Five things in Istanbul

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Daughter was five the first time I took her to Istanbul.  Usually we would travel straight through to Adana but as she was a little older it was time to explore her second (now first) home.  I have mentioned to you before that when Daughter and I travel together it is her job to find us 5 things to do together and 3 of them have to be free or a minimal cost.  This encouraged Daughter to want to learn about each city we visited and to have a better appreciation at each location.  It always worked beautifully with her and even now she utilises this skill regularly to learn more about a place or thing.

Daughter’s list of five things to do in Istanbul:

Basilica Cistern  

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This is always number 1 on our list and each year this still is our first stop in Istanbul.  Why?  It is an extraordinary underground water cistern containing 300 plus marble columns to keep the ceiling up.  It’s atmosphere is made more unique with “creepy” lighting, the occasional surprise of really cold water dripping from the vaulted ceiling and ghostly shadows this place is mysterious enough for Daughter to be enamoured with exploring every inch.  Hint: Each time we go there Daughter has to re-discover the Medusa Head in the north eastern corner.  Throw a coin and make a wish.

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Grand Bazaar 

Daughter loves to shop.  Daughter loves souvenirs.  Daughter loves a brand.  And if Daughter can get a name brand without the name cost she will.  With hidden doorways and tiny exotic shops the Bazaar is a mini city in itself and getting lost in the labyrinth and chaos of the Bazaar is part of its charm, especially for kids.  Hint:  I make a visit to the Bazaar a scavenger hunt.  Deciding beforehand what “souvenir” Daughter wants she has to locate the treasure and barter with the shopkeepers.  Originally it was to practice her Turkish but now it is to bag a bargain!

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Constantine Walls

The walls were started by Emperor Constantine in 324AD and extended around the city to protect its people from invasion.  They were often attacked but when you are standing at the bottom looking up that these walls you wonder how on earth they were breached – and they were breached – notably by the Fourth Crusades and the Ottomans.   Start at Yedikule Fortress and you can walk for hours along or beside these gorgeous ancient walls.  Best of all – it’s free!  Hint:  There are so many other things to do along the way with parks, shopping and secret laneways.  Daughter would happily walk for hours and not complain (well not often anyway).

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Suleymaniye Mosque

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I clearly recall the first time I took Daughter here.  She was agog with its grandeur, its size   and its colour.  It was unlike anything she had seen before.  Entering the dome of the mosque she quietly watched the faithful at prayer – again so different to anything she had seen before.  After leaving the mosque we sat in the walled garden and talked about Islam giving her the opportunity to learn a little about their beliefs and lifestyle.  Hint: Returning home we purchased ceramic tiles and created our own masterpiece along the same styling as those seen at this iconic destination.

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Dolmabache Palace

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At 5 Daughter had dreams of becoming a princess and living in a palace and she insisted that we visit Topkapi Palace.  Unfortunately her idea of a palace did not coincide with what she viewed at Topkapi and we only ever visited the Palace that one time.  I did, however, take her to Dolmabache Palace the next day.  This was definitely a more romantic Palace and more to the liking of a 5 year old who expected grandeur and pomp.  Hint:  Viewing this Palace from the Bosphorus gives us an idea of its size and amazing architecture.  Cruising the Bosphorus is also another day trip in itself so give yourself lots of time.  At 11 Daughter’s interests have changed so Dolmabache Palace is no longer on our list.  This has been replaced with a trip down Istiklal Caddesi.  Why?  Shopping, of course.  Istiklal Caddesi is also great with its historic tram.  Don’t forget you need a card to ride it, they don’t accept cash.

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Bonus: Don’t miss the Whirling Dervishes at the Hocapasa Cultural Centre.  Daughter’s first experience watching that was enough to bring tears of laughter.  She was mesmerized and, upon returning to our hotel, tried as hard as she could to whirl and twirl but spent most of her time falling on her bum.

Children love to explore and to learn.  I think empowering your child to do the research gives them more appreciation and understanding of their surroundings.  Daughter is extremely lucky to travel to such destinations but if she does not learn about them, their history and their story, then there is no point in taking her there.  Frankly it would be a waste of my time and my money.

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Romeo and Juliet

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I have got a good one for you today. It is a love story told so many times before, a family drama usually reserved for a Shakespearean play.  In fact I think homage to Shakespeare to begin suits:

Two households, both alike in dignity (or perhaps lack of dignity),
In dusty Mersin (I couldn’t say Verona), where we lay our scene,
…

And so on.

