this now in the news more than ever. People bullied to such an extent through social media it becomes unbearable. I fret to think the kind of kid I was having the vast tools of today at disposal. I’d like to think I’d take the highroad. But I can’t be sure. I can only look at the harsh lessons I’ve learned. I overhear hateful conversations and I want to intervene. But can I really? I wasn’t so different once upon a time. Last night I witnessed a group of friends insulting the mannerisms of gay men at length. They laughed; I feared for them in silence. Perhaps someone in the very group was gay and afraid to come out, seeing the potential of such retribution. Perhaps someone will be the next time or the time after that. It’s impossible to contemplate a person living such a lie because the world around can’t tolerate them for who they are.