Compassion

I needed a break.  I felt absolutely exhausted today.  Though I have been working hard all week, I didn’t feel physically tired.  No, I was instead emotionally stressed and overwhelmed.  The events of the past 72 hours have been difficult for everyone.  Because of the fallout from the election of November 8, 2016, I just felt the need to escape from all of the hatred and anger, the chaos and noise, the endless arguments and rhetoric.  Though I had kept myself personally out of the fray, the constant barrage of angry Facebook posts, disturbing news images, and self-righteous online articles has proven somewhat upsetting to my inner sense of peace and balance.  I wanted to be alone; I wanted to place my feet up and escape into a good book.  I decided to spend an hour or two this afternoon just relaxing in a fast food restaurant with a cup of tea and my own peaceful thoughts.  I had the foolish notion that I would be hidden and safe here away from all the turmoil of the outside world.  I was wrong.

I had had just a few minutes of peace before my attention was suddenly captured by an older man who walked directly in front of me.  I watched as the man slowly moved over to a table in the middle of the room.  The short, heavy-set man was dressed in gray slacks and a yellow plaid shirt.  Upon his gray, balding head were thick, wire-framed glasses, and a halo.  Though I have never had to wear one of these contraptions myself, I am familiar with halos.  I have had several friends who have had to use them.  Basically, a halo is a medical device designed to hold a patient’s head straight after a neck or spine injury.  It is constructed of short, steel rods that rise up from the patient’s shoulders and connect to a round piece of metal that surrounds the head.  The halo is secured in place by several small screws that are placed through the metal and directly into the patient’s skull.  The apparatus is lightweight but can be a little awkward for some patients who struggle with balance and stability.

I smiled at the man and said a silent prayer for him as he carefully sat down on a tall, brown stool next to a high, white table.  Though I found the man fascinating, I didn’t want to stare at him, of course, so I turned my attention back to my book.  After a moment, though, I looked up again when I heard him holler out, “Ketchup.  I want ketchup for my fries.”  His comment made me smile because he sounded just like a little boy.  I don’t know if it was his demeanor, his tone, or his words that made him sound so young.  I just grinned, though, as the man jumped up and down in his seat for a moment in happy anticipation of his meal.

A few minutes later, a thin, middle-aged woman with dark, shoulder-length hair and black-framed glasses walked over and sat down across from the man in the halo.  She placed a tray of food down on the table between them and the two began to eat their meal.

I returned to reading my book and enjoying my peace of mind when all of a sudden I heard the woman yell.  “Goddamn it!”  I looked up in surprise at the sound of the woman’s deep, strained voice as she pushed the angry words out through gritted teeth.  “Goddamn it!  Watch what you’re doing!”  The woman then sighed heavily as she threw the food she was holding down on the table.  “Look at you!  You have ketchup all over yourself now.”  The woman shouted as she got up from her seat and walked around the table.  She grabbed a napkin and started swiping at the man’s shirt.  “Goddamn it!” she snarled again.  “Look at this mess!”

I was horrified by her words and actions as she furiously swiped at the man’s sticky, stained shirt with the tattered, paper napkin.  I had no idea what the relationship was between the man and woman, but that didn’t matter.  I didn’t care if they were father and daughter or husband and wife.  What mattered was the way they related to each other and I was shocked as I heard the woman talk to the man as if he was a ten-year-old child.  How could she treat another human being like that, especially a person who was already dealing with a medical condition?  This woman actually had some nerve to…

And then suddenly she turned around and looked at me…

And I was surprised to see in her dark eyes a reflection of pain and heartache.

Our eyes met for just the briefest of moments before she looked away.  She quickly walked back over to her chair and sat down.  She looked at me one last time and I surprised myself by smiling at her.  She stared at me for a moment as an agonized look clouded her face before she looked away.  Though I hadn’t been happy with the way she had treated the man in the halo, when I looked into the woman’s eyes, I suddenly understood.

This wasn’t an evil woman.  This wasn’t a cruel woman.  This was a woman who must have been struggling to take care of this man for a very long time.  Oh, my God, she must be so tired!  Her stress and exhaustion must be completely overwhelming her.

And haven’t we all been guilty of doing the very same thing?  Haven’t we all screamed and yelled and cursed and been sarcastic and impatient and hateful when we have been tired or hungry or overwhelmed?  What possible right did I have to hate or criticize this woman when I have behaved the very same way at times myself?