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This story is not about me.  It is about my brother in law Vito.  Again.  He obviously has a much more interesting life than I do.  I’m going to have to go back in time a bit so bear with me.

Twenty five odd years ago Vito fell in love.  Romeo and Juliet style.  She was a little bit older than him and was, perhaps, not quite suitable for marriage.  She had been married before and his family suggested to him that he wait until he can find a more appropriate wife.

“Noooo,” he cried, “I love only her.  I cannot, nay I will not live without her.”

Believing he would rather die than live without his love he threw himself into the middle of the road and lay there until such time as his family agreed to the marriage.

Remember I was not here when this happened and am merely repeating the story as it was told to me but yes he lay on that road until such time as his parents, my in-laws, gave in and allowed this ill-chosen marriage to go ahead.

Vito and his love (The Onion) married and had two boys in close succession.  The love was, as feared, no longer as strong as it once may have been.  She became distant with him.  His eyes started wandering to greener pastures, lots of greener pastures.  But they stayed together for the sake of the children.  Was his family right?  Should he have waited for a more suitable partner?  Does he think back to those days and to his parents and think, “Damn it I hate it when my parents are right!”  I always hated it when my parents were right.

The Onion never forgave his parents for their meddling (and I will call it meddling even though I cannot believe that my wonderful in-laws meddled and anyway is it meddling when they are right?) and she distanced Vito from his parents and the two boys from their grandparents.  Despite all of this she is the woman who wailed like a baby at my mother in law’s graveside in January (no doubt suffering from that unforgiving emotion called “guilt”) and yet had not spoken a civil word to her in years.  She is the woman who did not invite her mother in law to dinner or to family events and she is the woman who is, frankly, a bit of a bitch.

Fast forward to 2014.  Vito’s eldest son is a credit to the family.  He has completed his university degree with honours and will find himself with a successful career.  He is in love with a girl who is considered quite suitable by his family and they are to be married as soon as he has finished his army conscription.  He will forevermore be known as William which means, of course, that the younger son will be known as Harry.  Harry is, well I am going to say it, just like Vito.  A little bit of a larrikin, he enjoys a night out with the boys, loves the raki and loves to have a bit of fun with the ladies.  Harry has been courting a young girl (and at 17 she is very young).  He loves her.  She loves him.  Romeo and Juliet style.  He wants to be with her and she with him.  Unfortunately his family do not feel the same way and believe that she is unsuitable.

“Noooo,” he cried.  “I love only her.  I will not live without her.”

Sound familiar?

Yep we are living witness to a Groundhog Day, Shakespearean drama of epic proportions.  I wonder whether Vito and The Onion have sat down and thought, “Maybe we should learn from past mistakes.”  Or how about, “Let’s just let him live his own life, make his own decisions.”  I imagine I will be very opinionated when Daughter brings home a love.  I imagine I will hate him with murderous passion but I would like to think that I will let her make her own mistakes, sorry I mean decisions.

To finish this off it seems that the real answer is that the young lady in question does not like The Onion.  Well she must just be lovely.  I am sure I will have a lot in common with her.  I said to The Turk that he should encourage Harry to make his own decisions and follow his heart.  The Turk said I am a troublemaker.  I merely smiled.

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Contradictions (and a bit of a recap)

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I wrote this a little over a week ago but due to some personal issues with my father in law as well as the current tensions in Turkey I felt it more appropriate to not post this at that time.  Turkey is in upheaval, yet again, and although tension is high I feel completely safe here in Mersin although there have been recent protests.  With elections looming all parties are throwing heated comments at each other and with the recent death of 15 year old Berkin Elvan it has become a travesty to bear witness to.

Officially it has been six months since we uprooted our lives and moved to Mersin.  Since I first met The Turk we would fantasise about moving to Turkey, whether it is for one year or forever but that fantasy was always put on the backburner as real life would interfere with our dream.  When my beautiful Dad passed away from that evil bastard that is cancer the dream of moving to Turkey was put back on the table but this time it was Daughter’s idea.  Having just lost her Granddad she wanted to spend as much time as possible with her other grandparents before they were taken from her too.  Her thoughts were, understandably, a little morbid but on reflection perfectly timed and we were all grateful to have had time with her grandmother, my mother in law, before she passed away in January.

