"God forgives Hitler," I say with authority.

Then we take a playground break, and I stand there by the swings thinking about Hitler. Hitler was eight years old once, a scrawny little boy swinging on swings, sitting in a classroom chewing a pencil, farting and drawing bombs. I try to form a prayer in my mouth for the icy little killer, for peace on his shrieking tormented soul, but I can't do it. I keep seeing skulls.

Brian Doyle, Leaping: Revelations and Epiphanies