If I witnessed the man being horribly abused, I would have definitely intervened.  But what I had witnessed was a kind woman caring for a sickly man and having a momentary loss of composure.  I don’t know this woman; I don’t know the situation.  But I do know I saw hurt, and pain, and exhaustion within the woman’s dark eyes during her sudden outburst.  A singular moment of being human, a flash of angry emotion, could not erase all of the time and effort and sacrifices she must be making on a daily basis for another human being.

Hoping I hadn’t embarrassed the woman, I turned my attention back to my book but I couldn’t focus on the words that were floating around on the page.  Instead, I prayed, “Dear God, thank you so much for letting me be compassionate in this moment.  Thank you for allowing me to understand this situation instead of being disrespectful and jumping to awful conclusions about this woman’s life and intentions.  Please let this man heal and please give this woman the strength and courage to take care of her family and help this man’s medical needs with a kind heart.”

As I finished my prayers, the couple stood up from their table and threw away their trash.  Slowly, they made their way to the exit door.  As the woman pushed and held the door open for the man, she looked back at me one more time.  I smiled at her and she smiled back at me with a shake of her head before stepping outside and letting the door close softly behind her.

I wanted to go back to my book then but I couldn’t focus.  Instead, I just sat my book aside and thought about the times I had misjudged and been unnecessarily critical of someone else’s life.  It is really true: you never really know what another person has been through.  You never really know the path another person is forced to walk and the cross he or she must carry.

And maybe even with all of the turmoil from the election, we can learn to really see each other, to understand what another soul may be suffering.  Maybe the only think that can make a difference now, while facing an unsure future, is how we treat each other, how we can show understanding, support, and love to each other.  Maybe in our own way we can learn to show compassion in such hard times.  It starts with us.  We have to make the difference.  It starts with our own understanding and ends with unconditional love.  It’s the only way we can maintain our humanity amidst such incredible chaos.

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New Year’s Resolutions

I almost didn’t go to the gym on New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2015.  I expected it to be uncomfortably crowded.  I don’t worry about exercising in front of other people.  I don’t care if people are watching me even when I’ve done some really stupid things.  For instance, one day, I accidentally hit the emergency stop instead of the pause button on the treadmill and went flying off of the belt and landed on my bottom on the hard concrete floor.  Another time, I walked right into a large, white rack and cracked my head on a forty-pound weight.  I’ve fallen over while doing squats and dropped barbells on my feet.  Whenever I fall over, run into walls, and drop things, I always try to pretend that it was something I had meant to do and it didn’t hurt a bit.  I don’t think anyone believes me and I seriously doubt anyone has gained work out tips from watching me.  I have been laughed at, mocked, ridiculed, and teased all in an effort to keep myself in shape.

…And it is this effort, this drive, to stay in shape that got me up off my hopefully toned bottom and into the 24-Hour Fitness gym in Shawnee, Kansas, last Thursday.  I had been right; the gym was packed with people.  A crowd at the gym usually makes it difficult to exercise because I can’t always get the machines I need for my workout.  Thursday was “back day” and so I would need all of the machines that would exercise my trapezius, latissimus dorsi, and spinalis muscles.  Unfortunately, all of those machines were already in use.  The machines were occupied by very large men who didn’t look like they were into sharing, especially with a small, older woman dressed in trashy, loose, blue sweatpants and a gray, ragged hoodie sweatshirt.  I always wear my oldest, sloppiest clothes when I go to the gym.  I intend to work out really hard and build up a sweat.  Why would I want to dress up for that?  I am always amazed to see young women in full make-up with their hair and nails done out on the gym floor.  That’s way too much effort.  I’m proud of myself that I am at the gym at least five times a week.  To exercise in full make up seems a little desperate to me.

But who am I to judge as I looked at the people around me.  It takes all kinds of kinds, I thought as I started to make my way over to the one lone exercise bike not in use.  I pushed my steps a little bit faster hoping I could reach the bike before anyone else grabbed it.  I guess all my runs on the treadmill were paying off!  I did it!  I reached the bike first! It was all mine.  I quickly sat down on the seat, placed my diet coke in the water bottle rack (okay, okay, I know), and draped my towel over the handlebars.  I programmed the bike on a manual, medium speed and opened up my book.  I am one of those rare people who read while I exercise.  This practice works great for me.  As long as my mind is active, I can exercise for hours.

