I’ve grown up with kindness, a gift for which I an eternally grateful. It is difficult for me to understand brutal abuse because I have never experienced it, but I have witnessed children who were victims of it. Each time I encountered such a child I became emotionally distraught while having to present a professional calmness to the world. I had to learn to control my feelings as a teacher, especially when I learned of horrific situations affecting my students. Like a doctor or nurse I would have been of little use to them if I had descended into a blob of tears and hysteria. 

I suppose that because I had been treated with such love by the adults in my life and later by my husband I understood that it was entirely possible for humans to be good. Seeing the flip side of our human natures was stunning and I encountered it more often than I might have wished. The duality of our humanity is stunning but it still confounds me even as I see it in action and read about it in history. I often wonder what creates the monsters who would harm innocents. I suspect that violence begets more violence, but there are also those who seem to have some deviant narcissism and lack of feeling through no fault of those who raised them. 

I am a very spiritual person as were my parents who openly discussed their feelings and urged me and my brothers to be upstanding empathetic humans. I was taught to consider the source of bad behavior before judging or punishing. When I myself fell from grace I was most likely to receive a lesson in how to conduct myself rather than corporal punishment. In fact, hitting and demeaning was rarely accepted in my home. On a few occasions after my father died my mother weakly attempted to use a belt or switch on my brothers but her efforts were so half hearted that they usually ended with laughter and hugs. She hung up the belt and never used it again.

We were mostly taught how to behave by the examples of my parents and relatives. We were sometimes reminded of what goodness is by watching the adults in our lives spread kindness and positivity to everyone that they encountered. My mother in particular viewed all religions as being beautiful and thought of God as a benign being. She poo pooed the idea of vengeance and punishment and often commented that every person was a child of the divine Creator, even those who had committed dastardly acts. She reminded us that it was up to God to decide their fate after death, but she also agreed that sometimes a person is such mad dog that they must be imprisoned to protect society. Never did she think that they should be harmed.

When I encounter people whose thinking and philosophies are only skin deep I admit to having a difficult time understanding them, but I follow my mother’s example and love them anyway. Nonetheless I wonder if being the way they are is some kind of defense mechanism that protects them from actually considering the plights of other humans. I wonder how they can be self involved without noting the struggles of so many souls and then wondering what to do to help them. 

I remember a student once telling me that I was a very nice and fair mean school administrator. What he meant by that was that I enforced rules justly and was inclined to punish the action, not the person. My conduct rules were all about being a good person and much like my parents infractions were more likely to be met with mutual discussions of how to improve matters. I had great faith that most of my students would respond to encouragement and the vast majority of them did. 

I was recently speaking about someone that I know who is going through a rough patch in his life but is relying on memories of his deceased father’s expectations for him to heal and redeem himself with those that he has hurt. I was stunned when the person with whom I was speaking asked how someone who is dead could possibly influence someone who is living. I had always thought that everyone drew inspiration from good people they had known who are no longer with us. In my own case my mother, father, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who literally molded my outlook on life with their compassion continue affect how I interact with the world long after they have died. I was literally confused to learn that not everyone feels that kind of spiritual connection with the great people who inspired them. It explained to me the man’s beliefs that only tough and physical punishments work. 

I know for a fact that I was often viewed as being too soft on my daughters and my students but I always believed that how I behaved toward people was more likely to impress them than making them afraid of me. I tend to think that I was mostly successful with my approach. In the few times that I failed to touch a heart, the child was so broken that only therapeutic interventions with professionals made a difference. Nonetheless, as a society we have a tendency to lean more toward punishment than active efforts to heal tortured minds and this actually confounds me.

I think that my brothers, husband, daughters and grandchildren are prime examples of the power of love. Humans are sometimes commit bad deeds and those things must never be ignored, but I have learned that discipline laced with kindness has longer lasting results than physical or mental lashings. Children understand and respond when we have done our best to be the type of people we want them to be. When we turn on them with anger and hurt or if we withhold our love, we begin the creation of a adult who may learn how to abuse others. Lessons in kindness delivered without lectures work so much better.