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As an expat Turkey is a country of contradictions.  We live in a luxurious apartment with every modern convenience (just don’t mention toilet paper to me) but right next door my sister in law and her family make their bread over an open flame. Contradictions.

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We shop at Zara and TopShop, we get our coffee from Starbucks and we eat in nice restaurants.  We are surrounded by all our electronics to make life easier too from flat screen televisions, iPods and iPads meanwhile from my balcony I can watch the local women working on the farm across the lane for 30TL a day or witness children begging in the streets.  Contradictions.

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I smile at the faces of people around me.  These people are my family now but there are times I want to throw a brick at the shopkeepers who are so unhelpful as I am a yabanci or to the strangers who watch me as I walk by in my western clothes.  Yes I wear jeans and a t-shirt; no I am not a whore.  No I do not wear a head scarf; yes I have the utmost respect for your religion although I wonder do you have any respect for mine?  Before you ask, no I do not want to pay twice as much because I am a yabanci and just for the record I am not your ATM machine.  Contradictions.

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Adjustments were made by all of us over the past six months.  I think I have had it the easiest (well if you put aside the fact that I had no Turkish and now six months later I have little Turkish).  I had no expectations.  I know that things will not work the way that they did in Sydney and I was ready to accept this although I do get mighty peeved when the rubbish internet dies.  I think it has been The Turk who has had the most difficulty in adjusting – or should I say re-adjusting – to life in Turkey.  Having had the luxury of living in Sydney with its first world conveniences the littlest molehill can quickly escalate to the largest mountain.  I cannot tell you the number of times The Turk has said he wants to go back “home” to Sydney.  I guarantee before this day is over I will hear it yet again.  Cry me a river mate.

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Daughter is very content.  She has made some good friends, she has quickly learnt conversational Turkish (although apparently has a funny accent).  She is getting by at school and although she now has a nemesis she considers this means she is truly accepted by her class mates.  Her adjustments were mostly first world problems too.  Disappointments when things don’t go according to plan and realising just how damn lucky she is compared to so many.  Contradictions.

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Last Friday I had to return to the Emniyet yet again but I won’t bore you with that story today.  Anyway, while we were waiting to be interviewed I watched group after group of Syrian refugees lining up to speak to officials, to update their living arrangements or to ask for assistance.  I was shocked by the sheer volume of refugees coming through the door but The Turk has little sympathy for them.  I recently watched on the haber that there have been a few instances of racism against refugees in Turkey with most of Turkish society considering the refugees “temporary” in that they will return to their own country in due course.  There are in fact a few Syrian families that have settled into the village however The Turk does not interact with them in any way.  Recently a Syrian mother came to our door asking for a small donation and The Turk sent her on her way without a kurus.  Why?  What’s a few lira?  “If you give them an inch they will take a mile”.  His behaviour completely floored me firstly because he used one of my mother’s favourite sayings (a saying I have used on Daughter many, many times) and secondly because usually The Turk is the most generous person I know.  Contradictions.

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Turkey can be, and should be, extremely confronting, full of contradictions.  I have difficulties in accepting these contradictions at times and I guess this is a good thing.  I should never accept these differences.  I should ensure that Daughter never accepts these differences because once you have acceptance then you will never help change what is to come.

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Belediye Baskani

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Do you remember the last Council election you attended or even the last Council meeting?  It was probably at the local school, there might have been a sausage sizzle or a car boot sale but that was pretty much it.  The only reason you knew about the looming election is the fact that you got some advertising in your mail box or maybe your next door neighbour reminded you.

Well that might be Australia for you but here in Turkey these elections are a huge deal. In fact it is not unusual for thousands of people come together to support their local member and to provide power in numbers.  Yesterday the Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (CHP) held a meeting in Mersin.  Roads were blocked, polis were necessary, chaos reigned supreme.  This meeting could be heard kilometers away with the cheering, the support and the excitement that its members and followers generated.  Having already experienced a political meeting in Mersin I rightly decided to give this meeting a wide berth.

One of my sister’s in law is a member of the Council and is up for re-election on 30 March.  She just posted these photos on FB.  Like I said, it’s a big deal.

