Glass Houses ...

January 17,2010

"People who live in glass houses should never throw stones."

In the 1940's, I was a pigtailed barefoot country girl who sometimes felt an urge to throw rocks at my enemies. I made no attempt to stifle the urge, and enemies didn't hesitate to match me stone for stone. Silly talk of glass houses meant nothing to us.

Except for temporary bruises, those physical fights of childhood left me untouched. Emotional upheavals, however, followed me into a grownup world where I found myself surrounded by glass walls. Every invisible rock I hurled at injustice brought vengeance crashing back at me. I often stood knee-deep in rubble. Cold winds blew. Clean-up jobs waited.

Little-by-little, seeing the error of my ways, I became reluctant to throw the first stone. Still, I kept an ample supply of rocks within easy reach, and had no qualms about repaying debts. Tit for tat. Bruise for bruise.

Today, the phone rang and a voice from my long-ago past had me scrambling to find just the right size stone to send smashing through a wall that existed several decades ago and still, it seems, exists today in the darkest recesses of my mind.

"People who live in glass houses should not throw stones"

If we followed that reasoning to its logical conclusion we would have to give up enforcing any restraints on society because no one is fault-free enough to condemn anyone else for anything. This way of thinking would provide bad people with the perfect excuse for never changing their behavior.

I don't have answers. Not for society. Certainly not for myself. I only have questions: Will I ever outgrow my glass house and be allowed to live in a brick one? ... Or wood? ... Plexiglass? ... Straw, maybe?

I'm so tired of it all ....