I’ve been thinking about hating all week. There are many things I hate. I hate rodents in my house. I hate eating snails. I hate drug addiction, poverty, being told what to do, infected wounds, megalomania, homelessness, and driving on the New Jersey Turnpike. But for the most part, I have a difficult time getting it up enough to truly hate people. The combination of being raised by liberal, weenie parents (Hi Dad! Thanks for reading!) and embracing what was left of hippy-dom during my formative years in the 1970’s (I’m sorry, I really believe we should give peace a chance.) has left me with a dearth of hate. My mom always corrected me when I told her I hated something, saying, “Dislike intensely. Hate is a very strong word.” But even though I love strong words, strong feelings, strong ideas, I don’t hate people. I definitely hate what people do. I often hate what people say. But I don’t hate people. Because given just half a minute, I seem to have the capacity to imagine what’s underneath the horrible action or terrible words. I think little hateful deeds and words come from people who have been damaged, or are stupid or thoughtless. I think that people who are so damaged or mentally ill that they can’t see other people’s humanity or the sanctity of life perpetrate the hugely hateful things, the truly heinous acts. I really hate that they do those things. Where do you fall out on this? Who or what do you hate?