​Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. But are they hurting us as a nation? While enjoying a walk through picturesque Manhattan last week, I came across a myriad of prejudices that played out on the New York stage of life in one-act vignettes. First, as I left my apartment in da Meatpacking District, I came across two antagonistic gay gentlemen and an irate pedi-cad operator engaged in an argument. As the two gays scurried off in a yellow cab, the pedi-cab driver taunted in true redneck style: “FAGGOTS!!” It rang through my ears and disgusted me. It sounded so silly and childish, especially when the gays responded with: “HETERO!!” as they whisked off, probably to some fab dinner, where this story would become nothing more than bitchy banter over dessert. After all, what middle-aged gay guy hasn’t been called faggot more times then he can count and probably a dozen times today by his friends? But that’s OK—or is it? If peers can barrage each other with otherwise hurtful and insulting names, then how is someone else supposed to understand the undefined boundaries of what’s appropriate and what’s not? A bit saddened by the uncivil nature of this last encounter, I headed into the subway to go uptown for a refreshing walk in Central Park. As I was still waiting for the train, I hear some man screaming, “I’m a black man – you can’t talk to me like I’m nothing, you N******!!” He was shouting at the booth agent who, by the way, would also be characterized as a black man. But it was the angry tone in his voice that made this encounter not okay as compared to the two homeboyz joking as they laughed, “Oh N**** please,” as one boasted to his friend about his conquest of “dat HO, Amber.” I remorsefully chuckled as I thought of these conflicting ironies: he slept with her and is giving a play-by-play to his friend, but she is referred to as “dat HO, Amber.” How insensitive and disrespectful we have become when we speak of others! It seems like we’ve emotionally made so much change in our day-to-day language that there is a very fine undefined line between funny, acceptable, hurtful and unacceptable. In the seventies, television was groundbreaking. Characters like Archie Bunker and Maude made scandalous history in TVLAND by referring to people with derogatory and inflammatory names based on race, gender, and sexual proclivity—comments that were ironically much more politically incorrect than my boy Bill Maher could ever make on TV nowadays. These characters brought subject matter that was considered taboo and only discussed behind closed doors to living rooms across the country. The reality is, racism and sexism have permeated our culture. We are as obsessed with them, as we are labeling everyone and everything as a way of defining and separating individuals. Of course, that is bound to happen in such a huge melting pot synonymous with fusing so many various cultures and people into one. We’re free to be you and me, so to speak—or are we? We seem to constantly monitor what others say, scrutinizing our politicians and censoring our performers. But far too often, we, ourselves, speak without a filter or a modicum of respect for others. Some have taken their liberties to the extreme with our modern-day ability to offer our opinion on the Internet, while others have developed a hyper-paranoia and sensitivity. And far too many have developed an apathy and numbness to the brutality of how many of us speak to or about others every day. When I finally reached the park, I was invigorated by Mother Nature. Spring had sprung and love was in the air—except for the man and woman engaged in an intense conversation, in which he continually called her a b*** and other names normally reserved more for an enemy than a partner or friend. Unless, you’re like the two sistas I saw earlier at the Deli who only referred to each other as “bitch.” I had to wonder, if those two women had come across this couple, they’d probably be the first ones to take off their earrings and let him have it: “Who you callin’ a bitch?” The First Amendment guarantees our freedom of speech. It’s one of our greatest delights in this country and at the heart of a million disagreements. But, while our parents had it right—actions speak louder than words—words can and will hurt us, if we give them the power to do so. As I continued my walk, the dramas continued to play out around me. All I could think was that next time I’m in a dramatic repartee and someone tries to instigate an altercation by insulting my dignity with a nasty name, I need to realize that they are only as powerful as a childish bully. We all have to be the smarter, more evolved person—think before we speak and turn the other cheek.