Myra, My Dear, I Forgive You

THE GOLDEN CHILD - #8

OK, my first mistake might have been listening to the wise derelict, the cat guy, who in reply to my question, "What if I surprised Myra Kula Electra by simply forgiving her for our problems in the past, as well as her article calling me a 'Local Crank'?," said, and I quote, "I hope to kill a cat, that would be good." 

Let me reread his statement, just to make sure I didn't miss any qualifiers, any warnings, any hint of possible disaster, however remote it might be. "I hope to kill a cat...." He said that several times, which seemed to be something of a nervous tick, maybe a phrase he picked up from his parents. I can picture an old immigrant getting off the ship, having tripped over many cats carrying verminous rats and mice, saying repeatedly, "I hope to kill a cat..." But there's nothing in the phrase that constitutes a warning. The rest of his answer "that would be good" seems at first blush to tell of a bright future, a positive outlook, and an expectation of results that could only be characterized as unambiguously good. No warnings.

So why in the world did it turn out that everything ended up in an unmitigated disaster? I trusted this old fraud -- some derelict he turned out to be! -- and now I curse the name and memory of him and his unhelpful father and the ship he came in on. I hope those verminous rats and mice that were such a focus of his ride to this country, to freedom, are even now feasting on his dead bones, or are with him in the afterlife, like in Egyptian religion, forever consuming that bad father's heart. "The sins of the father are visited" and all that, with a son who didn't fall very far from the old tree, to give me that kind of pathetic advice. I hope to kill a cat, indeed!

I called Myra and she hied her way to my home. I started in, pleasantly officious, "Myra, ever since the beginning of mankind there has been sin and sorrow. Ever since Ug killed Craythur, we as a race have been up to no good. It's both no fault of our own and entirely our fault, if you can accept, not a contradiction, but an existential dichotomy often missed in polite society for a certain unfamiliar subtlety. You're the kind of gal who'd probably prefer more the jackhammer approach to theology, since I recall how you preferred more the jackhammer approach to lovemaking when you bedded down in public with the four prisoners."

You gotta admit, that's a killer opening. I'd call it 3D understanding. Not only do I understand the ins and outs of the first sin, but I'm able to deftly apply its lessons to our immediate time, what Myra did -- with Tipsy, Spud, Cannibal, and Danny -- public sex, right there on the ground, during our city's observance of the July 4 holiday. 

As heated up as she appeared, upon this preamble to my ultimate offering of forgiveness, I believed that the conviction of sin was already working its divine magic. So I continued, "I hope to kill a cat that you understand the gravity of your sin that night, and the deep rift it caused in our relationship. Not one of those prisoners was worth giving your all to, let alone all four. I was surprised that you were so willing to cheapen yourself in my presence, and allow my opinion of you at that time to sink to such a depth, that, frankly, I had absolutely no respect for you from that moment forward. I was repulsed, shaken to my core, and considered you lost." Rereading that part, maybe I was harsh; I had no claim to her. But didn't the cat-derelict see good things ahead for Myra and me working together? "I hope to kill a cat, she'd believe it," he averred.

So I was all set to offer my grace, if only she'd honor my offer. "Myra, I sincerely believe you are a good person at heart, a decent woman through and through, if you let yourself be, and, very importantly, if you face up to your faults. I will stand with you as you work through the trauma of your treatment of me; be encouraged, it wasn't easy for me either. And now, my dear, hear me out. You don't have to face it alone, you can face it knowing that I have wiped the slate clean, meaning, Myra, I forgive you for your sins against me. Yes, they were against me, but they were also against you and your best interests. Do you accept my forgiveness and vow to make a fresh start and become a better woman?"

Imagine my horror when she went into full meltdown mode, and spun there like a top, and with her voice set on Maximum Shrill, she proceeded to dress me down for my nerve of presumption; my misjudgment in every way; my own inability to accept that I'm not God's gift to man, woman, or even the common house roach; that my sanctimony is a hindrance to my appeal, which was low enough to begin with; and that I'm simply such an aggravating son of a bitch that I should be wiped off the face of the earth like snot off a two-year-old's lip! That hurt.

