“You’re a Jew,” he said. “Do you have horns, can I feel your head?”
Now it was my turn to be stunned, as I was so surprised that in this day and age the myth perpetuates, handed down from generation to generation like photos in an album. How could this three-letter word mean such a different thing to different people? Family, honor, loyalty, religion to some while hurtful and hateful to others.
I am assuming he’s learned his lessons from his parents and theirs, and for their ignorance, I am truly sorry.
The perpetuation of hurtful words and ideas are passed down from generation to generation. Sometimes through hate, but often simply because of a lack of education and exposure necessary to change minds. Poverty, the mother of continuance walks hand in hand with both as it stunts the growth of the next batch of children.
How judgmental I sound as I seem to group poverty and a lack of education together with seemingly mindless flair. I am solely speaking of my neighbor’s child — protective services a frequent visitor to their empty, hungry home — so lacking in hugs and goodwill.
I grew up in a family where knowledge and experience was a necessity, a given gift from our parents and one not to be taken for granted. It was the be-all and end-all to them.
They exposed us to as much as they could before we were to be out on our own. Not living up to your full potential wasn’t an option.
How lucky I was for the push and exposure. It never mattered what we wanted “to be” when we grew up. What did matter though, is that we were good at what we wanted to do.
I wallow in wealth as my love of words and their connotations sit well in my head and my heart, hoping to never misjudge or cause pain in my misuse of them, so blessed to be able to bend them into thoughts and pictures that entice and explain.