Something That Made You Cry

Something that Made You Cry

The pages of books, even digital pages comfort me, truly. With them, I can make up my mind on what I see when I digest text.  When it says "his internal organs spurted." I can define the size of that spurt and my reaction to it. The power of words is totally within reach of the reader and I've loved that.

   I've noticed more and more, lately, I have a thing for crime.  I keep thinking I need to add "borderline criminologist" to my signature page on Micechat.com. I noticed this because the headlines under the topic of "Crime" on HuffingtonPost.com keep bringing me back. Plus, the only short story I got a rush of  and a response from was about a serial killer trying to kill a homeless kid.  I am impressed, for lack of a better word, with the amount of pain the world is willing to inflict on one another without care or concern.

                I see the antigay rhetoric screamed loud from street corners, the vitriol spewing from hatred of what is, basically, people doing what the haters cannot do. That is, celebrating their sexuality and finding comfort. I know it is hate now, for when I see a group with the name National Organization for Marriage, group that defines itself as wanting to save marriage--does nothing but fight marriage rights for gay people. That's hatred. If they wanted to bring down divorce rates, they'd go ahead and set up counseling for families. Heck, I'd even join their crusade if that was the focus.

                 For all their hate directed at me, I don't cry for some reason. I bring this up only for comparative’s sake.

                  For me? It's that fucking Sarah McClacan commercial for the ASPCA.

                Tears roll.

                I think because you pick a fight with a supposed equal, that's one and that's what a hate group does. But when humanity takes their energy and, instead of giving it to the good fight of feeding children and housing the homeless, use their energy to beat their dog. A dog that loves their owner for no reason, other than they provide them food.

                 I'm not a cat man, in any sense of the word. But even Betty, the step-cat, crawls upon my lap or chest when I'm reading without fear, knowing I mean her no harm. How can I intentionally hurt her?

                 I brought up the crime bit at the beginning to point out, how can anyone delibrately hurt another person. When they scream hate or anger, it's easier to punch back. If a dog bites your leg, you can kick it. Where does this hatred of companion animals come from? We can be mean to the pork providers, for a pig has never warmed our hearts-but a dog or a cat? This makes little sense.

                 Another thing that makes the tears flow for me?   Nazism.   Weird. My father, a person of Jewish decent, is an idiot. But not because he's Jewish. It is because he's human and had the ill-luck to marry the complicated creature that is my mother. This probably rotted out his brain, regardless of his national origin. But I really lose it on watching movies on the Holocaust. I don't understand how people, a people I can kinda understand crime about, how can people target and work on a group's extermination?

                Wait a minute, I just got it. I made the connection. I don't cry over the lies the National Organization of Marriage makes; but I shed tears over the genocide of the Jewish people. I need to make the link and the jump. They are doing the same thing. The Nazis started with simple, indirect espouses of lies, before moving in for the kill. I need to remember it. And I need to let it overpower me, emotionally, to tears. Maybe that'll get me to move against them in more than words only.