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The Puker

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Daughter’s first overseas flight was when she was 10 weeks old.  We flew from Sydney to Bodrum so she could meet The Turk.  Daughter slept for the entire flight.  I, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck.  Thankfully there was a lot of assistance from other passengers to get me from Point A to Point B otherwise I would still be wandering around Bangkok International Airport right now in tears (it’s a big airport).

On a whole, however, Daughter is one of those kids who always puked or always had a problem on a flight.  I know right?  I was generally mortified by her behaviour.  I know she couldn’t help it and I understand that, I really do, but it was just so damn embarrassing.  You name it, it has happened to us.  Lost luggage?  Check.  Missing connection flight?  Check.  Crying for 5 straight hours.  Check (and I am sorry).  Stomach aches, ear aches, head aches?  Check, check, check.

I’ve been on flights where they have separated me from my then 5 year old daughter and I even had one instance where Daughter’s name was called over the speaker.  Upon speaking with the attendant they were offering to upgrade her to Business Class!  Hello???

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The most infamous flight, the flight that I am sure the other poor souls who were unfortunate enough to be on that flight still comment on, went a little something like this:

  1. Half way through flight.  No problems.  Daughter feeling good.  Daughter feeling happy.  Me feeling relieved.
  2. Seat belt sign comes on.  Captain makes an announcement.  Turbulence.
  3. Daughter has finger up nose (she does enjoy a snack).
  4. Plane jars a little, finger is pushed into the roof of nose (possibly reached brain matter) and yep, you guessed it, a river of blood, a tidal wave of red terror gushed over us both.
  5. Daughter has a complete meltdown, starts choking.

Outcome?  Projectile blood pukage (is “pukage” a word) all over herself, me and . . the Canadian couple in the seats in front of us.  Dear God!

After vomiting for a straight 20 minutes Singapore Airlines refused to let us on our connecting flight (as we looked like extras from a Freddie Kruger movie) and so we spent the next 2 days at Changi International Airport waiting for another flight.  We missed the Anzac Day service at Gelibolu (that’s Gallipoli for you Aussies) and I said at that moment those words that I have said many, many times before, “I am never flying with her again”.

Yes, I have flown with her and yes, she has vomited since that flight.  Many times.

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Who Runs The World?

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I received a number of emails yesterday about how “political” my views were regarding the proposed internet ban in Turkey.  While I feel my last post was not political and more my feelings vented I will endeavour to keep this blog a little more lighthearted although before I return to my normal, more humorous take on Turkey I just want to say congratulations to all the women who stood up for their God given rights in Istanbul last night.

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What began as a peaceful demonstration campaigning for equality and women’s rights in Turkey quickly escalated into a scuffle with riot police.  *sigh*

Mustafa Kemal Ataturk was a strong advocate for women’s rights in Turkey.  He once said:

To the women: Win for us the battle of education and you will do yet more for your country than we have been able to do. It is to you that I appeal.
To the men: If henceforward the women do not share in the social life of the nation, we shall never attain to our full development. We shall remain irremediably backward, incapable of treating on equal terms with the civilizations of the West

I will leave it at that.

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Vito Corleone

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A couple of weeks back The Turk and I had to make a trip to the okul (school) to have a chat with a bully on Daughter’s behalf.  He pulls her hair and pushes her around a little.  Generally if someone pushes her she will push straight back – no issue – but since she was diagnosed with alopecia areata the hair pulling freaks her out.  She is terrified that with one yank a large chunk of hair will fall out and then “I will have no option but to kill him” is muttered in a manner that, frankly, frightens me a little.

So before Daughter is charged with pre-meditated murder The Turk and I popped down to the school to have a chat with the young man in question.  As the bell rang Daughter’s classmates came out of the classroom and, if I gauged correctly, we were expected because they all surrounded us and pushed the boy into the centre of the circle.  He stood with his head down looking terrified while being surrounded by Daughter’s classmates all whispering to each other.  The Turk spoke to him quietly, assurances were given and the boy retreated down the stairs at breakneck speed.

Bittimi?  Finished?

Nope.

It seems that all we did was escalate the problem which came to a head yesterday with the boy in question smacking Daughter in the face.  So another trip to the okul this morning was deemed necessary.

The Turk and I went in ready for battle.  The headmaster was extremely helpful, took us to the classroom and called the boy in question out where he was berated, slapped across the back of the head with a ruler (!) and sent on his way.

Bittimi?  Finished?

Nope.

