Sticks and Stones

This editorial is going to be about our excessively sensitive culture. I am going to complain about how everyone seems to think nothing should ever be said, printed or thought that offends someone else. But first I am going to reminisce a bit.

If you are like me and in that awkward place of “between middle age and senior citizen” you remember when we were kids and a common refrain from adults was, “Sticks and stones may a break your bones BUT words will never hurt you.” Well, all of us kids knew that was a load of bull. The words did hurt.  We also learned the forced “I’m sorr-ree” didn’t fix the hurt. But the most important thing we learned was to accept some pain and move on. We learned life isn’t fair. We learned everyone was different. We learned everyone had different abilities. We learned some kids were smart, some pretty, some pretty mean and some pretty dumb.

We learned there were bullies and there were nice people. There were kids good at sports. There were kids who were musical. There were bookworms, A students and even some that caught snakes and did other weird things. We were told that to “fit in” you had to be like everyone else.

Most kids found someplace they felt like the belonged. Some belonged with the group that didn’t belong.  Some just never fit and excelled because of it. Others never fit and had problems.

One thing we didn’t learn until we were much older is that time is the great equalizer.  The ninety-eight-pound weakling sometimes did the Charles Atlas thing. Sometimes nature did it for them.  We learned teeth, hair and good health are temporary.

Sometimes our feelings are hurt. Adults learn to deal with it. The only time I would be concerned is if I deliberately and maliciously hurt someone’s feelings.

As a newspaper editor I regularly receive calls chastising me for “hurting someone’s feelings.”  Although we never publish articles solely to hurt someone’s feelings people are often embarrassed by publicity regarding their actions.

One caller complained that two children (age 6 and 8) were embarrassed to read in our paper that their father was killed in a home invasion as he was kicking down the door. The caller said there were unkind comments from readers of the article that hurt the children’s feelings when they read them.

The caller wanted me to apologize.  I could have done the “sorry but not really” thing we did as children- “I’m sorr-ree,” but I didn’t have anything to apologize for. The father made a choice when he went attempted to break into a home.  Readers wrote with their opinions. The only person who owes those children an apology is their father for his poor choices.  That is, their father and whatever adult showed them the article and the comments. Frankly we just don’t have a lot of 6- and 8-year-old readers.

Now we are where I had planned to be. I’m getting sick and tired of people apologizing.  I’m sick and tired of people demanding apologies. I’m sick and tired of overly sensitive people.

People have been calling me strange since I was a kid. There is a reason for that. I am strange. Why should I be hurt when people make an accurate observation?

Last week someone at the British Embassy sent a cake commemorating the 200th anniversary of burning the White House by the British in the War of 1812. The cake was a replica of the White House with the explanation “Only sparklers this time!” People were offended. People apologized.

Come on folks. That was some funny stuff.  Besides, it was two centuries ago and we won anyway.

This week Leeann Rimes commented on her husband when they were dating. “I think I raped him”

Whoa, people were offended. People demanded an apology. She apologized.   John Lennon’s killer just apologized for killing him 34 years ago. Some company named Zara made a shirt like the old west sheriff’s wore with a star.  Someone else decided they looked like the shirts the Nazis forced Jews to wear in concentration camps. In fact the shirts were identical EXCEPT the lines were different sizes, the stripes horizontal instead of vertical and the star was all yellow without the lines, the star points were rounded AND embroidered with the word Sheriff. Zara apologized, pulled the shirts and destroyed them.

They were “sorr-ree.”

Harry Reid recently made a poor joke about Asians to an Asian audience no less. He apologized, so no problem.  He was “sorr-ree.”

Years ago noted civil rights activist and all around anti-racist Jessie Jackson referred to someone as a Hymie and Hymie-town. He apologized so it was fine.  He was “sorr-ree.”

Last year I was accused of being a racist for referring to a man as Black. “The correct term,” I was told,  “is African American.”  When I asked how I was supposed to know if he was an American I was told, “The problem with you White people is you only know how to identify people by color.” I almost choked, keeping from laughing out loud. “You White people?”

It’s probably my poor character but I wasn’t sorr-ree. I also wasn’t offended. I didn’t demand an apology. I laughed.

It is a good thing I didn’t laugh out loud. He would have been offended. I would have been expected to apologize – to say “I’m Sorr-ree” and I wasn’t.

Once a friend of mine said that his brother was a liar and a thief and I made the mistake of agreeing. He was offended and demanded an apology.  I couldn’t do that, the statement was correct. I could have said, “I’m sorr-ee your brother is a liar and a thief.” But I thought that might make things worse.

I finally said, “I’m sorry I upset you” (which was the truth). He accepted my apology, but his brother was still a liar and a thief and we both knew it.