Hate
Vengeful at 4
A good friend and professor at ArtCenter , Cheri Grey sent me a kind note today. “you’re a compassionate and good Chair,'“ she said. First, I was nicely surprised to read something so kind. Second, it was high praise from someone I admire for being such a good human being. Third, her note made me think, am I compassionate? Of course, one likes to think of oneself as saintly and kind. But, on reflection, was I?
Let’s start with the first time I felt hate. I was about four and we lived in the Haight Ashbury district of San Francisco (1967-69 summer of love). A friend from my experimental co-op pre-school (no Auntie Mame fish mating class) punched me in the stomach. Yes, I was probably overbearing and bossy, but I was four. He immediately ran away and I began crying. In 2020, just before my mother passed away, she told me how proud she was at that moment, that I didn’t strike back, but cried because this friend was so damaged and in pain.
WTF? No. I cried because I was furious and wanted to hit back, but he ran away. I recall falling to sleep for months thinking about ways to hurt him. So much for childhood saintly demonstrations.
Move along to middle school when being called a homophobic slur was common. Yes, I had an Australian accent from grammar school in Melbourne that didn’t play well in Reno, Nevada. But, ignored the whole thing. Always best to submerge anything negative, and made sure I was at the popular table in high school.
One of my parents’ friends, a noted medium in Cambridge, met me when I was visiting for a college interview and said, “You have an enormous amount of anger and hate.” Really? I was seventeen, terrified, denying my sexuality, and convinced that one small mistake would be the first thread to pull apart an entire sweater. At seventeen, isn’t everyone kind of angry?
Professionally, we’ve all had clients who were less than pleasant. I found that I was the person that typically said, “oh, they’re not bad. they probably have good ideas but don’t know how to express them.” And I still believe that. I think everyone wants to do their best and have a successful outcome.
In the 35 years that I’ve worked professionally, I think I only hated one client. As the editor of a magazine, she would remain silent through all presentations. Then, at the end, she would wave her hand and say, “No. Don’t like.” and walk away. Ok, poor communication skills. Then she called and demand that I fire one of my staff because she didn’t like her, “I just don’t like her. Of course, I would like to give you more work. But…”. Yes, I hated her. No, it was not Vogue. Yes, I ended the relationship.
I’ve worked with many remarkable people including, April Greiman, and then my business partner of 20+ years, Noreen Morioka. I am inspired by the kindness and true generosity of my friends Michael Vanderbyl, Paula Scher, Michael Beirut, Dana Arnett, Jennifer Morla, Jessica Helfand, and Debbie Millman. It is from them that I stop when seriously pissed off about someone, and think, always err on the side of kindness. The problem that keeps popping up is being a human. I really do think everyone is dealing with their own issues and sometime ass-holey behavior leaks in. But…
My mother looked remarkably like Audrey Hepburn and when I was a child I didn’t know they were two different people. There is a scene is the Steven Spielberg movie, Always, with Audrey Hepburn as a sort of after-life intermediary. At one point, Audrey Hepburn says to Richard Dreyfus, “Pete, you’re such a good man.” When I’m angry, those words pop into my head in a sort of combo Audrey Hepburn and my mother. And I stop and think, am I good?
FYI: being kind does not equate to being soft.
Good times at middle school: I was sleeping on a cot at my grandmother’s house. My mother was in-between husbands. Someone was leaving anonymous homophobic notes in my locker that threatened to kill me. I was just trying to lay low, seem normal, and pretend that I was just like everyone else and had a bedroom.
Sylvia Flint