The Turk and I left the school feeling pretty comfortable that any issues can be put aside from that moment.  As we stepped out of the school gate The Turk’s brother appeared.  You may recall that this particular brother in law was the one who did not invite us (or my mother in law) to his son’s going away party and has had little to do with us since we arrived however now that The Turk is here he is as nice as cream puffs so I am going to refrain from bitching about him too much.  He is also the brother in law who is building a home attached to ours causing one of our windows to be bricked up but again I am going to refrain from bitching about him too much.  And just for a little bit more background information so you can truly judge his character he is the brother in law that runs a coffee shop / gambling house in the village.  Is it legal?  Bilmiyorum.  I just don’t know.  Basically he is a bit of a gangster in my eyes.

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Brother in law has heard about Daughter’s woes and decided that he should go and talk to the school as well just in case we were not forceful enough with our language.  I kid you not when I say he stepped out of the vehicle with his jacket over his shoulders, cigarette in hand, black hair slicked back.  He was a 1920’s gangster.  He was The Godfather.  I literally started laughing at this point as I realised he intended to go to the class room and push this poor kid around a bit (apparently you can do that kind of thing here).  Daughter was going to be mortified (or she was going to enjoy it a little too much).

The Turk and I stood outside the school waiting for either the polis to arrive and arrest him or us or Daughter or the poor boy.  Brother in law re-appeared at the school gates and said, “I have taken care of your problem”.  Yes he did say that!  He’s The Godfather!

When we arrived home I went about preparing Daughter’s lunch when brother in law telephoned and requested The Turk come to the coffee shop immediately.  It seems that brother in law contacted this poor boy’s father and the father was waiting in the back room to sit down with The Turk and his brother.  The Turk is down there now.  The last thing I said to him was, “Don’t rough him up too much”.

Oh shit!  I hope he knows I was joking.

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Oh God is she talking about the weather again???

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I had no plan to blog this morning but it is pouring outside and there is no way I am putting on my gumboots and venturing into the storm so forgive me as this post has been put together in haste.  In fact feel free to pass it over completely as all I am going to do is talk about the weather.  Quick rundown.  Rain, rain, weather, flood, weather.  There.  Thanks for stopping by.

Seriously though I know I have been banging on about the weather a lot – I am going to say it again – A LOT – but I deem it necessary.  I am amazed at how little it actually did rain here, I mean considering it was winter and all.  Arriving fresh from a Sydney winter (yes it has now been 6 months and I will get to that post another time) I had nightmares of having to live through another 3 months of cold and rain.

So I did what any google-loving person would do and searched “annual rainfall” in Mersin (why have I never done this before).  It seems that I have been incredibly lucky these past few months.  It should have rained in fact it should have been a “Noah’s Ark 2.0, grab your scuba gear and pray to whatever God it is that you pray to” kind of rain so I am grateful that my first northern hemisphere winter was not the blow-fest it could have been.

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But now it is spring – yahoo – and it is raining, in fact, Mersin has had a bit of a pounding the last few days.  Daughter came home from school yesterday with the news that the water in the playground came up to her knee (today she wore gumboots to school).  I saw a couple of photos on social media sites too where Mersin’s inadequate drainage is blatantly obvious.  The photo below is from The Forum which is my usual Sunday Funday haunt.  The Forum is actually the largest shopping centre along the Mediterranean coast and one would think that when it was being built the engineers would have taken inclement weather into consideration.  Perhaps not.

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Council elections are currently underway and I expect that drainage will become an issue of contention with members of the public in fact last night the local member came to the Village for a meet and greet and was inundated with supporters.  Here are a few photos from last night.  Crazy eh?  Could you imagine that many people turning up to support your local member?

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Carl Fredricksen

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I don’t know the names of many people in the village.  I give them names, names that I can remember.  Today I want to introduce you to Carl Fredricksen.  You know, the guy from Up.

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Up was one of my favourite animated movies.  Generally I am not a fan of animation.  I am probably going to be vilified here by saying I did not like The Lion King.  No I did not.  But I enjoyed Up.  I cried in Up.  This movie is a good example of western society and our treatment of the elderly.  Too many of our elderly are discarded and forgotten in our rush to continue with our own selfish lives.  I find that in Turkey, society as a whole look after their elderly as is their tradition and custom. The majority of elderly live with their family, their children or their grandchildren.  They are looked after with love as it is the family’s duty to do so however even in Turkey some elderly fall through the cracks merely because they do not have any family.

