His name was Matthew. While he didn’t live on Echo Street, our small block – our neck of the woods – in our part of town, he lived nearby. The neighborhood of my youth included a lot of kids like me. And, some not like me. Matthew was one of those kids.
Matthew talked funny. You couldn’t really understand what he was saying unless you paid attention. I rarely paid attention. Matthew looked dirty. He usually wore the same coat, regardless of the weather, and dirt and snot was typically wiped across his face. Matthew always looked like he just got out of bed. His hair was matted down on one side and sticking up on the other, and he walked around like he wasn’t sure where he was going.
When he would come around me and the other neighborhood kids, Matthew would try to join in on what we were doing. He’d stand off to the side for a while and watch. We’d all hope that he wouldn’t say anything, but he usually did. That’s when an older boy in our group would start in with Matthew. Calling him names. Throwing things at him. Even walking up and tackling and punching him at least once, that I remember. Matthew would cry some, wipe the tears and dirt and snot on the sleeve of his coat, and stand there for a bit before walking off to who knows where.
I remember laughing about it. It was a nervous kind of laugh, one that only came as I looked around at others and realized that was seemingly the appropriate reaction. The kind of reaction that would avoid getting the negative attention of the older boy in our group. I still laughed though. I didn’t say anything; rather, I participated, even passively. I never stood up for Matthew. I wish I would have.
There have been times since then when I recognize a truth that no one can ignore: Loving those who are just like us is easy; it’s loving those who are different from us that’s hard. We can justify our responses with any number of things. I know I do. Perhaps they look or speak differently than me, and I just don’t understand them. Maybe they are saying or doing something I don’t agree with, and I simply can’t allow myself to do anything that might show support for them. At times I notice they have different values or beliefs, and they’re just flat out on the wrong path, at least from my perspective. I don’t always know what it is, but it just is. They are different. And, directly or indirectly, I become the one who starts in on them. Or, arguably just as bad, I become the one who passively stands aside when I should be actively standing up.
I never told Matthew I was sorry. I’ve asked for forgiveness, and I believe I’ve forgiven myself, but I’ve never told Matthew I was sorry. My redemption comes not from my actions, but my actions are my response to what I know to be right. I get it wrong at times, but every single day I try to do the right thing. I try to demonstrate the grace granted to me. I try to stand up for those who aren’t like me. I try to love those who aren’t like me. I’m going to keep trying as long as I live. And, Matthew, wherever you are, please know I ask you for your forgiveness, I love you, and truly, from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.
Tom, this has so many implications and applications. I think so often when we read things like this (and I am at the front of the line of “we” on this one), we think about it in terms of the outsiders: the strangers, the casual acquaintances who we only run into in passing. Those people are safe to “love” despite the differences.
But I think we have to look first at the people closest to us: friends, family, colleagues. These are the people who we have a hard time overlooking those differences and loving them despite them. The decision to do this is a much bigger one for people we live with because it isn’t a one-time decision. It’s an every day, ongoing decision with serious ramifications for our future.
Indeed, Gerald. We can get tricked into thinking all is well with those closest to us. We all, of course, realize this isn’t true (especially with those we live with and work with and spend time with on a daily basis). While I’m getting more at differences rather than people close or people who are strangers, your reminder is good. You’re spot on with your comment about needing to make the decision daily with those we’re closest too … as well as with those who are not.
Thanks for sharing Tom…although hard to admit, I think everyone can identify with the setting, child and feelings that this post evokes. It is Heart wrenching, yet Real in its authentication. Being empathetic and showing empathy, especially in childhood can be difficult, and is often realized after damage has been done. Thank you for sharing a very moving piece and my heart goes out to all the Matthew’s in the World today. Thinking about how I can be cognitive of the Differences that surround Me and make up a very Real part my Environment.
I very much appreciate your comments and your honesty.
For me it was Ann in Junior High. Everyone picked on her, and usually I just watched… I silent participant. One oddly cruel day, in a moment well outside my character, I said something mean to her when we were alone, with no one to witness, no one to prove anything to. I have no excuses, I was being mean, unforgivably so. Ann’s response lives with me to this day. “Not you? I expected this from others, but not you!” To say it left me wounded is an understatement.
To this day I’ve never looked for her, tried to track her down. But I should. Not just to say “Sorry”, but also to say “Thank You”. I grew up a lot that day, that moment. It changed me, made me a better person, one more caring, more full of grace, and more readily brave to stand up to others and for others.
Thank you Ann, for even in your pain, you taught me to be a better human being!
Thanks for your comments, David. I appreciate your honesty and the importance of remembering we learn from our mistakes, and we can be thankful for that.
Tom,
So many of us have a “Matthew” in our past. For me it was a boy in my eight grade class. It bothers me that I do not even remember his name. But we were cruel to him in many ways. In my mind, I have said I was sorry many times but never had the opportunity to say it to him in person. I do think it helped to mold my adult perspective about the children and teachers I work with at school. I am more tolerant of differences because of what “Matthew” taught me. I carry the torch for those children and adults whose differences define them. I try to help others see the uniqueness of these people and the gifts they have to offer. Thanks so much for this post.
My middle name is Grace, and when I googled it, your article came up. Ironicly, I am Deaf. I was hard of hearing in high school and it didn’t bother my friends as much as me. But I have a progressive hearing loss. And now that I only have about 25% of my hearing left in one ear, I feel myself like Matthew standing off to the side, just trying to understand a bit of the conversation so I can jump in at the right moment and say something appropriate. However half the time I have speechread someone wrong and then when I say something its not right. I have learned ASL through recent years, and feel comfortable being myself with the Deaf community. I do like your article and its message. I also know a Matthew who seems to be within your age generation, judging by your picture. Not sure, but what city was this? I sent him this article. Chances are its not him… you never know though!