I had just started pedaling and focused on my book, when an elderly woman suddenly got my attention.  The woman had to be in her late 60s or early 70s.  She had short, pure white hair and thick, black glasses.  She was dressed in a yellow, long-sleeved t-shirt and Capri-length, black sweatpants.  I watched in amazement as the woman pushed her walker across the gym.  I have seen this woman many times before.  Using a walker doesn’t seem to slow her down.  She very carefully moves over to one of the machines and then grips the side handles of her walker as she carefully lowers herself onto the seat.  Once she is securely seated, she lets go of her walker, and then painstakingly, manually maneuvers her legs into place.  She leans forward and wraps her hands around her right leg and places it into position before she does the same thing to her left.  After she has finished her sets, the woman reverses the procedure with her legs, grabs a hold of her walker, and pulls herself up from the machine.  She stretches for a moment before moving to the next machine.  I always smile when I see her.  I hope I am just like this woman in the years to come.  Though I may have disabilities, I don’t want to be idle.  I don’t want to be sitting on the sidelines watching everyone else.  I want to be exercising; I want to be moving, even if I, too, have to adjust my legs and get around with a square, steel walker.

I watched as the woman walked over to the hamstring stretch machine.  I watched as she preformed her usual ritual.   She held onto the walker while she moved her body into place; she sat down slowly on the seat and let go of the walker; she manually moved her legs into place, first the right leg and then the left.  The woman had just gotten herself into position when a large, young man walked up to her.  The man smiled but still informed the woman, “I was using that machine.  I haven’t finished yet.”  I stared in absolute horrified shock as the woman smiled back at the man and then began her slow routine of getting off of the machine without having performed one single movement to stretch her hamstrings.  The young man just stood by as the elderly woman now maneuvered one leg and then the other off of the machine.  She grabbed hold of her walker and pulled herself up out of the seat.  She nodded her head at the man as she slowly began to shuffle away.  The young man did not say another word as he sat down on the machine, shifted his legs into place (without using any manipulation), and began to exercise.

I watched in surprise as the woman shuffled around the gym trying to find a machine that was not in use.  The gym was just too crowded that day for anyone to immediately do their workout unless they were rude enough to chase elderly woman and others off of the machines.  The woman tried to make her way to several exercise machines that suddenly became free only to have younger, more mobile people race ahead of her.  The woman just stood on the side of the room and waited for a moment before finally giving up and walking back to the locker rooms.

I wanted to chase after her and apologize for the rudeness that she had encountered.  I wanted to tell her, “Hey, you know, it’s New Year’s Eve.  Everybody has a resolution to lose 10 to 50 pounds.  I’ve been going to gyms long enough to know…just give it a month or two.  Most people will give up and then the gym will be ours again.”  But I didn’t do anything.  I just watched as the woman shuffled by and I was ashamed that I had said and did nothing.

I usually don’t make New Year’s resolutions because, like many people who promise to exercise, I don’t always follow through on them.  But maybe this year I should make a resolution to reach out to people who feel like they don’t belong.  Maybe the world would be better off if instead of making useless resolutions we never keep, this year, 2016, we just try to be a little kinder to each other.

True Justice

Sometimes, it can be hard to teach a basic reading class to college students who don’t like to read.  Most of the young students I have in my class are more interested in their cell phones and social media.  They prefer to play video games than to finish the assigned readings from their textbooks.  It’s nothing my students are actually doing wrong.  It’s just the way things are today.  Very few people enjoy opening up a book.

So before the start of the new term, I read through all of the stories in the basic reading textbook and choose the ones that I think the students would find the most interesting.  Most of the students are in the Criminal Justice program, so I concentrate on the stories that reflect their field of study.  I assigned several of the true crime and short story murder mysteries for the students to read.  This strategy worked very well.  The students were reading the stories and coming into every class ready to discuss the information.  I really love it when students are excited to discuss the readings because it provides me with tremendous insight and amazing observations about the work and the students themselves.