Like Carl Fredricksen my “Carl” is a lonely old man.  I have met him many times, he used to be a regular visitor at my mother in law’s home.  She told me that he had few friends and no family so she always made him feel welcome in her home.  He cannot speak.  He has no tongue.  I do not know if it was removed for a medical reason or if it was removed for other reason.  He was a toy maker by trade.  He used to make toys for the village children and his house is, apparently, filled with the toys intended for his own children however this was not meant to be as he never married.  How sad is that?

He spends his days walking through the village and I would often see him while I am on my walks with My Hurley Dog.  He would stop and pat My Hurley Dog and give me a smile and a grunt when he sees me.

Daughter always makes a point of running up to him and calling him Dede (Grandfather).  Those of you who know us personally are aware of Daughter’s abilities and one of them is her ability to be empathetic.  She has always been able to channel other people’s feelings, whether it be tears of sadness or excitement and joy.  Since moving here I have witnessed her many times see Carl from our window and run downstairs to give him a hug.  She took this photo of Carl a few weeks back and he was so very excited to see himself on the screen.  We realised that he did not have a photo of himself so Daughter is waiting until she sees him next to take another photo of him, have it printed and present it to him in a photo frame.

We only have one life, one chance.  What we do with it is up to us isn’t it?

 

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Love Rat

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The Turk could have been a love rat, in fact, I am sure there are people that read this blog that knew The Turk before me who are nodding their heads in agreement and coming up with examples to put in my comments.  I was merely in the right place at the right time.  I have no doubt at all that he was a “playa” pre-Janey although now he is better known as a marouk (old geezer).  He likes to think he could still pull them in if he got the chance.

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Over the past few days there has been a lot of talk about Turkish Love Rats (TLR) and Love Rats in general on the social media sites that I am connected with.  I am not going to get into a debate about what is or is not a love rat.  I am merely going to tell you a story.

*names have been changed to protect my beautiful friend

Amanda met this TLR while studying at college in her home town.  They had a wonderful romance that ended when he returned to Turkey.  Over the years they lost contact, she moved on, got married, had a beautiful little girl and subsequently divorced.  She would often think about that boy that she knew all those years ago and wonder what might have been had circumstances been different.  Thanks to Facebook they re-connected and their love affair was re-kindled.  She visited him once or twice in Mersin and they fell deeply in love.  Aahh romance is wonderful.  Seni cok seviyorum.

Promises are made.  Dates are set.  She packs up her life, kisses her family goodbye, leaves her job and her friends and she and her daughter move to this wonderful country for this wonderful man.  Her daughter is happy.  She loves it here.  She is happy.  She is in love.  He, however, the TLR, has decided that he does not want to be a father to her daughter, she is in fact not the girl for him and began to see another, one a little more suitable (read that as Turkish).  His friends knew and they did not tell her but instead continued to court her as his fiancé.  His family knew but they kept it a secret and still helped her pick out a wedding dress and a venue.  This woman was duped in the worst way possible.

As I write this I wonder what his family and friends actually think of him.  Right now.  Do they think a little less of him?  Do they wonder if he is really the man that they thought, whether he may one day betray them as he did to his fiancé?  Does his mother feel embarrassed by her son’s behaviour, after all as a parent she is his teacher?  Finally, what of the other woman?  Did she know?  Did she care?  What type of person must she be?

Love rats come in all shapes and sizes.  This one did not steal money from her – although she gave up a lucrative career and packed up her life to move to Turkey – this one did something that I consider a lot worse.  He broke her.  Not just her heart – her.  A strong independent woman was kicked to the kerb for having a strong, independent mind.  She had the audacity to question his opinions or decisions and he shot her down before turning and saying, “I do not want you.  I do not want your daughter.”  He left their apartment and did not return until she had packed up her things and left.  Not left the city.  No he did not return until she left the country!

I have said to my friend on many occasions he is not worth it.  They are not worth it.  You learn and you move on.  She is happy now with a wonderful job.  Her daughter took some time to re-adjust but is also happy thriving back with her extended family.  And as for the TLR – here’s hoping someone treats him with the same disrespect that he treated my friend!

Sadly I have some other examples and perhaps in the future (and with those friend’s blessings) I will tell their stories too.  With time comes healing.