In November, 2002 I wrote a paper for my Human Services and The Helping Process class toward my Associate in Science, Behavioral Studies. I love to write stories--experiential ones come most easily--as an introduction to the research.
In light of the ruin of this country both domestically and foreign-policy wise over the last several years, and particularly in light of the wonderful resurgence of the American spirit, democracy, integrity, and constitutional fortitude for which we all (most) stand, I couldn't help but want to share this paper with you all.
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I share this for the most part as an offering of what it takes to come to a healing place after loss, hurt, defiance, betrayal, theft, usurped and misused power, deception, and murderous, unconscionable killing for nothing more than control of oil sources. This is a lot to forgive and forget. Let's not forget. But, can we forgive and how do we take any path toward this? And how do we know when the forgiving is earned? Yes, it has to be earned.
I predict when you read this (should you choose to), in its simplicity, that you will be able to identify who you are and who they are and apply the necessary actions and expectations where they aptly belong.
It just seems so appropriate right now. This goes out to everyone who in any small way or huge way contributed in helping this awesome country (even in it's imperfections) come back to what we really represent. I ask that we all have patience now, and let the House and Senate (come January) do what needs to be done. And remember, there is a huge mess to clean up. I also expect that the lingering Republicans and Democrats, who were fortunate enough to keep their seats (and they really should be grateful), will see what harm they've done, what weaknesses and misdeeds they allowed themselves to become a part of, and will now cooperate and be a part of the good that we are. I hope that for them. Because, I assure you, it's a far better place where I stand (and millions of other people in the world), than where you have chosen to be of late, and I can only ask myself...where were your parents and grandparents and great-grandparents when you were growing up? What kind of people were/are they that you made the choices you made with whatever was in your heart and conscience? What are you teaching your own children in your own homes, as you pretend to be representative entities for a whole nation? Where did your unfortunate disconnect occur?
Here's a simple story. I'll cite the research sources that I used at the end in case you'd like to investigate the subject matter further. (Also, if it helps, I was born in 1957, and have successfully and painstakenly raised 4 daughters almost entirely on my own. I also am now Pagan, and appreciate beyond words the evolved ethical and moral compass with which I navigate through my life.)
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I was seven years old. My eldest sister was twelve and we had gone to the store on an errand for my grandmother.
Narnie, as we called her, was well-known in the neighborhood as Mary--a kind but stern and well-respected caretaker, neighbor, matron and friend. Many people knew that my three sisters and I were her well-behaved and lovely charges. We felt proud and safe to be out and about in the suburb-of-Boston city streets with this wonderful, loving woman who taught us, by example, the Golden Rule, and who engrained in us the Ten Commandments with conviction and deep concern for our potentially sin-blotched souls. With as little as a sternly raised eyebrow, or as much as the swiftly defined placement of her hand on our most sensitive parts, and yet, more often than not, her arms around us, rocking our healthy, happy little bodies while singing Gaelic songs at the end of a day, we knew without a doubt who was boss and who we would answer to when the sun went down.
I don't remember now what we were going to buy at the store that day, but it was a sizeable responsibility to do any of the shopping for our grandmother. Money was tight, and Narnie was very good at household finances. She knew every penny she had and every penny we had--and every penny we didn't have. While at the store with my sister, who was busy being the perfectionist at shopping on that particular day, I wandered and shuffled about on my own as I waited for her. I eyeballed the penny candy, the ten-cent Devil Dogs, and the ice cream sandwiches. I wanted a piece of penny candy, and I wanted it badly. I didn't have any money, but I just wanted one itty-bitty piece of that candy. Anyone else around me seemed busy and preoccupied enough, which gave me an excited but guilt-ridden feeling of opportunity. I didn't think of anything else except wanting that candy and taking it. So I did, and quickly put it in my pocket. I felt terribly excited, sick and scared as soon as I did it and knew there was no way on earth I could turn back or undo this unthinkable, sinful thing. I wanted my sister to finish so we could get the heck out of there. I had dared to take that step into the deep abyss of hell and damnation, and now I was panicking.
If my Grandmother instilled anything in us early in life, it was a good old seething glob of guilt. One for each of us. Our very own. I left the store and felt awful. It was not exciting. It was not fun. I didn't even want the candy anymore. I could not eat the candy, for I would surely be eating the very sin it represented. I didn't tell my sister. I didn't know how. During the walk home I decided that no one would know. I would simply say a heartfelt prayer to fix it, hope to God and Jesus that Narnie wouldn't find out, and I would never steal anything again. That secret vow and my dedication to it was surely all that was needed to cleanse me of my indiscretion.
