Ashamed enough to apologize

Great story.

Here's mine. Working in a restaurant, we had a new guy join us as a line cook. He was a good guy and we genuinely liked him, but as young men are wont to do, we made fun of him pretty mercilessly.

I always told him we made fun of him because we liked him and that it's the people who we didn't make fun of that we didn't like (which was absolutely true).

I'm sure that was of small solace to him considering how mean we really were. In particular, we called him gay a lot. We used the slur and said all kinds of things that we thought were funny at the time.

When I was editor of my college newspaper, a gay gentleman walked into my office one night, literally minutes after getting beaten up by five frat guys. I'm not sure if he'd even called the cops yet. It was the last of several times these guys had harassed him after a class. He was an older student (late 30s?) and stood 6-foot-4 and was built like a linebacker. But he didn't have a violent impulse in his body. He couldn't defend himself against these guys.

So there I sat, a 21-year-old who frequently said things such as "That's so gay," or called my friends "fags," and I was his last refuge. I remember the look of shame in his eyes, as if he had done something wrong or somehow deserved what these guys had done.

I assigned my best reporter to write the story, to follow up with the cops, to try to contract the alleged attackers and to speak with the chapter president and school administrators.

I then wrote an editorial about my own use of the slurs and the way I had so often and flippantly used homophobic language. I vowed to break the habit of using that language and I have stuck to that. I have also asked people in my presence not to do it as well.

But for as transformational as that experience was for me, and for all the positive feedback I received on my editorial and handling of the situation -- particularly from Kevin, the assault victim (12 years later, I still remember his name) -- I've never apologized to Mike, who if the rumors are true, eventually came out of the closet to his sister.

As far as I know, he remains closeted for the most part today, and I wouldn't be surprised at all if the treatment myself and our co-workers gave him has a lot to do with it.

Apologizing to him now might be something I need to look into.

 

One of the many things I love about this story is how it illustrates that asking for forgiveness is not a sign of weakness -- it's a sign of strength.

 

I was especially moved by writer Tom Hallman Jr.'s recollection of that for which he wished he could apologize: the treatment of the poor third-grade classmate who nonetheless did her best to participate in the class activity, and was rebuffed and ridiculed despite an honest effort.

Ouch...and uggh. It's truly heart-rending.

As an adult, I can only speculate what a difference it might have made to that girl had her gift been accepted politely -- perhaps even graciously -- and she herself treated to a genuine round of applause.

It takes so little to be kind, and often, means so much. If only we could realize such things sooner.

As for James Attebury, well, he can take great comfort, and real peace, in knowing, now, that he truly did make a definite impact on at least one student. Teachers live for that, and I would have loved some kind of post-script description or quote from him -- even though I thought the tag was great as written.

 

I would love to hear a follow-up if Hallman attempts to reach that girl. I found that part of the story quite poignant as well.