Bitter Cruelty

“I was helpless in trying to return people's kindness, but also helpless to resist it. Kindness is a scarier force than cruelty, that's for sure. Cruelty isn't that hard to understand. I had no trouble comprehending why the phone company wanted to screw me over; they just wanted to steal some money, it was nothing personal. That's the way of the world. It made me mad, but it didn't make me feel stupid. If anything, it flattered my intelligence. Accepting all that kindness, though, made me feel stupid.

Human benevolence is totally unfair. We don't live in a kind or generous world, yet we are kind and generous. We know the universe is out to burn us, and it gets us all the way it got Renee, but we don't burn each other, not always. We are kind people in an unkind world, to paraphrase Wallace Stevens. How do you pretend you don't know about it, after you see it? How do you go back to acting like you don't need it? How do you even the score and walk off a free man? You can't. I found myself forced to let go of all sorts of independence I thought I had, independence I had spent years trying to cultivate. That world was all gone, and now I was a supplicant, dependent on the mercy of other people's psychic hearts.” 
― Rob Sheffield, Love is a Mix Tape

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“People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” 
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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You, others, and me are all roots of the blame I have towards my parent's being robbed this morning.

My philadelphia house door ajar, my mother's purse visible from the street, the purveyor of classical racism acted on his impulse, ran into the house to take the bag, and ran back out. My father, seeing the act, ran after him. The purveyor falls, my father falls and scraps his knee and the palms of his hands while my mother runs as fast as she could behind screaming, "help help."

The perpetrator finally gave up and left the purse on the stoop and ran into a hiding space - whether it was his space or a friend, irrelevant.

Yes, it was agreeably foolish to think the neighborhood safe to leave the door open while the parents tried to transfer the luggage from the house to the car. Yes, the neighborhood isn't a pristine gated community. Yes, had my friends been more careful to care for the house my parents wouldn't frequent the house and expose themselves more to this gray environment. Yes, I should have been more attentive in rectifying my living situation in Philly before I leave. There are so many things I could point to but at the end of the day, I feel responsible. At the end of the day, there are so many action items I need to carry out and so many questions opened that aren't easy to close.

Despite all this, John asked me whether I want to punch the guy out for putting my parents and my little nine year old brother through this, interestingly enough I couldn't find an ounce of harbored violence towards the thief. I don't empathize for him, I do not feel curious or sadden whether he got hurt during his fall.

What I do feel is a sadness. A sadness that something unfortunate has been carried out for all parties involved. A sadness that my parents, in their old age, is caring for my assets when they really shouldn't be. A sadness that my nine year old's brother is tainted with this image of a city and it's lurking danger. A sadness that my parents fear might turn to resentment of their fear, an unsettled retribution.