In her full malevolent eloquence -- and as I was otherwise mentally preoccupied with the terror of this complete dressing down -- I was able to perceive something about her 'not quite her.' There was something else going on. I felt a charge of light and energy skyrocket up my spine, as I recalled the old coal mound!

Why Exactly Did We Forgive Japan?

I'm normally quick to forgive people their faults and sins. I know I've done a few evil things, like one Thanksgiving I ate way too much pie. I did it, I wasn't proud of it, but after a time of penance I forgave myself. I believe others deserve the same consideration.

But what about actually being at war with someone, even a World War? Is that not at least arguably worse than overeating on a holiday designed for food? I think it is. In the case of World War II, and America's war with Japan, you've got outright treachery at play, then all the sorrow and suffering that went with it. It's still something that brings a lot of grief. I saw an old guy at the memorial reliving it just this year. He didn't look reconciled.

I hadn't seen Tora! Tora! Tora! since the early '70s, but saw it again the other day, the disaster now streaming on TV on demand. Japan's Original Sin against us can never go away. We're forever waking up on December 7 -- if we're in Hawaii's time zone -- to the coming of planes in a sneak attack for the ages. It's gut-wrenching. There's also the movie The Final Countdown. Kirk Douglas goes back in time, thanks to a weird storm at sea, and is about to take down the Japanese before they can attack. Unfortunately, the storm reappears and he's back in 1980, having not changed a thing. That tells me the Japanese were damned lucky.

A bigger take on it is to conclude: The only way to prevent Pearl Harbor is ... there's not a way to prevent it now that it's happened. All we can do now is what we originally did, go to war against them, destroy them, then hold a grudge forever. (We're not forgiving Al Qaeda anytime soon!) What we actually did is only half good. We went to war and destroyed them, but then we promptly forgave them. All I know is I was born within 10 years of VJ Day and my first toys were made in Japan. That's not right.

Is my argument, then, against my parents? I hadn't thought of it, but maybe so. They either bought those toys or allowed someone else to. I didn't buy them myself. These are the same parents, by the way -- speaking of my mom -- who taught me, "Once burned, twice wary." Wonder why she was such a huge hypocrite, applying that teaching to me swiping cookies from the jar but allowing the Japanese complete leeway. She and Dad are both gone now, so I'll have to work out this mystery myself.

Probably they were simply going along with the rest of society. It's hard to buck the trend. They thought, "Japan's destroyed, they're tamed, they're under control." We occupied them for a while -- my mom collected "Occupied Japan" nicknacks -- then turned them loose, to be as duplicitous as they wanted, if that's what they chose. In the '60s, Japan sent us crap. In the '70s, it improved. In the '80s, we couldn't keep up with them. Our stuff was crap, their stuff gold. "Who won this goddamned war anyway?" my grandpa might've asked, had he not died in the '70s. He talked like that.

From where I sit -- not able to see past my personal horizons -- it's only a matter of time... As far as I know, Japan's already amassed enough weaponry, force, and the will to use it to pay us back big time. I hate the thought, but in a way the comeuppance would suit us, having forgiven them and ignorantly trusted them. I never liked Reagan, but I like what he said, "Trust but verify." As it turns out, the Land of the Midnight Sun somehow has light for their path and it's us who dwell in darkness. It's all something for future generations -- if there should be any -- to contemplate.

The Ghost of Old Man Harris

When you get old like me, if you're not careful, you'll find yourself dwelling on the past. It's different than when you're 20, since now there's so much more of it. As for me, I try to dwell on the good ... but of course there's also the bad.

I shook it off, but there in my mind was the image of my worst school principal, Old Man Harris. I think scourge would be a neutral enough term for him, but bane, terror, plague, they're all good. I told all this to a neighbor -- Deanna -- and she said, "Being angry at things and people in the past seems a waste of time."

That sounded reasonable. So I went on with my day, until the old demons again rose to the surface. I googled Old Man Harris and got 14 million hits. It seemed everyone in town remembered him! But now he'd passed on. I kept checking, and Google Cemetery View showed me right where he was. I had an idea.

I also googled what you should say to the dead who've aggrieved you. Most of it was very extreme: "You dirty so and so," "You worthless bag of so and so," and so on. But Deanna's voice rang in my ears, "Being angry ... seems a waste of time." True, true, I said, what good would it do?

