I've always had a way with words. From a young age, I was blessed with an unusually large vocabulary and a certain eloquence that went along nicely with it. With those two God-given qualities, I was able to not only build up my friends and encourage them, but I was also equally successful in tearing people down and destroying their self-esteem. What I never realised, though, was how badly I had torn up those I so cruelly attacked with my words. They could have beaten me all they wanted and it would all be in vain because I could still shatter their soul in a matter of seconds (not to mention the fact that I could just as easily beat them senseless as well). Despite my aptness in oration, I never fully comprehended the sheer potency of the raw power that words possessed.
Today, I learned that the most powerful bombs and the largest army in the world had no power against a "correctly" formulated sentence. How did I learn that? The answer is paradoxically both simple and complex: I tore down my dad.
It all started when my dad asked me to pray with him and my mom for forgiveness from God. Initially, I said no because I honestly did not see the need for it at the time and I honestly did not care for such a thing. However, he pressed on ever persistently to win me over. In the back of my mind, I knew he knew that I always did things alone and that if he did not realize that right then and there, he would pay dearly for such a blunder, which he unfortunately did. Eventually, I was fed up with his incessant nagging and I began to fire back with a volley of my own. I tried to remind him that I worked alone and that I had confessed to God but he still talked about how it was still important to do this as a family.
I do not know whether it was the work of my flair for perverse and extemporaneous retorts or if it was the work of the Devil, but I quietly and sadistically told him that I did not believe that we were a family.
It was then that I saw the lifeblood of his argument drain from his face. I saw the walls come crashing down against the weight of my riposte. I had broken him and I had thrust the fatal knife of betrayal deep into his heart.
Today, I learned that the most powerful bombs and the largest army in the world had no power against a "correctly" formulated sentence. How did I learn that? The answer is paradoxically both simple and complex: I tore down my dad.
It all started when my dad asked me to pray with him and my mom for forgiveness from God. Initially, I said no because I honestly did not see the need for it at the time and I honestly did not care for such a thing. However, he pressed on ever persistently to win me over. In the back of my mind, I knew he knew that I always did things alone and that if he did not realize that right then and there, he would pay dearly for such a blunder, which he unfortunately did. Eventually, I was fed up with his incessant nagging and I began to fire back with a volley of my own. I tried to remind him that I worked alone and that I had confessed to God but he still talked about how it was still important to do this as a family.
I do not know whether it was the work of my flair for perverse and extemporaneous retorts or if it was the work of the Devil, but I quietly and sadistically told him that I did not believe that we were a family.
It was then that I saw the lifeblood of his argument drain from his face. I saw the walls come crashing down against the weight of my riposte. I had broken him and I had thrust the fatal knife of betrayal deep into his heart.
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