WRITING

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love.”* Charles stood wide-eyed in the High School bathroom, watching as Don crunched knuckles against the jaw-bone of a thug.  Charles wore his blue ribbon from the Special Olympics, understood little of the thug’s mockery.  Don understood, though.  We were all just kids and Don was reactionary—a visionary, really.  Charles was vindicated that day and a message was sent to the rest of our school—human dignity is worth fighting for. “Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith.” Lichinga was a lanky twelve,…