Regardless, the more I thought of it, the more I needed to resolve it. Yes, he's been dead 35 years, but he must finally get his. I got to the cemetery and looked around. Hmm, there seemed to be a very worn path to his grave; everyone in town had been there. I was about to add my two cents, just the right string of curse words, when the same counsel came back to me, "It seems a waste of time."

So that was it, I was finally reconciled. But as I turned to leave, never to return, who was standing in front of me but the ghost of Old Man Harris himself! Just like in the movies, tattered clothes, indistinct features, a serious mien, like a lot of people I know in everyday life. But it was Old Man Harris himself, that's the key thing!

I had been reconciled, but Harris needed to reconcile with me! I would've never guessed it. The spirit collapsed to his knees, sobbing, "I'm sorry for that time I named you in the school assembly, calling you the biggest failure I'd ever known." I thought, "Gee, I'd forgotten that," but I nodded. "And I'm sorry for that time you brought a hot plate and a can of soup to school as a lunchroom protest, and I forbade you to go through with it." That I remembered, but I was surprised he did. "And I'm sorry for that time I shook you forcefully in my office when you were falsely accused of making a culturally-bound and otherwise arbitrary gesture denoting craziness on the part of a particular teacher." Damned straight, I was falsely accused. But, I thought, all gestures are culturally-bound and intrinsically arbitrary without a common basis of interpretation. See, I'm not such a failure.

I no longer needed Deanna's counsel. There wasn't one iota of anger. I looked at that ghost like he was a basket of sweet puppies on fluffy terrycloth. Long story short, he came home with me, staying the night in the "ghost room." I know, "Boo..."

And now, within the last hour, he and I finished a nice breakfast and were reliving old times. He admitted making many mistakes, and I had to confess a few of my own. One of his biggest mistakes, he said, was ever becoming a principal in the first place. "That was all my dad's idea. I wanted to join the Army and be a drill sergeant." I had to nod and chuckle, "I can see that."

I said, "How about we take a picture of us, old enemies, as it were, but now old friends?" He smiled broadly. He definitely liked the adult me much better than the kid, but who knows what problems he may have had as a principal? You're dealing with cranky parents all the time, on and on. I set the iPhone up and had the timer on and the camera app clicked. It's a very tender picture that I will always treasure, showing me sitting there with my arm as though around someone, but it's just me.

Deanna was exactly right, this is the way to live. He and I simply hung out, had another cup of coffee, then I said I had a busy day ahead and he probably did, too. Maybe he'd better float back up to his heavenly reward. "Whatever happened in the past," I said, "none of it matters. All is forgiven and forgotten." The feeling was mutual. Old Man Harris nodded and smiled, indicating everything was copacetic, which means hunky dory, which means good.

Forgive Rep. Joe Wilson

The time has come to forgive Rep. Joe Wilson and welcome him back into America's graces. Showing mercy while keeping an eye out is our way.

His breach of decorum was flagrant, a violation of everything we stand for, vile and uncalled for. But Rep. Joe Wilson must not be hardened!

Unless we move immediately to restore Rep. Joe Wilson, while keeping an eye on him in the future, for his good, he may become discouraged.

So I fully support the Congress in addressing this issue, voting for full censure and deciding to monitor Rep. Joe Wilson with a Wilson Cam.

Keep Rep. Joe Wilson on camera for a couple years. Then if there are no outbursts, pull back and put the thing away. It's merciful and good.

If Rep. Joe Wilson is not softened up by the discipline (I think he will be), he'll be softened up by America's mercy and forgiveness.

In a couple years, I can easily envision it, Rep. Joe Wilson will be back in his seat, contributing in a positive way for the common good.

But it starts with knowing he did wrong, being a man and owning up to it, taking his punishment, then accepting the mercy and love we have.

The "Wilson Cam" will likely seem an unwelcome thing for Rep. Joe Wilson. But he'll come to see it as a positive thing, for accountability.

If Rep. Joe Wilson sits quietly, it's not hard to imagine that we'll forget all about the infractions. That's the way I am with my friends.

So, what I'm trying to say, we wish all of America's manifold blessings on Rep. Joe Wilson as he wrestles with his demons and emerges free.