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Campus Ministries: Catholic Ministries

EVERYONE HAS THEIR STORY

Tony and I used to run a teen group in a South Bronx church. Sometimes we'd come upon a teenager who would really give us a hard time. We would find our patience with this kid wearing very thin. But, invariably, as we came to know the youngster and his or her family situation better, we would find that he or she was living with terrible problems at home. Tony and I would look at each other, amazed at how this child, in the face of all these problems, was doing so well. We would have to confess that if we, in our teen years, had been up against what this teen was facing, we wouldn't have been able to deal with it nearly as well as this child was.

As we came to know the teen's story, where he or she was coming from, we found it a lot easier to be understanding and patient. This did not mean that we would let the teen do whatever he or she wanted. It wouldn't do the teen (or the group) any good if we treated them with pity and let them slide all the time. But knowing their story enabled us to enter their world, make a connection with them, and try to let the group give them the support they so desperately needed and deserved.

It isn't only teens who have a story, who may need understanding and patience. I'll never forgot a visit I made to a mother in our South Bronx parish. She was a widow, her husband having finally died after many years of alcoholism. I knew that some of her children had turned out well. One, for example, worked in federal law enforcement. Others were messed up with drugs, etc. One had thrown himself to this death from the roof of a nearby fourteen story building.

Sadly, I was visiting this mother to warn her about a serious problem one of her teenage daughters was having. When I arrived at her apartment she immediately let me in. But I had to sit and wait while she dealt with one of her grown sons. His face was all battered. The night before he had been out drinking and someone had beaten him up. When I arrived he was wildly ranting and raving and cursing, searching the apartment for a baseball bat his mother had hidden. He wanted the bat to go out and get even with the guy who had beaten him.

I couldn't help but feel for this long-suffering mother. It wasn't enough that she had had to deal with an alcoholic husband. Now she was trying to cope with an alcoholic son. When she was able to sit down and talk with me, she said: "When you walk down the street, no one knows the burdens you are carrying."

Everyone has their story. Often we do not know a particular person's story. But we do know that they have one. Even the worst criminals have their story. This, of course, does not justify their crimes. We all have to make our own choices in life. But recognizing the especially heavy burdens that some among us have had to bear, sometimes since earliest childhood, can give us greater understanding and compassion. We might honestly and humbly ask ourselves: how might we have fared, if we had been forced to carry similar burdens, if their story had been our story?

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each person's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I used to work in the South Bronx as a social worker for parents who had neglected or abused their children. Once we had a psychiatrist come to speak to the staff as part of in-service training. The doctor shared with us that he had an infant at home whom he loved very dearly. He told us that often, after a long day at the office, he would come home needing a good night's rest. Sometimes his infant daughter had other ideas. She would cry and cry in the middle of the night, and the doctor would find himself, hour after hour, carrying and walking with her, trying to console her.

On one particularly bad night he was feeling dazed and exhausted, and his daughter just would not stop crying. Finally, he told us, he came to the end of his wits. He could stand it no longer. He let his daughter go. He just dropped her, letting her fall a few feet onto a bed.

She was not hurt. But he could not believe what he had done. Here he was a doctor, a psychiatrist, with all this training, all these resources, and yet he had "snapped," practically threw his beloved daughter down.

The doctor then reminded us that each of our clients have their own story. Few, if any, enjoyed the education, the supports, the living standards that we did. Some of them were abandoned or abused by their parents, or spouses. Some had had their welfare checks cut off and had no money. Some lived in drug-violence-rat infested buildings. There was never any justification for our clients' abusing their children. But we needed to understand that they too had their limits, they too could snap under the tremendous strain they were under.

Most of all, the good doctor wanted us to understand that it is not a matter of "us" and "them"--"us," the good and caring human service workers, and "them," the monsters who abuse their children. "We" are all the same. We all have a breaking point. He asked us not to look down our noses at "them" as inferior or defective. What if their story had been our story?

Our world seems to be becoming increasingly polarized--"us" verses "them," one race against another, haves against have-nots. We dehumanize one another so as to rationalize our inhuman treatment of each other.

By recognizing that we each have our story, that sometimes a story is one of terrible oppression, and that we are all capable of great love and great cruelty, we can come to see and celebrate our common humanity. Honesty and humility enlarge our hearts with understanding, patience, and compassion. And great hearts embrace all of humanity, recognizing that all our individual stories are but part of the one great human story.

Ronald Stanley, O.P.

For additional articles relating to this topic see:

FORGIVE! ...AND FORGET?

MANY FACES, ONE SMILE

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