Even Within ‘Family,’ Haters Gonna Hate
By John W. Fountain
By John W. Fountain
“And when his brethren saw that their father loved him more than all his brethren, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably unto him.” Genesis 37:4
A dear cousin had a secret she wanted to share with me, she told me in confidence, back sometime when we were in our twenties. It was troubling news and involved me and another one of our dear cousins with whom I had been close since we were young tykes.
She made me vow at least to not tell that cousin what she was about to tell me. I said, “OK,” though puzzled and suddenly hit with that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that throbs as you await the full details of bad news.
“You promise not to tell him,” she begged.
“Promise.”
“…Do you know what he says every time he sees you coming?”
“No, what?” I responded.
“He says, ‘Here comes that braggin’-ass John.”
“Huh?”
“John, I wouldn’t lie to you… Here comes that braggin’-ass John…”
Bragging? I had already learned well by then to refrain from telling some friends and family even half of the stuff I had going on in my life. I didn’t want them to “feel bad” about where they were in their own lives. I also didn’t want to be accused of being some “white-talking” highfalutin Negro who had forgotten his ghetto roots. I had learned to be mum on accomplishments and awards and even began “dumbing” myself down, even saying nothing or not politely correcting someone when I knew the right answer to questions that arose in friendly general discussions.
“…Haters camouflage themselves well in the circle of love.”
I had seen the looks and overheard the snide comments from some: “He thinks he’s so much… He thinks he’s so smart… Blah, blah, blah”
Nope, I was still “ole black John.” Ghetto boy. West Side born. Poor as the day was long. A kid with a dream who had a faint hope that by work, faith and a little luck I might someday chart a different course. That was my internal mirror of reflection. Bragging?
“Wow,” I responded almost speechless and stunned, having previously not detected any “hate” in a cousin who was more like a brother. Growing up we slept in the same bed together. We walked the dog together. Fought together, conducted joint escapades of mischief. Laughed and cried together, sometimes got whuppings together.
He was my boy, my homey, my closest friend. As we grew older, if we went out and he didn’t have any loot, as long as I had money, he had money. I thought nothing of giving or sharing what I had with him. I had wished him well as he went away to the military. I would have given him the shirt off my back. I loved him and he felt the same about me. Or so I thought.
My snitching cousin’s revelation wasn’t as much angering as it was painful. In hindsight, that moment was probably my introduction to the sobering truth that sometimes people don’t love you the way you love them. To the revelation that friends and family aren’t necessarily the kind of “friend” and “family” you are to them. That secret “haters” often go undetected in intimate circles until the moment of betrayal with a kiss or some other moment of truth.
And yet, it is apparently not a lesson I have completely learned, at least still not fully embraced. That much was made clear to me by a recent revelation about familial “hate” that left me with the same old sinking feeling.
It Was You, My Brother
Perhaps my susceptibility has something to do with our unwillingness to accept that people with whom we are intertwined by blood could secretly wish for or celebrate our demise. That beneath their salutations and embrace could exist an undercurrent of hate.
The Judases catch us unawares. They fly beneath the radar with warm-blooded handshakes and pats on the back, even as they walk with you and witness your heart, tears, struggle and sufferings, sometimes at the hands of life’s cruel circumstance or the clear and present enemies who make no secret of their disdain for you. We are blindsided by our brothers — by our sisters — who in our faces root for us with one side of their mouths but when we turn our backs spew sharpened daggers from the other side of their mouths.
Et tu, Brute?
It is always those who are closest to us that have the potential to inflict the most harm. The so-called brothers — and sisters — with whom we have shared the secrets of our heart. Those around whom we are completely disarmed.
I am reminded of biblical David’s lament: “If an enemy were insulting me, I could endure it; if a foe were rising against me, I could hide. But it is you, a man like myself, my companion, my close friend…”
You. My “brother”…
Over time, age and heartache, I have begun to more clearly discern the signs of hate present in the sacred spaces of family love. It includes but is not limited to the sly remarks that praise you on the one hand, and belittle you on the other, which I call “diss-pliments.” It is the consistent, sometimes seemingly playful digs or needling about your clothes, your hair — something, anything that they can zoom in on with pinpoint precision aimed at knocking you off your high horse.
It is sometimes the whispering in corners whenever you enter a room or arrive upon the scene or function. It’s the “lol” at the end of mean or insensitive comments. The talking behind your back that sometimes finds its way to your ears.
It is the kind of ill will manifested by uncles, by cousins and aunts. By distant relatives, even by sisters and brothers. It is not everyone. But haters camouflage themselves well in the circle of love.
Haters Gonna Hate
It can be difficult and disheartening to search for the root of loved ones’ hate. But I have found “Envy” most often the culprit. Envy and his dearest cousin Jealousy who are kissing cousins of Hate and Murder.
And the ensuing hate and slights sometimes have less to do with “us” and more to do with the haters’ own insecurities and unrequited dreams. With their disdain passed down like a torch by someone dear to them whose issue may have really nothing to do with you. It may, in fact, have stemmed from some issue or perceived slight with your father, for example, that happened a lifetime ago, even perhaps before you were born. And you become the inheritor of hate.
It can be the fact that by just showing up, your presence alone — aglow with the God-blessed, hard-earned glory of success — ruffles their feathers and stands as too stark a reminder of their own perceived shortcomings or failures. They covet your coat of success but know nothing of the price and pain of your journey.
Perhaps it simply boils down to the impurities of the human heart.
Biblical Joseph loved his brothers. I am reminded in my reading that the Bible said Joseph’s brothers hated him. They hated him because his father loved him more and made him an ornate robe — a coat of many colors. Genesis 37:4 (NIV) says, “…They hated him and could not speak a kind word to him.”
And when Joseph told him his dream, the Bible says, “they hated him all the more.” Ultimately, their envy led to a conspiracy to murder Joseph and they sold their own brother into slavery.
One thing I have learned for certain: Haters gonna hate. And it splinters far too many families with subsequent hurts, discord, bad feelings and disharmony that are the antithesis of what we are meant to be as family.
So what do we do?
In the words of my dearly departed grandmother: “Keep living…”
We must also forgive and move on while guarding our hearts against becoming what we despise in others. I find that thought itself humbling and also sobering.
I was reminded of all of this recently. Reminded that no matter how much you dumb yourself down, or seek to walk humbly, you can never get low enough for some folks. I was reminded of the difference between “relatives” and “family.” Reminded that we can’t choose who we are “related” to. But we can choose “family.”
I choose family. And I choose to bid farewell — with love — to all my haters, blood or otherwise. At least I am resolved to stand apart from them and let haters hate on.
Peace.
Email: Author@johnwfountain.com
Website: www.author.johnwfountain.com