Hatred

Today, I learned two particular traits of my character. One is a simple one that stems from my Christian morality, and the other is very much against it.

After a kind lady accidentally polished the right rear bumper of my father's minivan with her SUV, I found myself unable to say “she did it”. All three of us (the police officer, her and I) knew who was at fault, yet I could not say the words. We left without blame being verbally given to either party.

Later, I asked my mother who the terrible counselor was in middle school. This man's method of counseling my troubled soul was to pressure my until I acted in a way that fit the misbehavior I came there for. He would then deem me “unstable” and consider his work done. He is the main reason Pisgah asked me to leave in sixth grade. My mother told me this man was Bryan Smyth.

Now, for those who don't go to Pisgah, when that school eventually gets a glimmer of intelligence and fires him, please don't hire him on as a counselor. In fact, don't give him any position of authority. The man is a Pharisee. I’m sure most of Pisgah's issues can be traced back to some authoritative decision he made. I can go on for a long time about how worthless he is.

The above paragraph probably tells you everything you need to know about my second trait in character. At this moment, I cannot forgive this man; my memory, although faded, of his abuse of my childhood makes me apt to have this stain his career and life. I’m seriously vindictive for this man.

This man is the first to really hurt me. I don't remember anyone who has damaged, besides him. I’m going to school tomorrow, and if I see him, I will do my best. My goal is not him, anyway; I’m merely going to see a friend.