Who will you forgive today? he said, and he was all smiles, and his words soft and brown and light. He made it look so easy. Easy to love those who did him wrong, those who once threw stones at him and they spat in his path and called him names. And he walked free in the world in spite of them it seemed, if spite might be something kind and from the heart. And he was not imprisoned by a hate that we could all have understood. And who will you forgive today? he said.
He took my hand in his and he led the way. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep and slow. Something in me shifted and I was moved to tears or laughing – and he laughed, too. Then he was gone, expected and yet a shock, and only his words ringing in my ears and the example of a life lived. And today I forgive my parents. I forgive them for the mistakes they made, the mistakes all parents make, the same that I will one day make in my effort to be good.
My father is not in this world, except in the memories I turn over and over in my hands, polishing them till they are smooth and shine. And I remember something then: there was a boy I loved more than I loved myself, and he was cruel and careless with my heart as boys will be. And my father tried to put the pieces of me back together. He said I was worth more than rubies and he said there were plenty more fish in the sea and I should just be patient. And I think I hated him then, for not understanding. But today I forgive him – my father, who art in heaven and hallowed be his name – my father and everyone’s father.
And when I think about it, I forgive the cruel boy, too.
Then there’s my mother, holy mother and keeper of my soul, and we fought once, tooth and claw, the air all spit and broken glass and blood. And for years we did not speak, when we should have – the years after my father’s death; the years when she needed me and I needed her. And we did not speak. And today I ask her to forgive me my trespasses as I forgive her hers.
And give us this day, I say, and make it a day of celebration and breaking bread together. See how they are dancing in the streets, their arms raised, and singing with all their hearts, and though there are tears there is laughing, too, just as the great father of us all said there should be. Or, if he did not say it then he lived it. And it is not as if there is any loss in his leaving of this place, but the whole world waking to the stories he told and the message he spoke. And he led the way.
Who will you forgive, today? he said, and I say it now, to you, and to everyone: who will you forgive, today?
December 6, 2013: He led the way.
Patricia Ann McNair 
Who will you forgive today? he said, and he was all smiles, and his words soft and brown and light. He made it look so easy. Easy to love those who did him wrong, those who once threw stones at him and they spat in his path and called him names. And he walked free in the world in spite of them it seemed, if spite might be something kind and from the heart. And he was not imprisoned by a hate that we could all have understood. And who will you forgive today? he said.
He took my hand in his and he led the way. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep and slow. Something in me shifted and I was moved to tears or laughing – and he laughed, too. Then he was gone, expected and yet a shock, and only his words ringing in my ears and the example of a life lived. And today I forgive my parents. I forgive them for the mistakes they made, the mistakes all parents make, the same that I will one day make in my effort to be good.
My father is not in this world, except in the memories I turn over and over in my hands, polishing them till they are smooth and shine. And I remember something then: there was a boy I loved more than I loved myself, and he was cruel and careless with my heart as boys will be. And my father tried to put the pieces of me back together. He said I was worth more than rubies and he said there were plenty more fish in the sea and I should just be patient. And I think I hated him then, for not understanding. But today I forgive him – my father, who art in heaven and hallowed be his name – my father and everyone’s father.
And when I think about it, I forgive the cruel boy, too.
Then there’s my mother, holy mother and keeper of my soul, and we fought once, tooth and claw, the air all spit and broken glass and blood. And for years we did not speak, when we should have – the years after my father’s death; the years when she needed me and I needed her. And we did not speak. And today I ask her to forgive me my trespasses as I forgive her hers.
And give us this day, I say, and make it a day of celebration and breaking bread together. See how they are dancing in the streets, their arms raised, and singing with all their hearts, and though there are tears there is laughing, too, just as the great father of us all said there should be. Or, if he did not say it then he lived it. And it is not as if there is any loss in his leaving of this place, but the whole world waking to the stories he told and the message he spoke. And he led the way.
Who will you forgive, today? he said, and I say it now, to you, and to everyone: who will you forgive, today?