"Be sure your sins will find you out"

 There are no saints, all fall short. The more someone proclaims their saintly demeanor is more of a warning sign that they are hiding something. One reason that I, a fairly devoit Christian, find it difficult to go to church is due to my knowledge of most peoples "other" lives. Before they put on the starched suit and cologne, before they shave and brush their hair / teeth, before they put on their "I'm really happy to see you" Sunday Smile, they're just as frail and wretched as the rest of us. Sometimes, they're worse.

My Grandfather for instance. Not my Father's Father, that man was a damn good and decent human being. He was honest about his failings and had a sense of honor. No, my Father's Father was a good man. My Mother's Father however was a hateful and self-righteous son-of-a-bitch. He was the preverbial Sunday morning saint. He could quote the bible word for word. Most of his fellow parishoners thought that a more virtuous man did not exist. In fact, he was an abusive man, both emotionally and physically, to my grandmother and made his children into emotional wrecks. He once threatened my grandmother with a knife which is what finally made her move out after a lifetime of torment. He wold NOT stay out of our house. Once she moved in with us, he would not stay away. He would somehow find a way into the house, I think he may have stolen a key. He would wait until my parents left and the kids were away at school and then he'd come over and try to convince my grandmother that it was her "Christian duty" to return to his home. He did this right up until I started going to college and was home during the morning hours. The first time he visited when I was home was the last time.

One morning my dog woke me up. Niki was great. She looked like a miniature Golden Retriever. That dog KNEW the moment something entered our half-acre yard. She was also a great judge of character. Probably why she hated my grandfather. So, when she woke me up growling I knew something bad was happening. I took a 1911 that my father had given me, loaded it and stepped out into the hallway to take a look. My grandfather came around the corner. I told him how close he came to getting shot and that next time I'd shoot him even after figuring it out it was him.

He stayed away after that.

My grandmother stayed an emotionally scarred person right up until her death. When my grandfather died, I went to his viewing. All of the relatives were there. Some were proclaiming that he was a good man. I retorted loud enough for everyone to hear that they were hypocrits, most of them cursed him when he was not around and that he would most likely go to hell for how he mistreated people. While my mother reminded me that it was probably not the most appropriate timing, no one disagreed with me.

The good people in our lives give us good memories that we can hold onto. They serve as an example of how nobel we can be when we strive to be. The bad people in our lives are no less important. They serve to remind us how shitty we can be to each other and how they make us feel gives us insight into how we make people feel when we do them harm.

Morality is not the absence of sin or falling to temptation. Morality is realizing that you are capable of wrong and are active in trying to avoid it. Being a decent person is realizing when you HAVE wronged someone and trying to make amends.