The "F" Word

Words matter.  No doubt about it.  Words paint mental pictures for us.  They can sway our emotions, feeling heartbreak, joy or blinding anger.  Words are important.  And, many times it is the simplest words that carry the most power.  Think of Moses in Exodus, who asked God “who should I say sent me?”  Exodus records God’s simple, yet powerful words, “I am”. 

Hemingway once wrote a six word short story.  You can’t help but be moved by his words, “For sale.  Baby shoes.  Brand new.”  What, we wonder, is the story of the baby?  Why are the shoes for sale?  And our minds suddenly envision a grieving couple looking at an empty crib.  Baby blankets and sleepers and diapers folded neatly on the dresser.  But there is no child.  The baby has died.

Words matter.  Woody Guthrie soulfully singing “This land was made for you and me”.  Bob Dylan hoarsely calling out “The answer is blowin in the wind”.  Dr. King in his soulful, rich baritone calling forth “Free at last.  Free at last.  Thank God Almighty.  Free at last.”  Yes, words matter.

Words can lift up or bring down.  Perhaps that’s why both Solomon and James focused some attention on taming the tongue.  From my own life I know I have a gift for words.  Yet my gift can be a demon.  Too often I have said things in anger, in haste and hurt those near me.  Words are powerful.  Words can create or destroy.

Words.  For the young boy struggling with his sexual identity being called “fag” tears at his soul.  For the young learning disabled girl called “retard” her heart aches.  She feels loneliness and shame.  Words are a sword that cuts and slashes the fabric of our being.

I hear all kinds of words in here.  Each day is a cacophony of expletives.  I’ve heard every imaginable word to describe every race, every ethnicity.  And, I’ve heard words of hope, of longing, of regret, of comfort.

There is one word, the “F” word that matters most to the 2.3 million men and women in America’s prisons.  That word is “Felon” and the stigma and stain it carries does as much as anything to define which released person succeeds or fails.

As Margaret Love, former US Pardon Attorney recently noted,

“Felon is an ugly label that confirms the debased status that accompanies conviction.  It identifies a person as belonging to a class outside many protections of the law, someone who can be freely discriminated against, someone who exists at the margins of society…a legal outlaw and social outcast.  No passage of time,” she says, “or record of good works can erase the mark of Cain.”

Love notes that labeling a person convicted of a crime as a “felon” for life survives even “forgiveness”.  It is, she argues, an unhelpful label for people who have paid their debt to society.  It is also deeply unfair.

Until the late 20^th century prison, criminal justice was seen as a temporary period.  You broke the law, you went to jail.  But, upon your release you returned home.  However, in the last three decades America, under the dual mantras of “war on crime” and “tough on crime” made an industry out of penology.  And the law expanded with literally hundreds and thousands of new crimes created for social behaviors.  Punishment became key and what better way to punish than make a person wear the scarlet “F” for the rest of their life.  As scholar Nora Demleitner has pointed out, using the label “felon” creates a state of internal exile for those wearing the mark.  Today that label applies to more than 20 million Americans.

Labeling those who have paid their debt to society is directly contrary to the expressed goals and efforts to reduce the number of people in prison, and encourage those who are to rehabilitate and then re-enter society as productive citizens.  And, it mocks the myth of America as a land of second chances.

“Felon” arouses a sense of fear and loathing in “law-abiding” citizens.  Who would want to live – or work – with a “felon”?  In Virginia the fact that one is a felon can be used to deny a person employment and access to many grants, loans and benefits programs.  It shouldn’t be that way.  Love correctly argues that it is time to scrap the word “felon” and the equally reprehensible word “offender”.

In Virginia, over 90% of those currently behind bars will be released.  Governor McDonnell has correctly noted that any recidivism is too much recidivism.  He has made re-entry of released prisoners a cornerstone of his administration’s agenda.  But, it is idle words if the stigma of “felon” remains.

Words matter.   So do actions.  It is time to lay to rest “felon” from this nation’s lexicon.

Bifocals - My Response to Anonymous

I get a fair number of comments from readers. Most times, I read them, reflect on the suggestions made, then move on. A recent response from an anonymous reader caught my attention. She (I’m making an assumption it was from a woman) gave me a good deal to think about. Ironically, the day she posted her comments I was getting fitted for bifocals.



Vision is a weird thing. When I was in college I had perfect vision 20/20. In law school I became hopelessly nearsighted. I would read law books for hours each day trying to absorb the case holdings. I’d look up from the pages and everything in the distance was a blur.


At my wife’s insistence I went to the ophthalmologist and found my eyesight had deteriorated badly. First it was 20/60; later 20/80. All that time I was ignoring my distance sight, rationalizing I just had eye strain. In truth, I was lying to myself. I couldn’t see anything past three feet.


The other day, I went for an eye exam. The doctor, a very nice older man, gently told me my distance vision was steady, corrected from 20/80. But, he told me I’d been compensating by taking my glasses off to read. Now I had to hold the book close to my face to read. “We need to tweak your near vision”, he told me. So, in another week I’ll be sporting state issued “Clark Kent” framed bifocals. “It won’t be like when you had perfect vision when you were young, but it will be better than what you’ve been living with.”


Which leads me to the comments from anonymous. This morning, I read a few passages from the Old Testament book I Kings about Solomon. In the first verse it simply stated “God granted Solomon great wisdom, but God told Solomon “always listen to My commandments”. One chapter later Solomon – who had let his love of women lead him to marry many who had different gods; was left despondent. As he looked back on his life, he wrote the book of Ecclesiastes, a sorrowful look at the meaninglessness of life. The book ends with Solomon writing “fear God and keep his commandments”.


Solomon realized too late that the key to a life full of blessings – even in the midst of despair – is obedience to God. It’s a message that rings true over and over in Jesus’ parables and in my current reading on Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Follow God’s dictates even when they don’t make sense. God knows.


Almost every “fact” anonymous set out was correct. I did something wrong. My vision was so close to my face that I missed what was in the distance. And yes, I put myself ahead of my wife and kids. And Anonymous is right to ask “if you really loved them, how could you do that?” Profound question; simple answer. I loved them, but put myself and a bunch of stupid, impulsive desires first. I was wrong.


But, I want anonymous, and my ex and kids, to know it’s still not too late. God, in His amazing, infinite wisdom, gives all of us second, third and even fourth chances.


I’m not having a pity party or refusing to “take responsibility” for what happened. Matter of fact, my friends and the two therapists I had early on in this process reached the same conclusions: I’m carrying too much responsibility. “Everything is not your fault.” And like the great question, “which came first, the chicken or the egg?” We’re human. We hurt each other way too much; we’re selfish and self-centered. But, we are capable of doing extraordinary selfless things out of love.


My ex is a good woman. She’s beautiful and caring and in her own way – loving. And, I still love her. But, what anonymous missed was, I have moved on.


Christ was in our marriage, yet neither of us listened. For years when I was living the lie I asked God to show me the way out. I expected He would yell out “Larry, you’re going the wrong way”. When He didn’t, I rationalized it would all be OK. Yet, by His silence, He was telling me.


I’ve had terrible days since then, but every night I go to sleep after evening prayers and know God has my back. I sleep peacefully.


Anonymous, you may not like my answer. That’s OK, just keep reading. Like my bifocals, sometimes we need our vision corrected.