The Power of Pain

"What we must do is turn pain into power. We must teach conflict resolution. We must not recycle pain." Jesse Jackson

Jackson marched with Martin Luther King, Jr., and I admire him for still going strong, not giving up hope that we can somehow work together to make America a different place for all people. His comments were quoted by Joe Piasecki and Adolfo Flores of The Pasadena Sun. Jackson was speaking at a local high school after the shooting death of an unarmed 19-year-old African-American man by the police.

My older son was military police when he spent eight years in the Air Force. He briefly kicked around the idea of becoming a police officer when he returned to civilian life, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he decided not to. Police work is scary. I respect those in law enforcement who put themself in harm's way to keep the peace, those who act with integrity. In the case of Kendric McDade, they did not.

All of us Americans need to feel the pain of the racial strife that continues on in our country, twenty years after Rodney King, almost fifty years after King told us that he had a dream. It's sad that we are still recycling all that pain.

At a personal level, chances are you have had someone recycle pain with you. They are having a bad day, it's nothing to do with you, but you feel some of their anger. Perhaps you've been in a relationship where the other person had some unresolved issues, and without meaning to, they made you hurt like they hurt. The recycling of pain. I once knew someone like this, and my sister made the insightful comment that "some people just need to have a dog to kick."

Pain is inevitable. We are all going to feel it at some point in life. Sometimes we are innocent victims, but even then we have a choice. What will we do with our pain? Will we recycle it by passing it on to other people, or will we turn it into power? It is always a choice.

Pain is powerful. It can bring us to our knees. It can cripple us, if we allow it. It can make us mean, so mean that we lash out at other people. We can nurse it all our lives, until we become bitter old people. Or we can decide to take it and turn it into power. Have you ever noticed that some of the best, kindest and most empathic people are those who know what it is to hurt? It's as if they have harnessed the power of pain and turned it into something healing, for themselves first, and then for those around them.

Susan

I Am Sabrina Fulton

In 1976, my senior year in high school, our homecoming queen was African-American. I remember thinking that this is the future, a place where we all get along, where the color of your skin doesn't matter. If you would have told me that our country's racial problems would only get worse, I never would have believed you. Not for a minute.

It was a joy to dance at my older son's wedding, and to watch him hold his infant son in his arms for the very first time. Sabrina Fulton will never get to do anything like that. My younger son was a fashion conscious teenager. He wore skater shoes, tee shirts, hoodies, baseball caps and pants that hung low. Really, really, really low. He listened to rap and hip hop as he tried to make sense of his world. I watched with pride as he received his Bachelor's degree. He is 27 now, and next week he and I are going on a short vacation together, just the two of us. Sabrina Fulton will never get to do anything like that.

Go to Amazon and you can buy a shirt that says, "I am Trayvon Martin." President Obama commented that if he had a son, he would look like Trayvon Martin. My sons are white, but they were once 17-year-old young men just like Trayvon Martin. Last night I caught a glimpse on the television. There was Sabrina Fulton, remarkably composed and articulate, talking about her precious boy. My mother's heart broke a little for her. If George Zimmerman is ever charged and goes to trial, he as an American citizen has a right to a vigorous defense. That defense has already begun in the media. Casting aspersions on the victim is part of the whole process, however painful that is to Trayvon Martin's mother. And George Zimmerman has a mother, too, right? How horrible it must be to know that your child has taken a life.

Sabrina Fulton is enduring the worst pain a woman could ever experience, and she's doing it 24/7 while the whole world watches. I would like to apologize to her. I would like to say I am sorry. Sorry for her pain. Sorry for her loss. Sorry that I have done so little to make this country a better place for our children.

Susan