ask

The topic has been forgiveness.

The latest question is: Who asks to be forgiven?

In my life, there is only one person I have ever known who ever seriously asked me for forgiveness. I am not talking about people burping and then saying, "I beg your pardon," or some smart-ass imploring, "Forgive me for being so blunt." I am talking about someone doing me grievous harm and then asking me to show mercy and compassion for them.

There was only one person in my life that I needed to forgive. I have accomplished it in my mind, but can I do it when I'm in front of them?

Will it make any difference if I say it or not? I suppose it will, since this person took the time to ask. They also humbled themselves mightily just by asking. Of course, what they did was despicable, but the fact that they asked me to forgive them for their terrible deeds shows a sign of remorse, no?

Who am I to judge? Why has it taken me so long to forgive him? Is it because it is easier to walk around with that chip on your shoulder, that hardened heart with the steely resolve deflecting all pleas for understanding and empathy?

All he has ever done since those nightmarish days is ask me to forgive him. Even when we fought and argued over the years, it was because I could not stand to hear him speak with his self-righteous piety, as if hearing a thousand Biblical quotations could ever make me forget how he ruined our lives.

So maybe now that I am finally coming around to it, I wonder: Do I owe him the honor of verbalizing it, of giving voice to mine and his wishes? Is that part of the deal? Can't I just go on living with the knowledge that I am no longer mad at him?

Well, that's the thing-- I'm still mad about it. But that's because I always squelch the pangs and emotions that go with remembering those days. I have never really tried to deal with those feelings. I just escape-- into drugs, sex, partying, music, writing, celebrating my short existence on this craggy cosmic berg...

So I guess I'm going to have to say it. If I really mean to forgive him, it's going to have to be official.

I'm going to be a mess. Maybe I should do it over the phone.

Maybe I shouldn't do it at all.

I'm gonna cry cry cry, Lord how I'm gonna cry...


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Like I said, no one else has asked me to forgive them, and when I feel like they have wronged me it infuriates me to know that I have to pull teeth just to get an apology.

They are not truly sorry for what they did to me, and therefore I do not need to forgive anyone who hasn't asked me on their own.

Have I ever asked for forgiveness? In an earlier post, I said that I didn't. But I'm sure that I have, and I'm sure they granted it to me. It didn't make everything hunky-dory again, but it helped. I cannot recall anything significant at the moment, but I'm sure it will come to me in due time.

What constitutes forgiveness anyway? Does it have to do with the relationship one has with the person? For example: I wouldn't forgive President Bush for his crimes even if he asked me. And why is that? Is it because to me he is a symbol of every malformed gene in the body politic of this once-great country? Or is it because I don't know him as a person?

Unlike my colleagues and peers on the Left, I can admit that there is a possibility that the President is a likeable person. Not smart, not especially humble, and certainly not the kind of person I'd like to have a beer with (I imagine he'd be a mean drunk with a proclivity for torturing small woodland animals)... But likeable? Sure, why not?

"Likeable" is a very broad term. Nixon could be likeable. Lenin was likeable. So was Stalin. And that guy who ran Germany during WWII-- lots of people thought he was likeable.

But do those politicians that I mentioned deserve to be forgiven for the mass murders they instigated, the pandering to hatred that they fomented, or the evil actions they inspired in others?

Fuck no. And anyone who says that they do deserve to be forgiven is a fucking fool.

(I guess I'm not quite there yet, am I?)


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Buoyant music this morning on the way to work: From the Rushmore soundtrack, a song called "Concrete & Clay" by a British vocal group curiously named Unit 4 + 2. It has a Calypso feel to it, upbeat and bouncy.

This song was a cult favorite for years on the legendary UK pirate radio circuit that inspired the 1967 album The Who Sell Out. By that time, Unit 4 + 2 was barely functioning and The Who were poised to become rock megastars.

I love The Who, and I am still listening to "A Quick One" to keep my mood forgivable... But this morning I had to dance in my car a little. The overcast sky was oppressive and gloomy, in sharp contrast to the broiling heat we experienced for the past month or so.

I think I should start writing songs again, and this time I should make them into pop tunes, with actual melodies and cliched rhyming schemes and mundane topics such as love and jealousy. And I should sing them in a loud, proud voice, with a stupid smile on my face and trendy clothes on my frame.

I should do this because I've never tried it before, and you should try everything at least once, right?

Yes, it will be a facade and a forgery and a fake, but it might make someone blue feel a little better. It also might make someone want to throw up, but that's not my problem. I can't save those who do not ask to be saved.

The question is, who does want to be saved?

Anyone?