On Forgiveness
Or, how the ’80s helped me learn to love my neighbor
To be clear—I’m old.
I’ll turn fifty-three early next year, well past the halfway mark of a lifetime.
Because I’m old—but not too old—I have both the advantage of memory and the capacity to keep learning.
Behavioral scientists call this the scaffolding theory of aging and cognition (STAC): old and new neural wiring reinforce each other.
The brain recalls established memories, keeping older circuits active, while neuroplasticity allows it to tackle novel tasks, stimulating growth and repair.
Scaffolding lets us draw on well-worn mental shortcuts when facing new challenges and provides the mechanism for learning a language at sixty, picking up an instrument, or changing a habit.
It supports executive function, emotional regulation, and adaptability well into later life.
My concern is what today’s environment is doing to that scaffolding.
I fear we’re creating a culture low on empathy and high on narcissism—almost a national language.
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Glasnost and Growing Up
As a child of the ’80s, I grew up on TV.
I loved Knight Rider, Airwolf, the Huxtables—even Dallas.
G.I. Joe and He-Man?
Absolutely.
I remember watching the made-for-TV movie The Day After, the Challenger explosion replaying all day at middle school, the Reagan–Gorbachev summits, and President Reagan’s call to “tear down this wall.”
It was a heady time—like most eras, once you look back.
And perhaps, more than the fall of the Berlin Wall, its spirit of reconciliation and hope found its apex in the life of Nelson Mandela.
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Resentment or Forgiveness
Mandela, imprisoned for 27 years, walked free in early 1990.
I was seventeen and impressionable.
Everyone knew about apartheid’s brutality; even Hollywood worked it into plots—Lethal Weapon 2 painted the white majority government of South Africa, and its indiscriminate use of apartheid, as the villains.
But this isn’t about Mel Gibson.
It’s about Mandela.
What did he do after his release?
Did he rail against his oppressors?
Strip them of rights?
Seek revenge?
No—he forgave.
“Forgiveness liberates the soul, it removes fear. That’s why it’s such a powerful weapon,” Nelson Mandela once said.
His greatest weapon was to turn the other cheek.
To argue for reconciliation over retribution.
Promoting harmony over hatred.
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Vengeance and Environment
Scientists attribute our behavior to two main factors: genetics and environment.
Epigenetics studies how surroundings switch genes on or off, shaping outcomes.
I’m the product of both.
My ’80s environment emphasized reconciliation, collaboration, empathy, especially as found in the words of Mandela.
Today those words are treated as suspect by many leaders and citizens.
Mandela once said,
“If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner.”
Contrast that with former President Trump’s recent remark at a memorial for Charlie Kirk:
“I hate my opponent and I don’t want the best for them.”
Or his threat to a reporter just earlier this month:
“I’d probably go after people like you… Maybe I’ll come after ABC.”
Now set those against Ronald Reagan’s 1989 farewell address:
“All great change in America begins at the dinner table… We’ve got to do a better job of getting across that America is freedom—freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of enterprise. And freedom is special and rare. It’s fragile; it needs protection.”
Our environment shapes us.
It shaped me.
Today and tomorrow
I worry today’s environment is shaping our children—and us—toward bitterness, isolation, and hatred for the other masked as free speech.
Like any environmental shift, the consequences could be destructive for both nation and neighbor.
The Bhagavad Gita reminds each of us -
“You are what you believe in. You become that which you believe you can become.”
Contrary to prevailing opinion, I believe we each bear a responsibility to nurture our great republic and care for its citizenry, regardless of station or circumstance.
This is why forgiveness matters even more now.
It steadies our hearts, repairs the civic fabric, and reminds us that reconciliation is not weakness but strength.
If we choose that path—one conversation, one act of mercy at a time—we give the next generation, our children and theirs as well, a scaffolding strong enough to hold both memory and hope.
As Martin Luther King Jr. reminded us, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
How you decide to act as a citizen is up to you.
But please—act.