So, last Monday, when the students were settled into their seats, we began to discuss the reading assignment for that day.  The essay focused on the true story of Eric Clark, a teenager who is imprisoned for shooting and killing a police officer.  Many people, including Eric’s mother, claim that Eric is schizophrenic.  Eric believed that the city is full of aliens and the only way to stop them is with bullets.  The essay considers if Eric is really troubled or if he is a cold blooded killer.

I was pleased that the students had a lot of different opinions about this situation and the discussion became very exciting as students continued to debate if Eric was mentally ill or guilty of his actions.  This is what really brings me alive as an instructor.  I love and encourage my students to give their opinions.  Many of them are highly intelligent, some of them are hysterically funny, and others…well, just need to go back and read the assignment again.  But as an instructor, I love it when students feel free and safe to share their independent thoughts and opinions.

After discussing Eric Clark for a while, the students began to discuss other cases that had been in the news.  Jody Arias, George Zimmerman, Amanda Knox, even OJ Simpson all came up in the discussion.  The students became very excited about who they thought was guilty or innocent.  The students discussed who they thought should have gotten life or the death penalty and why.

Other than every now and then guiding the discussion and throwing in the few points of law I knew, I refrained from sharing my personal opinion.  I wanted the students to think for themselves without being influenced by their instructor.  Many students believed in the death penalty.  I refrained from telling my thoughts on this.  I don’t agree with the death penalty.  Why not?  Because I think it is too easy.  I think that when people commit a crime, they should live out the rest of their days contemplating the evil act that they did.  I remember hearing about one judge who ordered a convicted killer to write out and send a sympathy card to the family every year on the anniversary of his victim’s death.  The judge believed it was a way to remind the convict of what he did.  I agree.  Instead of the death penalty, criminals who commit crimes should have some reminder every day of the crime that they committed and the people that they hurt.

I was influenced in my thinking by the book The First Man In Rome by Colleen McCullough.  I love this book which details the start of the Roman Senate.  The book stressed the punishments for criminals in ancient Rome.  Instead of going to jail or being put to death, criminals were made outcast in society.  The criminals were shunned.  They lived in society but could not be a part of it.  They could not get married, vote, own any property, hold jobs, have children.  Criminals could not be talked to or acknowledged by the rest of society.  The ancient Romans believed that this was the worst punishment that a citizen could endure.  The enforced isolation caused the criminals to more away from the town or commit suicide.

I was thinking about this situation when one of my students suddenly exclaimed, “Casey Anthony was at the Palm Desert mall a few weeks ago.  Yeah, the woman who got away with killing her kid, she was here in town and she was shopping at the mall.”

Several of the students turned to look at the woman who had spoken and asked her for details.  “How do you know?  Were you there?”

“No,” the first student answered, “but my sister works there.  She suddenly saw this huge crowd of people in front of Charlotte Russe and was wondering what was going on.  She walked over and found that people were circling around Casey Anthony.”

“Well, what happened?” Students all suddenly started talking at once.  “God, what did they do?  Man, she is so evil.  Did your sister talk to her?”

“Oh, no,” the student responded. “It was really bad.  People were gathered all around her, totally blocking her on all sides.  They had her completely surrounded.  Of course, some people were taking pictures.  But the majority of the people were dumping their soft drinks on her and throwing food and other stuff at her.  Everybody was swearing at her and, man, people were spitting on her.  It was really gross.  Just really nasty spit.”

“Was Casey upset?” someone asked.

“No, in fact, she actually stood there just laughing at everyone.  It was a really nasty laugh.  But people wouldn’t let her go.  They kept surrounding her and trapping her.  They were right in her face, screaming at her.  Security finally had to be called to get her out of there.”

As I listened to the student’s story, I suddenly felt a chill go through my body.  I suddenly felt myself in Casey Anthony’s place.  For most of my life, I have been bullied and felt like a real outsider.  It used to be a very painful situation.  Fortunately, I like myself now, but I know many young people commit suicide for being bullied and targeted.   I shivered as I thought of Casey Anthony being held up to public humiliation.  What would it feel like to be trapped in a mob of people who surround you, scream at you, ridicule you, spit on you.  Yes, Casey may have laughed, but we are all social creatures.  Some part of Casey, some human part, has to be slowly dying inside.  I suddenly felt like I was going to be sick.  What could be more devastating than to be publicly hated?  I’m not saying Casey Anthony didn’t deserve it.  No, I’m saying, I think the Roman Senate had it right.