The Foundations of Hate

I hate ketchup, quinoa, books by Orwell, Cracker Barrel restaurants and Bill O'Reilly. On a real bad day I hate everyone.  And now, my two-year old son hates bananas. He didn't always hate bananas. In fact, in the past I would have gone so far to say that he loved bananas. He would eat them with gusto. Whether plain, on toast, or in fruit salads, he really enjoyed them. He would even request them without prompt,

"Mommy, can I have a banana?"

What kid asks for fruit? Why not a chocolate chip cookie?

So, you can imagine my shock the other day when I handed him a bagel with mushed bananas on it, and he pushed it away as he told me,

"I hate bananas."

At first I assumed I misheard him. He's only two and his speech is understandably indecipherable at times. Nevertheless, I was sure there was no possible way he actually said he hated bananas. A two-year old doesn’t comprehend hate. So I pressed on and tried to hand him his plate again. This time he responded more vehemently,

"I don't want it. I HATE bananas!"


Despair. Now there was no denying what he said. So I said to him,

"Sweetie, what do you mean?"

Even though he used the word, I knew it must be a fluke that he used it in the proper context.

His response to me,

"I don't like them!"

His tone indicated that I obviously have inferior mental capabilities. I even think I caught him rolling his eyes. The subtext was clear, “Duh Ma, what do you think I mean when I say hate?”


I know toddlers are notorious for repeating things and most of the time it's things that you wish they wouldn’t. But his use of this particular word and the fact that he said it with such fervor and disdain, made me want to crawl up into a ball and cry. Am I being dramatic? Yes. But in that moment I realized hate had been added to his arsenal of vocabulary words, and it was also clear he had a firm grasp of its definition.  Most alarmingly, I realized I was the source, the teacher.

I generally consider myself a tolerant and kind-hearted person. I’ve always been accepting of all people regardless of age, race, sexuality, and ethnicity. In fact, I made a career out of emphasizing the importance of learning about other cultures, understanding other people. That being said, when it comes to strong opinions, when I dislike something, my knee jerk reaction is to say I hate it. I say it without pause, without reflection.  It spews out of my mouth easily and freely. And though I’ve attempted to curb swear words since the birth of my children, I never gave thought to my usage of hate.

Some people may think I am overreacting, and perhaps I am. I hope so. But I can’t help but think that perhaps I’ve laid the seedlings of hate and intolerance in my son’s psyche. First it’s bananas, but what’s next? Will he hate classmates if they don’t share the ball on the playground? Will he hate Mrs. Smith if she gives him a B instead of an A? Can hate metastasize? Who’s to say where it begins and ends?

I learned an important lesson the other day. I definitely need to restrict my use of the word hate, but I also need to reflect on my use of it. Do I really hate things and people? Hate is a strong word. Hate has caused world wars, genocide and entire social movements. It certainly can’t and shouldn’t be taken lightly. Upon further examination I realize that I don’t particularly like ketchup, quinoa, books by Orwell, Cracker Barrel restaurants and Bill O'Reilly. But I don’t hate them. And to tell you the truth, on most days I even like everybody and everything. Now that’s something I hope I can pass on to my son.