When I was a little boy, there wasn't anyone nearby for me to play with. I grew up in the Irish-Catholic settlement of Brudenell, Ontario, Canada. It was a ghost town before I was born. Less than thirty people lived there.

But I loved to run around all day and explore our huge backyard. My teddy bear would sit in my wagon and watch me. He was blind in one eye, just like my dad. I loved my teddy bear.

Sometimes, I'd run with my arms out, pretending I could fly. Have you ever done that?

One day, a rake had been left lying against my wagon, with the teeth side up. I didn't see it. I stepped on the rake. The handle flipped up and smacked me, really hard, right on my nose.

It hurt me so much. I could smell my own blood. My eyes filled up with water.

I looked at the rake. I was so angry at it.

"Bad rake! Bad rake! You hurt me!"

I wanted to punish that rake.

But the rake just lay there.

The rake didn't know it hurt me. The rake didn't mean to hurt me. And yet I was filled with rage at that rake.

Sometimes there is #Nothing2Forgive.