When I was a freshman in college, my roommate and I had the terribly misguided idea that we should create a public access television show. We set in motion plans to record a production in our dorm room, get it edited professionally (or learn to do it ourselves,) and figure out how to get it on the local Boulder station. Steps 2 and 3 never materialized, but we did manage to create about 8 episodes of our show.

This weekend, I got together with my old roommate. At about midnight, he dug out the tapes and we proceeded to spend the next few hours engrossed in what is quite possibly the stupidest show ever created. It’s funny how rarely we think back on our younger selves and remember how stupid we were. Luckily, I stumbled upon 8 hours of forgotten footage to drill that fact into my simple skull.

The most amazing thing about the video wasn’t how bad the jokes were, or how young I looked, or how petty my concerns were – all of those themes were very evident, but not terribly surprising.

What blew me away was what an ass I was. Every episode we’d bring in a guest or two (people we knew from our hall or from class.) And every episode I’d spend 20 minutes asking them offensive questions about their lives. I’d ask the snowboarding girl why she thought it was okay to tear up the ski slopes and what was with her stupid clothes. I asked the girl who went to boarding school what it was like having rich parents, not having to work a day in her life. I asked the guy with the tongue piercing if he’d heard that Chris Rock song. I called people dozens of iterations of the word stupid.

Listening to it made me sick – I couldn’t believe what a jerk I was. I couldn’t believe any of these people were interested in being my friend (and suddenly wondered if those interviews weren’t contributing factors to my estrangement from said friends in the years that followed.) I was appalled at how much I talked for the sake of talking, how much I cut people down thinking it was humorous.

In truth, they did think it was humorous – at least on the surface. But I have to imagine that those verbal spears that were lobbed at my ‘friends’ had to leave something of a mark – if not on their self-esteem, then certainly on their estimation of my character.

Watching those videos made me very grateful that my words are fewer as an adult. Although people who didn’t know me then might say that I’m still talkative (and they’d probably be right,) the fact is I now hold my tongue much more often than I use it. The transition wasn’t a conscious one – I don’t know if the experience of upsetting people with my words registered with the inner workings of my brain, but 8 hours later it’s firmly burned into the forefront.

Our words are one of the most powerful weapons we have. People’s entire lives have been devastated by the careless, unkind words of someone they admired, respected, loved. While I don’t suggest that my words on the world’s most inane show carried that kind of weight, it makes me cringe to think about what those people thought of me leaving the “interview.” It makes me cringe thinking about how my words colored my credibility, my suggestions, my compliments, my late dorm room discussions about topics that actually mean something.

I’d like to think of myself as a bright guy, with ideas that are worth sharing. I’d like to think of myself as a loving guy, with a heart that is open and kind and devoid of evil. And maybe in the years that have transpired between then and how have given me some measure of virtue that I then lacked.

But I’m willing to bet that I still throw verbal spears at people all the time. Maybe their less overt, but I’m sure they’re there.

I wonder if I can consciously decide to fully appreciate the power and gravity of my words. I wonder if I can make sure that my sentences are never laced with anger or envy or sarcasm or bitterness or hostility or contempt. I wonder if I can naturally make my words be tools for building people up.

I wonder what happens when you throw 8 hours of videotape into a microwave…