I am writing this with the memories and feelings of the child I once was.

When I was about eight years old, my Dad took me with him when he attended a church meeting I didn't understand. Until that day, all I had seen on the faces of the adults at church were smiles and kindness and welcome. I had never heard an angry voice, especially from the kindly man who was our pastor, Brother Farr. But when I walked into the sanctuary, I saw looks that scared me on faces that had never frightened me before: mean, tight lipped narrow eyed ugliness I had only seen in the movies, when the bad guys were trying to take over.

 And as I sat on the hardest pew in my life, I watched it in real life - the bad guys WERE taking over. The bad guys inside people I had thought were good.

 A large group of just plain folks had turned into mean bullies wanting to take Brother Farr's job away from him. He was sitting in front of the baptismal, in his usual chair, looking very small and sad for a man I had thought was so tall.

I heard a lot of yelling. Mrs. Lee, sitting next to us, looked like she wanted to kill Brother Farr. But as I listened, afraid to move, wide eyed, I didn't remember anyone actually saying anything I could understand. I never knew why they wanted to get rid of Brother Farr. I don't know to this day.

Brother Farr never raised his voice. When he finally talked, he spoke in the same even voice I had heard so many times. And my father, beside me, never raised his voice at all. He never looked angry - and believe me, I had seen him angry a few times! He just quietly sat beside me, his leg and arm against mine, the only comfort I had, while it seemed just about everyone else in the sanctuary lost my trust forever, with their loud ugliness popping off around me like firecrackers.

 Eventually a deacon, looking pretty tired and upset, called for a vote asking if Brother Farr was going to be let go or stay. The angry hands shot up in the air and I thought I'd never see Brother Farr again. Then they asked who wanted him to stay.

From people I could not see in all the anger, from pews all over the church, quiet hands raised up, including my father's big beautiful hand.

 Brother Farr stayed.

 I learned a big lesson that day. Maybe that's why my father took me with him. He was a child of the south: he had his racial prejudices, his dislikes of people. Lord knows he had his anger - usually born out of frustration.

Yet I never saw him do what those people did that day. He taught me by example it was not right to do it myself.

The past few years I've watched the mean insides ooze out again. I finally learned that people turn mean when they don't feel they have any other way of dealing with things, but that knowledge is no comfort. It says the mean aren't really thinking, and people who don't take the time to think about what they are doing are dangerous. They want to believe they are right to be mean, so they'll borrow things they have heard from other people if the meanness of the words seem to match what they believe they think. If you challenge what they are saying, they don't know what or who created the statements they are making, so they'll yell louder - "how dare you challenge me? That's not fair! Apologize!" Anything to make someone else the enemy instead of facing the enemy within.

 Barack Obama was elected our President about a year ago. He was designated Scapegoat in Chief long before that. When he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, I watched his face as he accepted the prize with concerned quiet, and Brother Farr's face came flashing back into my mind.  President Obama knew what people would make of this, really, little, little thing. A compliment given him by a few people in Sweden was turned into a nightmare by the meanies among us.

 At that moment I decided to not be so quiet any longer. I will more than raise up my hand to support President Obama, just as I wish someone had more than raised their hand for Brother Farr.  If anyone out there thinks you can get away with turning on the meanie around me, look deeply into the eyes of my avatar over in the corner. It's not happening anymore. I won't turn mean but if you drop your mean litter in front of me, clean it up or I will put it firmly back in your hand.  I will also take the time to pay close enough attention to what is going on in the news to tell you exactly why the brown stuff in your hand is nothing but what it  is. Interpret that comment any way you want.

 Anyone else tired of the mean insides? Please do more than raise your hand. Don't turn mean yourself. Just say that's enough of that.