Fast forward six hours and this little girl has completely forgotten about the candy. Life is too short, and with three sisters and other friends to play with, concerns get put aside--until your grandmother checks your pants pocket at bath time. There was no denying possession because the pants were mine. When Narnie asked me where I got the candy, it would have been perfectly reasonable to explain that another kid gave it to me--another words, lie. But, when Narnie looked down at me and asked the question, lying was not an option. I admitted I got it at the store earlier that day, and hoped that that would be explanation enough, but the question of money came up and I had to admit what she already knew--that I had none. With tears in my eyes and fear in my soul, I confessed to my grandmother that I stole that insignificant, unappreciated piece of candy. My grandmother didn't say much except to send me to bed for the night and to tell me that we would be dealing with it the next day. I was ashamed. I wanted her to be mad at me. I wanted her to tell me I was going to be punished and how. But, she just sent me to bed with very few words.
The next morning, Narnie fulfilled her routine of waking us, feeding us and completing her chores. She was always dressed and ready for the day by the time she got us started. She informed me that she and I were going to see Mr. So-and-So, the storeowner from where I stole the candy. My heart sank and raced at the same time. I felt the red heat in my face, and I wanted to cry. I didn't want to face that man. I just wanted Narnie to punish me and make it all go away.
We walked to the store that morning--slowly and deliberately. On the way, Narnie explained to me how she was disappointed in my choice to steal from that nice man who had always been kind to us and who quite often gave a little something extra in the shopping bag to help us out. She told me of how well he thought of my sisters and me, and how proud she was of that. She told me that it was not good to steal and that I would "march right up" to Mr. So-and-So and tell him what I had done, and apologize. I didn't cry or object. She handed me the piece of candy and told me that I would be returning it when we got to the store. I was scared, ashamed, and convinced that this man would not like me anymore once he found out what I had done.
When I entered the door of the familiar neighborhood store, I looked around hoping he wouldn't be there. It smelled the same, but felt bright and strange, and less welcoming. Narnie held my hand and walked me to the back of the store where we found the owner. She walked up to him and greeted him--but it didn't sound the same as it had any other day. It was more solemn and serious. My skinny little legs were barely holding their own. I just wanted to go home. I looked up at the big, burly, stern-looking man who had always smiled and greeted me. He wasn't smiling. He looked concerned. My grandmother told him I had something to tell him and to give him. His eyes shifted from hers down to mine. I could feel the piece of candy in my hand. I was trying to think of what to say without crying. Narnie gave my little hand a gentle squeeze as she looked down at me, nudging me along with a slight movement of her head toward the man. I held the candy out to the owner and somehow managed to tell him that I had taken it without paying for it, and that I was really sorry.
He looked at me disappointingly and let me know how serious he thought the situation was. He said he was sorry that I decided to do such a thing and asked Narnie what she thought should be done. Narnie responded that she would leave that up to him, and that she would support whatever he decided. As I held my breath and held back tears, he thanked me for coming back and for being honest about stealing. He said it was important that I returned what I had stolen. He let me know how it had caused him to distrust me somewhat, but hopefully, over time, that would change if I could promise that it wouldn't happen again. I promised. He told me that if I were bigger, he would have me come in the store to do a little work for him. But, he thought I was too small for that, so he would hold me to my promise this time. He reminded me that he would be keeping a closer eye on me in the store until I could prove to him that I could be trusted. I repeated my promise that it would never happen again--ever.
On the walk home, Narnie held my hand and told me that I had done a good thing by going back and facing the man and returning what I had stolen. She told me that it was important that I saw how it made the storeowner feel and what damage it had done. She told me how difficult a thing it is to do, and that I will be a better person for it.
When I think back, I really did feel better, that I could look Mr. So-and-So in the face day after day and know that I was being forgiven, that I had a part in that happening, and that I could get by it myself without guilt and lies eating away at me.
Thank you Narnie, I love you and miss you.
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Restorative Justice -- Accountability, Community protection, Competency development, and Balance
http://ssw.che.umn.edu/...
University of Minnesota
Center for Restorative Justice & Peacemaking
School of Social Work
1404 Gortner Ave., 105 Peters Hall
St. Paul, MN 55108-6160
Lawrence, R. (1991) "Reexamining Community Corrections Models." Crime and Delinquency 37(4): 436-449. (As cited in U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention; OJJDP Summary, Balanced and Restorative Justice.)
Zehr, H. (1990). Changing Lenses. Scottsdale, Pennsylvania: Herald Press. (As cited in U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention; OJJDP Summary, Balanced and Restorative Justice.)
Utne. Healing the Wounds of Time. Restorative justice programs offer emotional help to both victims and offenders. Nov.-Dec., 2002. p. 76, 77.