On Hatred

If this were a high school essay, it would start: Random House Webster's College Dictionary (Newly Revised and Updated) defines Hatred as: "the feeling of one who hates; intense dislike or extreme aversion or hostility."
Hatred (the definition of which is much shorter than that of "hate," by the way) is something that seems to plague this civilization more and more. It stands in the way of communication and compromise. Hatred and meanspiritedness seem to flow from some sort of pride issue. One would rather be angry than to admit that the other guy might have a point.
As someone who thinks that hatred is tearing this world apart, I feel a certain shame at admitting a real hatred that I have. It is based on experience and frustration and personal contact, but that does not excuse it. I have tried to work with it and sooth it. I have been gentle and I have been tough. I now feel that it has broken my faith in basic goodness.
It must be obvious by now that I am talking about weedwackers. Or Weedeaters, or line trimmers, or whatever you call them. They hated me first, but that's no excuse.
I'm sorry. Please try to love your enemies; if you can't do that, at least try to be friends--maybe go have a drink. But you don't have to go any further than that.