The gift of hate

So. Last night. Actually, yesterday. Yesterday was hot and humid. Again. And we don’t have AC. Still. Throw in a last minute doctor’s appointment for a mean anal fissure and you get one sweaty woman drunk on pain killers sprawled across her bed. And not drunk and sweaty in bed in the good kind of way.

Fortunately, operating the TV remote didn’t require the use of my sphincter muscles so I was able to turn on the five o’clock world news just in time to catch the story on the proposed building of a mosque at/near Ground Zero in Manhattan. About three minutes into the story my jaw hit the mattress and my butt clenched up and OH GOD...AGHHHH...that HURTS!

I remember in the days following 911 hearing one, of many, heart wrenching stories told by a women left widowed that day. She recounted how her husband had called from one of the hijacked planes. The phone had rang and she answered it, “Hi Tom,” and subsequently their three girls ran into the kitchen excited to talk to their “daddy” who was on his way back home from a business trip. The girls whined and begged to talk to their dad as she listened, in disbelief, to her husband spell out his inevitable fate. She just looked into the camera and was like: I. DIDN’T. KNOW WHAT TO DO.

No, I will never forget.

Nor will I forget that hate gave birth to evil that day. And as I watched the news coverage of the heartbroken 911 victims' families voicing their opposition to the proposed Cordoba House on Park Place call the plan an insult to the terror-attack victims, at the public forum, I realized it's becoming clear to me that, in some circles, “never forgetting” means hating.

Do I hate what the terrorists did that day [and before and since then] YES, YES, YES! Do I hate Muslims. NO, NO, NO!

The New York Post reported that:

Before the meeting, Manhattan Borough President Scott Stringer, a supporter of the mosque, stood in front of the site and said, "What we're rejecting here is outright bigotry and hatred."

and

Catholic priest Kevin Madigan, of St. Peter's Church, which is about a block away, agreed.

Reading those words helped me unclench my sphincter muscle just enough to avoid another pain pill. I swear to you, I don’t want my girls hating an entire group of people because of the heinous acts and belief systems of a few. That’s not a gift I want to give them.

People hating sucks. Now, hating skinny jeans or wearing socks with sandals...that’s something I can get behind.