I was stirring some oatmeal, having already ruined a pot with cayenne pepper when I mistakenly grabbed it instead of the cinnamon. I was still getting over the flu, and my brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.
And, because my brain felt foggy and unfocused (or, perhaps, in spite of it, though my life often feels like a tapestry of irony), my second son chose this morning to ask me, “What makes people be mean to each other?”
I turned down the burner, knowing that this question would take all of my attention to answer. I stirred one more time before turning around to face him. I said, “What makes you be unkind to your brothers?”
He shrugged.
“Sometimes when you feel angry, are you unkind?” I said.
His eyebrows went up. “Oh, yeah.”
“Or if you feel sad, sometimes you say something unkind, right?” I said.
“I think I understand,” he said. I could see that he was thinking, turning over my words in his mind. I wanted to add another important thought.
“People aren’t usually unkind without having a reason. They feel sad, they feel angry, they feel disappointed, they feel lonely. Those feelings are hard for them to feel. They’re hard for any of us to feel.” I looked at him to see if he was still listening. His blue eyes fastened on me, like he waited for more. By this time, his brothers had joined him at the table, and they were all listening.
“Sometimes people choose unkindness because they think it will make them feel better. It never does,” I said.
My son shook his head.
“We should always work to figure out why people are being unkind,” I said.
We’ve been telling him and all his brothers this very thing since they were all too young to understand it. In fact, it’s hidden in many of our family values: believe the best about people and seek to find out why they make the choices they make. Don’t judge. Accept, embrace, and help heal their hurts.
Love the unlovable. Find the lonely and make them feel full. Defend the defenseless.
They can hear the shift in our voices when we talk about these things—the slight hitch in our breath, the upward turn of our tone, the urgency of words and sound that fly straight from our hearts. They know it’s important—no, vital—to listen.
When I turned to stir the oatmeal, it had burned a little on the bottom.
But no one complained.
(Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash)
