My dog likes to chew on the chenille throws that grace my sofa. They’re soft and plush, and somehow delicious, so I continue to find saliva marks on them. This winds me up. I fuss and call him ‘stupid dog’ until the kids remind me that we don’t use the ‘S’ word in this house. I could remove the blankets, but I’m lazy and so they sit, in all their disgusting glory. Instead of fixing it, I call him names in my head and shake my finger in his face.
I’ve been reading the news online. This also winds me up. I have words, many ugly words, for the situation at Penn State and for the grown men who did nothing while young boys were repeatedly victimized. I wish there was something I could do, but it’s not as simple as removing a throw from the sofa. Instead I call them names in my head and shake my virtual finger in their face.
That doesn’t feel like enough. It ISN’T enough. A naughty dog and a pedophile should not elicit the same response from me. My words don’t mean much, but I am learning that if I see it, then I must say it.
If you see it, you must say it. And you must call it what it is. It is unjust and it is a perversion of the truth to do otherwise. Let’s not bury our heads under crushed and chewed, saliva christened blankets. Let’s summon the courage to call things what they are, and expect others to do the same.
