CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- My column last Sunday about basic truths included the simple but apt, "One cruel remark can wound someone for life." Bill Varian sent an e-mail saying he agreed with that particular truth, remarking, "It's hard not to do this on occasion, isn't it? Even if you don't want to."

My initial reaction, upon reading Bill's e-mail, was to quickly review as many of my recent regrettable remarks as I could remember to determine if any had been inadvertently directed at Bill. Once I felt reasonably safe, I wrote him that I completely agreed.

Having spent time on each side of regrettable remarks, I'm intimately familiar with both the taste of foot, and the lasting sting words can leave.

When I was in the sixth grade, a teacher had each student sing a few lines -- one at a time, in front of everyone else -- so she could separate the altos from the baritones from the tenors. When my turn finally came, I nervously squeaked out my bit, as best as I could. The teacher guided me gently by the shoulders over to the smallest group of students.

"Honey," she said in her impossible-not-to-hear teacher's voice. "There's nothing wrong with just mouthing the words."

It was the last time I ever sang in front of anyone, except those who wore diapers or fur. (Yes, I sing to my animals. It's called Testing the Theory of Unconditional Love.)

In a similar vein, a relative's evaluation of my dance skills has kept me from dancing in public again. It didn't matter that for years prior to her remark, I'd already joked about Elaine Benes, on "Seinfeld," stealing my moves. Having someone else make the joke gave credence to the insecurity I already held, and stopped me from dancing.

It's interesting how much power negative comments can have on us, especially when those comments are delivered by someone whose opinion we value.

When a friend's 10-year-old daughter asked if she could walk around in a Hallmark store by herself, my friend said OK. A few seconds later, when her 6-year-old son asked the same, she told him he couldn't because he was too clumsy, that he'd break something.

Her son really wasn't outrageously clumsy -- just your typically distracted and rambunctious 6-year-old boy -- and she's not usually the type to make such an offhand declaration. The moment quickly passed, and she thought no more about it.

Until her son became a walking disaster.

"He couldn't go anywhere without dropping or spilling something, without knocking things over or tripping over his own feet," she said. "It was like my words had cast a spell over him."

Children not only tend to believe everything they're told, but they also internalize criticism, often repeating it to themselves over and over. If they believe it, they can become it, or become altered by it.

When that 6-year-old's wise and all-knowing mother declared her child to be clumsy, he believed it had to be true.

When my respected teacher said I couldn't sing, I couldn't. After my cool cousin said I couldn't dance -- put me on the dance floor and I'll so prove she was right.

Words wielded by those we respect can be powerful. From them spin self-fulfilling prophecies that can be hard to overcome.

My friend was gradually able to convince her son that he wasn't a walking tornado, but the damage took time to undo.

Unfortunately, the spells cast over me have been in place so long I'm fairly certain they can't be undone. Luckily, though, I believe I've grown immune to the power of critical comments and negative digs.

Despite the many critical comments friends and family members have made about my driving over the years, I still get behind the wheel.

Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@gmail.com.