What’s something you’ve forgiven but haven’t forgotten?
Oh, indeed, a great many things. It is one of the things that I deeply dislike about myself—my inability to forget. In some ways, there’s value to carrying bad memories around, but only from a perspective of learning and moving forward. But, often, I carry bad memories because I simply can’t rid myself of them. For what reason, I have no idea. Perhaps it is my reflecting on them that keeps the memories alive. And, perhaps, in some situations, I haven’t fully forgiven those that have wronged me in some way. There is one moment in particular that I don’t know how I would ever forgive the person who wronged me, one that will go unwritten. But, on another occasion, there is a moment in which I have forgiven the person, but find myself thinking back on it anyway. Perhaps it is due to the initial bitterness I felt, bitterness that I haven’t allowed to fade.
I had just entered middle school when everyone was talking about Y2K. In a lot of places, Y2K was going to be something that potentially set computer technology back. But, in my small town, Y2K meant the end of the world. There were several Protestant groups that had taken on the belief that Y2K would usher in the end of all things, with Christ coming down to collect His church when he would then retreat back to Heaven for a period of 7 years while the Great Tribulation came upon those left behind (and no, I’m not kidding. This was actually a belief they held). As previously mentioned in earlier posts, I as a Catholic, according to them, would absolutely be left behind and so, it was imperative for them to evangelize me at every opportunity. By “evangelize,” I mean berate me for what I believed and threaten me with hell fire, you know, all of that loving stuff. Two particular perpetrators were the brunt of it. We will call them Hustle and Bustle. Hustle held these extremist views. Bustle did not necessarily hold the views, but loved watching me squirm so they joined in on the fun whenever they could. For the better part of an entire semester, they would haunt me with the idea that when I was left behind, I would be subject to the fires of hell because, after all, I was Catholic. At the time, I hated them. But I suppressed it. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t defend myself. I simply sat back and took it. In a way, I haven’t forgiven myself for that. I could have easily said something in my own defense.
And then the inevitable happened. The new year came and went. Nothing happened, at least not in respect to the everyday person. Everything was fine… and if anyone was taken, it certainly wasn’t these two individuals. They came back from break and largely avoided the topic all together.
Of course, they grew out of their need to see someone else miserable, as people do. When we mature, we start to become more aware of our impact on others—at least, we should. They certainly did. In fact, I was glad to finally consider them friends on through our high school years. I largely forgave them, although that entire year actually was hell for me and they had unwittingly placed me there. And yet, the memory of those occasions doesn’t leave my mind. In some ways, I’m still holding on to it for some reason, as if I will meet others just like them at some point in my life and I might need the reminder of how to behave and how not to behave. Perhaps that is the reason. I like to think so anyway. Perhaps there is some lesson embedded in that pain that I can still recall from time to time.
