EDITOR’S NOTE: The author of “Basura” is an ancient friend who harkens back to the Grand Valley State University days. He is the latest columnist to join our family of writers.

He is a Vietnam War veteran and retired not long ago as a social worker and as an official with the criminal justice system.

At first I wanted to use his name, but he’s going the same route as Ranger Rick with a nom de plume.

“I’m thinking after sending a lot of guys to prison with recommendations in my name, it might be best to avoid using my actual name,” the phantom writer told me. ‘Basura’ is Spanish for trash, but I think it has a nice ring to it, and maybe won’t necessarily reflect the quality of what I can manage to tap out.

I was asked at our niece’s home, on a Thanksgiving, to list things for which I am thankful. I said that I was thankful for people to love. And for people to love me. And wine. We were, each in turn, to list three things. For me, the first two came quickly to mind.

As I thought about the task, I raised a nice glass of petite syrah, and the third thing came to mind. I know — red with turkey — but it did taste very nice.

I was serious about the first two things I listed. It’s not enough to love. It’s not enough to be loved. But to have both forms, receptive and expressive, is wonderful. Love doesn’t need to refer to romantic love; there are other forms. Romantic love is very special, and even more so when it evolves into mature love. Love is far broader than just that which customarily is associated with romance.

Forgiveness relates not only to forgiveness of others, but also to forgiveness of oneself. This sort of forgiveness – self-forgiveness — gets overlooked. It is often the case that people are better at forgiving others than they are at forgiving themselves. I fall in that category, I think. Both parts of forgiveness are important.

It’s hard for me to consider forgiveness without thinking of Mr. Ives’ Christmas, by one of my favorite authors, Oscar Hijuelos. In the novel, Mr. Ives’ son is murdered. How could anyone forgive such a thing? I would guess that my reaction would be to seek vengeance.

It was on the basis of this one novel that Oscar Hijuelos was selected to be the featured speaker at Calvin College’s Festival of Faith and Writing a few years back. Those familiar with the larger body of Hijuelos’ work, (including me), were surprised by this selection.

The surprise was not in any way reflective of Hijuelos’ wonderful writing. He won the Pulitzer Prize for The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love, and his other works are excellent as well. But Hijuelos’s characters are often quite earthy, behaviorally and linguistically. Somebody at Calvin read this one (rather atypical) novel, and suggested him as the keynote author. In fact, Mr. Ives’ Christmas, in the decency of the central character, differs from much of Hijuelos’s work, often quite bawdy.

So I suppose the question is: Can there be acts unworthy of forgiveness? The fictional character who killed Mr. Ives’s son? What about William Calley, the U.S. Army officer who ordered the massacre at the little Vietnamese village of My Lai? Those involved in the holocaust?

In Unbroken, Laura Hillenbrand’s non-fiction account of a man taken POW by the Japanese during World War II, the American at the center of the story finds himself eventually forgiving his tormenters. And he learns that by forgiving, he unburdens himself. He finds that he becomes healthier. He lets go of hatred that he was harboring, and that was hurting him.

Holding on to anger/hatred/resentment may do little to avenge wrongs or perceived wrongs. But it does harm the hater. If for no other reason than self-interest, one should let go of anger and hatred and thoughts of vengeance. For the sake of one’s physical health (blood pressure, sleep, digestion), as well as one’s mental health, focus on such negative themes as vengeance should not be allowed unchecked focus.

Aren’t we all the same: flawed human beings? To answer the question, there are behaviors that may be undeserving of forgiveness. Yet forgiveness, nonetheless, deserved or not deserved, has value, both to the forgiven and to the forgiver.