Hating those who don’t deserve hate
“And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave,
kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I have made,
And like a baby boy I never was a man,
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling, “Make it Go Away!”
“Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be,”
And then she whispered:
“How can you do this to me?”
“Hate Me” — Blue October
I try not to write columns that are like blogs.
What I mean by this statement is that, for the most part, I typically try to let a bit of time lapse between experiencing an event or period in my life, and writing about it. Volatile emotions such as anger, passion, lust and hate can all interfere with authentic interpretations of reality and can steer the perception into unintended, turbulent domains.
That being said, on this occasion I need to apologize while I’m still sad. I can’t wait any longer. This particular person doesn’t deserve a delay while I attempt to contemplate over and pinpoint my feelings before saying what needs to be said.
I’m sorry. I’m really genuinely sorry.
In the weeks leading up to the movie premiere of “8: The Mormon Proposition” in Hollywood, I began seriously investigating the church’s history, as well as its historic involvement in the state campaign to ban gay marriage. Having not only friends but significant mentors who are gay and lesbian, I became furious at the church that had had such substantial influence in the background of my own life.
My parents and stepparents left the church while I was still relatively young, but I always felt its (what I thought to be) rather oppressive hold on my entire life trajectory. It had its role in my parents’ divorces; my friends’ anger and suppression of their real selves; and some relatives’ severe and devastating senses of guilt over how they lived their own lives.
I never really investigated my anger toward the church. I think I just let it fester and grow on the periphery of my heart until it eventually just bubbled over. And when I say bubbled over, I mean spill violently onto the fucking floor.
In reality, even though I truly do believe the church acted out of discrimination and hate in the political campaign of 2008 (and I still highly recommend people watch the film), I am starting to realize that some of my own anger began to spray out in dangerously indiscriminate directions.
Most significantly, I took it out on my mother.
My mom is the epitome of Switzerland. She loathes getting involved in contention, especially familial contention. She’s not a “rock the boat” sort of person. In the weeks leading up to the premiere, I continuously ranted and raved about my most recent “discoveries” about the church, and she quietly and respectfully listened to me every time. She heard my anger out and talked me back down off the “ledge” (so to speak, not literally) on multiple occasions. I’m sure she was on the other end of the line, rolling her eyes toward my stepfather.
David’s off his rocker, Ken.
The funny thing is, she 100 percent agrees with me about civil rights for all people. She and I were never even really arguing. It was, for all intents and purposes, ridiculous on my part.
But sometimes we use those we know we can push around (again, not literally) to vent our rage at others we feel we have less access to. I repeatedly asked her to step between me and family members I knew were more fundamental in their theology and beliefs, requests that I knew upset her and weren’t at all fair to make. A couple of days ago I took it way too far and pulled some ultimatum shit.
As soon as I hung up the phone I felt like an idiot. I had never pulled anything that stupid.
But pride is a powerful thing and I let a bit more time lapse before I got up the nerve to say anything again.
I am really sorry, mom. You have a far stronger spirit than I do: You are open-minded towards everyone but still maintain the compassion to keep the most different of minds close to your own heart. I wish I was better at that.
I love you.