Lessons of Kindness

You taught me it was important to be a good person. You spanked it into me when I was unkind with my words or swift with my fists. In rhymes and mantras you drilled phrases into my head as my default programing. They echo still in my brain as I bite my tongue when someone ripens my temper.

And, you rewarded me when I turned the other cheek, praised me when I was the bigger person. Exclaimed my name with glee when I rose above situations and cruel people. Be kind, be kind, you pressed.

Don’t be a bully, you insisted when I said ugly thoughts. When I turned my nose up at another person. You taught me the disparaging and hurt of others was vile and evil. You stamped it from my heart as one plucks weeds from a garden. You echoed it with books and movies, fairytale after fairytale that outlined what it was to be a villain. To be greedy, to be cutting with words, to put others down, to ostracize.

I scooped those mean thoughts out of myself as one carves out a pumpkin and emptied the seeds into the trash. Under you careful pruning and urging, I was a defender in the face of adversity. Love others, you preached, and so I did. Be giving, be patient, be empathetic. Love thy neighbor. Be like Jesus you echoed in Sunday pews and at dinner tables, my head bent and hands clasped. They clasp now with anger.

You warned me bad people would get what they deserved, that cruel insides rotted the outside. You chastised me and chased me away from violent people. Those can’t be your friends. Don’t support their cruelness. Don’t support those who would trample the weak. Who I associated with mattered. It mattered more than most things. It reflected who I was to you.

We spoke of war and history. And you told me how critical it was that good people stand up. And, you scoffed, oh how you scoffed at the horrendous things other people from a past lens allowed. You would never. It was better to die bravely doing the right thing than to be silent while others were persecuted. We wouldn’t be like that, not ever.

You taught me I should do what’s right, no matter who was watching. It was the right thing to do simply because it was, not because it granted me merit. You taught me of money and it’s curse. Don’t sell yourself for money; it’s not everything. It can’t buy happiness. You said that so so many times as I chased degrees, jumped career paths and took nervous leaps. Don’t sell your morals for money. It isn’t everything.

Yet…

You lied.

I see your lie now, clearly etched in red ink across a map. I see it boasted with chants and cruelness. I see it spat from a pumpkin face that grew his seeds of hate. The economy, oh think of the economy, you say. You sold me for the economy. For the perception of improvement in your wallet. For the chance of it.

You sold me. My rights. Do you hear what they say about women? I know you do because you were so quiet about it. You didn’t want me to know. But, now I do.

Do you hear what he says about immigrants? About indigenous rights? About the LGBTQ community? About the black community? Do you hear him mock and scold?

He’s ugly and vile, like every villain you ever showed me. He’s raped women and hung out with pedophiles. He’s a convicted felon.

He’s ready to trample the weak. To ostracize and do the very things you said I shouldn’t. You spanked me for calling times but turn away when he does.

You said kindness was important. You said it mattered how we behaved in this world. This was important to you. It was a vital core to who I should be. Day in and out it was my lesson to learn. Yet, I see now, you lied. Kindness was merely a way to get me to behave. It’s value to you ends at your wallet.

You taught me being a good person mattered. So why does it not matter now?