Monday, October 27, 2014
The Heart of a Floozy
Perhaps, I should explain this.
I stitched this pillow for my brother about four years ago when he was down in the dumps after a messy divorce. It really cheered him up! Isn't it adORable? My mom sewed the pillow part, because I am super allergic to sewing machines. But the embroidery, the appliqué heart, and the adorable-ized hate is all mine.
Yes. There is a back story. Take my hand while we gently travel down memory lane. (Why is your hand so sweaty?) When I was an early teenager I went through a hardcore holocaust reading phase. You know, where I would read every single book I could find on the subject. Anne Frank was followed by Alicia was followed by The Hiding Place, and a kazillion more. It was an obsession. I still do the same thing now with my reading. Exhaust a genre. Young Adult Urban Fantasy, Serial Killer Lit, whatever. I don't stop until I feel sated (much like the serial killers and vampires I read about. Interesting.)
One day, many bad hairstyles ago, my younger brother Eric was teasing my other (even younger) brother John -- in a really stinky-mean way that I found morally appalling. I'm sure that I was in the middle of some gut-wrenching novel, when I stopped, looked at Eric with the eyes of an avenging angel and told him, "You have the heart of Hitler."
This is now a family favorite story. Told and retold at every get-together. (Along with the one of me hiding behind the couch when I had a bad perm. Yes, I was 17 years old. I would still hide behind the couch if that happened to me now.)
I can just imagine my brother as an old man, his little grandchildren gathered around his knees, bringing out this keepsake pillow, and telling them the touching tale of how long, long ago, his over-dramatic sister told him he had the heart of Hitler.
Cherish precious memories. Cherish.
And here is my point. We all say horrible things. With this new Adorable-izing the Hate project of mine, I have gotten a lot of feedback. Most positive. A wee little bit negative. And I think it is important to remember that behind every hateful comment is a person. Sure, some of these online trolls are probably actual trolls with rocky crevices and lichen growing out of their toenails, but some of them are just people who say really stupid things. Really hurtful things. I would hope that if any of the people who have found out that I have stitched their online comments, texts, or social media rants, and feel angry about it, that they will be able to take responsibility and apologize. And then laugh. Because we all know that laughter is the second best medicine. (Xanax being the first.)
Eric, I am sorry that I said such a weird teenagery hurtful thing to you so many years ago. You have the heart of Oprah.
*This is a repost of post back from the early days of my blog. But it felt super relevant to today.