Tonight was a reminder of the ways words shape not only our relationships with others, but our perceptions of ourselves and the world in which we live.

At our evening Church service, this writer was seated next to a dear friend and neighbor named Herb; one of the kindest men I have ever known, who also happens to be a retired police chief.

In the 1970’s, when as a child I was part of a group sitting in to protest the opening of the nuclear power plant in our region, Herb was tasked with making arrests.

Having been raised in New York City in the 1960’s, I was brought up to refer to all police as “pigs”. These “pigs” were, as I was taught, the lowest form of human—worthy only to be spit on and reviled. In the Spring of 1968 I was taken to an anti-war rally in Central Park. The rally got ugly, with the opposing side throwing bottles, and a policeman tried to move me to safety. “Get your hands off her, you filthy pig”, the adult who had brought me said. Pigs were, decidedly, unsafe.

Many years later, as assistant to the pastor of our rural Vermont Church, Herb was one of the people who regularly frequented my office, usually to schedule a meeting or inquire about a project. At first, Herb’s appearance would bring out a mixture of panic and guilt—as though his very presence meant I had done something wrong which would lead to certain punishment.

Almost imperceptibly, over the next three years or so, I began to look forward to Herb’s visits. He would linger in the office, we would chat about this and that, and I found myself eager to share personal details and inquire about his family and life. Eventually, I told Herb about my early years and the relationship I had formed with the idea of him. I even told Herb that in former years I would have called him “pig”. He just shrugged and said he understood.

Tonight, at Church, I sat beside Herb. The service had not yet begun. Herb, now an older man, wanted to tell me something, and pushed his elbow into my side to get my attention. I hesitated. “Herb,” I said, “I was just elbowed by a police officer”. Herb looked at me, I looked at him, and we both broke into uproarious laughter.

It speaks to the neighborliness of Vermonters that such a relationship can be forged through familiarity and kindness.