This is obviously not an issue of Carefree Truth.  But I received this letter from a reader and it touched my heart, so I decided, with the permission of the author, to share it with all of you.

Lyn Hitchon 

 

Thank you for filling in the facts that the Sonoran News inevitably ignores.  From the first time I read Don Sorchych in the SN, his words resonated with me in a negative way.  Sorchych could be a clone for one of my relatives.

 

Great Uncle Lars was a legend in my family.  As a very young child, I was amazed that Uncle Lars knew more than the president of the United States, the UN, and even our own clergyman.  By the time I entered school, I suspected that Uncle Lars’ loudly expressed opinions were not matched by any particular knowledge or wisdom.  Nonetheless, his gibes about my relatives fascinated me.  In an extended family that generally showed respect and kindness to one another, Uncle Lars was an angry man who sarcastically noted everyone’s foibles, critiqued accomplishments, and speculated on possible wrong-doing.  I was amused by his audacious comments and spirited mimicry.  Often he played people off against one another so that our family celebrations and holidays were punctuated by brief conflicts among the relatives.  If someone tried to shush Uncle Lars, he inevitably growled, “This is America and I have a right to free speech.  And there’s some truth in what I said.”  It took me a long time to recognize that if there “some truth” to a story, then there must also be some “untruth.”  I was twelve before I realized that free speech can also be hurtful. 

 

Every Christmas the entire family came to our house for a daylong celebration.  My mother took great pride in her hospitality.  She cooked and cleaned for days, often singing along to the Christmas music on the radio.  It was my family’s favorite holiday.  The Christmas that I was twelve, Uncle Lars focused his acerbic humor on my mother.  He “jokingly” criticized the food, mocked her habit of singing softly to herself in the kitchen, and generally made fun of her all day long.  After everyone else went home, I found my mother crying at the kitchen table.  I had never seen my mother cry before and the image disturbed me.  That night I realized that Uncle Lars was cruel and destructive.    

 

As the years passed, my extended family slowly disintegrated.  Uncle Lars’ incendiary comments and all those conflicts he started were divisive.  After a while, people couldn’t forgive and forget.  The monthly birthday parties and elaborate holiday celebrations dwindled.  The long evenings of pinochle and the ice fishing parties grew less frequent.  We even stopped our family work weekends of fixing up Grandpa’s house or cleaning the cabin by the lake.  My relatives no longer enjoyed playing together and we couldn’t even work together.  My family permanently splintered.

 

Don Sorchych reminds me of Uncle Lars.  As a child I was amused by witty criticisms, clever innuendoes, and opinions expressed with moral outrage and self-righteous indignation --- but lacking facts and insight.  Mockery and  cartoonish characterizations once impressed me as sophisticated.  My feelings changed over time.  When Uncle Lars died, he was given what my family called a good, decent burial.  But, there were no eulogies about love, respect, or accomplishments.  I don’t think any of us missed him.  The night of the funeral I reminded my father of that Christmas many years ago.  I told him how I became upset because Uncle Lars made mother cry.  My father listened quietly and then finally said, “Uncle Lars made your mother angry.  What made her cry was seeing you laugh at Uncle Lars’ comments.”

 

Don Sorchych is only hurtful if people read his words, and if they naively believe his angry half-truths, and if they are amused by his public attacks on our own citizens.

 

Ann