Tolerance

I can tolerate a lot of things. Pain, for instance. Doc’s have told me I’ve a high tolerance for pain for years, and I don’t know if that is a good thing.

When it comes to violence or sexual attacks, no way. I’ve had too many errant propositions from elected officials in elevators I’ve had to deflect, before sexual discrimination laws were passed, to count. When in doubt I’d met his wife and knew all about their daughter so would ask about the wife and how the daughter was doing in school, by name of said wife, daughter and school, of course. Deflect, never report.

Racial violence for no reason, even though I’ve championed human and civil rights, does not do it for me. We pay a lot to live here and one man was going home a block from a riot in a faux police uniform, badge and all. I ran upstairs to get him one of my husband’s shirts. He was gone already, a few minutes later, but told me he’d take off his shirt and badge before he entered the neighborhood. He was afraid he’d be taken for a cop and be shot. I will not tolerate that, nor will his wife.

That’s what we’re dealing with. I have no tolerance for mob behavior. I will fight with stalwart friends to gain a goal by words, setting times with the city council, but have never thrown a stone or bottle or carried a gun (heaven forbid, I’d be dead by now shooting my foot by accident) or wanted to learn how to make a bomb.

Tolerance is probably a word I learned in my aunt’s powder room. I had to learn a word, its’ spelling, and use it in a sentence when I returned. It took a while when I only did #1 and washed my hands. I was taught to be tolerant. Years later, I find that I am not on certain issues. Thank you, NSA for previewing this post. Dee

 

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