Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [69]
That first chance is the biggest risk of all because it takes guts and courage to allow yourself or someone else to go there. And if you’re lucky enough to get that chance, you better be damned sure you pay it forward. Even if you’re the king of the world, friend, you will someday still meet the Almighty. If you have given your subjects mercy along the way, then the Almighty will surely give it to you. Where mercy is shown, mercy is given. That’s why I never give up on anyone. Deep down, I know we can all turn our lives around if given the chance.
Many people showed me kindness and understanding through their forgiveness of the things I said to Tucker about his girlfriend. Since then, the biggest lesson I’ve learned from that incident is to watch what I say. I finally understood what my mother meant when she warned me about being handed my head on a platter. This was a tough lesson for me—really hard, because I think of myself as an interpreter for those who cannot articulate in a highly educated way. But now I understand I have to watch my language when I translate those messages. I’ve learned that names really do hurt some people, sometimes worse than the deepest cut of a knife or the sensation of a fist to the chin. There are lots of people in the world who can’t get over that type of pain. I’ve been called so many names in my life that I’ve become calloused. That surely doesn’t mean it’s right. In fact, I now know it is terribly wrong.
I’ve also learned to be more humble and caring about people as a result of my reckless use of words. Before I open my mouth these days, I ask myself, Who is this going to hurt? I also know I have to make my point in a clear, precise, and educated manner because my old style of using slang isn’t cool. It does hurt people’s feelings—which was never my intent. As a result, I tend to keep my mouth closed and my ears open a lot more these days.
My mother and I used to talk a lot about the importance of listening. Whenever I spend a few minutes with a fugitive after a capture, or a person who is lost on drugs, or someone who’s love life is all screwed up, I’ll take a few minutes to let them talk about whatever is on their mind. I’ll sometimes sit for fifteen minutes without saying a word while they spill their heart and guts out onto the floor. Mom used to say that my patience and compassion with those people gave them the glue to put their lives back together. “By listening, you showed mercy, son,” she’d say. Mom was the one who taught me that mercy and second chances go together.
Every single day I spent in Huntsville, the Lord showed me that someone there needed my help. I sucked up my eighteen months in the pen and served my sentence like a man because I made sure my time had purpose and meaning. At first it was only the inmates who came to me, asking for help rewriting their letters home, to their mom, girlfriend, and others, sobbing over the divorce papers that arrived during mail call, or getting the harsh news that someone close to them had passed away. But by the time I left, the guards were coming to me to talk about their lives too. Looking back, I became like the white Oprah of Huntsville.
On the day I walked out the front gate of that prison, the warden who talked to me about second chances approached me and said, “Can you stay out, Dog?”
“Damn right I can, Warden,” I shot back.
“Do it for me, Dog. Make me proud.” I knew he meant it too. I carried those words with me wherever I went from that day on because I knew there would be no second chance for me if I somehow found my way back.
A few months after Dog the Bounty Hunter went back into production, I received a call from Tim Storey. He asked me if I