But then, one cold and rainy afternoon, we observed that numbers of large and small figures, varying in age from ten to sixteen, moat of them very brawny, with caps pulled down over their eyes in a business-like way, were filtering in, by the various streets, and gathering in the vacant lot outside our house. And there they stood, with their hands in their pockets. They did not make any noise, or yell, or shout any challenges, they just stood around, looking at the house.
There were twenty or twenty-five of them. There were four of us. The climax of the situation came when Frieda, our German maid, told us that she was very busy with house-cleaning, and that we must all get out of the house immediately. Without listening to our extremely nervous protests, she chased us out the back way. We made a dash through several back yards and went down the other block, and ended up safely in the house where Bill lived, which was at the other end of the vacant lot, and from which we viewed the silent and pugnacious group from Little Neck, still standing around, and with the evident determination of staying there for quite a while.
And then an extraordinary thing happened.
The front door of our house, at the other end of the lot, opened. My little brother John Paul came walking down the steps, with a certain amount of dignity and calm. He crossed the street, and started across the lot. He walked towards the Little Neck gang. They all turned towards him. He kept on walking, and walked right into the middle of them. One or two of them took their hands out of their pockets. John Paul just looked at them, turning his head on one side, then on the other. And he walked right through the middle of them, and nobody touched him.
And so he came to the house where we were. We did not chase him away.
Yes, Merton's little brother sort of walks into the lions' den in this passage, and he emerges unharmed. As Merton huddles with friends, watching the scene, John Paul simply and calmly stares down the group of fight-hungry boys from Little Neck, who don't seem to know what to do with this fearless child. Without saying or doing anything, John Paul beats the gang with a kind of passive resistance.
I wish that I were more courageous, like John Paul. Often, I think that I choose the easy way in dealing with my problems. I am not a big fan of confrontation. In fact, I don't think confrontation is very effective. Most of the time, what confrontation does is escalate already volatile situations. It makes things worse.
Now, I'm not saying that, if a person is treating you terribly, you should just accept the behavior without standing up for yourself. No. That's not my point. A bully certainly needs to be confronted, or else he will spend his life bullying the world until he becomes President of the United States. Or something like that. But I think there are ways of confronting bad behavior without yelling or swinging fists or swearing. Merton's brother, John Paul, is the perfect example.
The gang from Little Neck is out for blood. Merton's blood, in particular, and the blood of Merton's friends. John Paul, younger than Merton by four or five years, just wades into this sea of pent-up anger. He doesn't say a word. He just stares into the faces of the gathered boys, makes them stare back. It's a lot harder to be violent or cruel to people when you're looking them in the eyes, because it humanizes them,
I work in a cardiology office where I sometimes answer phones. It's a busy place, caring for a lot of sick people. On the phone, I've spoken with patients who are angry, frustrated, and frightened. These patients have yelled at me, sworn at me, called me names. They are able to do this because they're on the phone. They don't have to treat me like a fellow human being. I'm just a voice. The anonymity of the telephone gives them a kind of mean courage. A lot of them are very frightened, as well. That fear, compounded with frustration and anger, makes these patients lash out sometimes. That is not an excuse for bad behavior, but an explanation. A way for me to humanize and remain compassionate and empathetic.
We are all fellow travelers on this journey through the universe. I try to remember that. We're all broken in some way. I try to remember that, as well. It's in brokenness that we can come together. Treat each other better. Love each other. I love each broken person in my life. Because it's the right thing to do.
I don't accept bad behavior. Don't allow myself to be abused. When I am treated poorly, I can and do stand up for myself, with love and gentleness and understanding. I think that is what true courage is all about. Looking that person in the face and saying, "What you are doing is wrong. You need to stop. Change. I love you."
Saint Marty isn't perfect at this, but he tries and fails and tries again.
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