"What Would You Do If...?"

One of my children has spent a lifetime in experimenting with her ideas of parental affection, and how and why it's bestowed. "Will you still love me if I do this? Will you still love me if I do that? Will you still love me if I'm different from my siblings?"

I knew from reading extensively that this was very normal, and I didn't take it - don't take it - personally. It didn't resonate with me emotionally, though, because I could never recall feeling that way myself. My parents' feelings were a constant, like the mountains. I don't think I felt particularly capable of affecting their affection, one way or another. I didn't either luxuriate in it or long for it.

One of the problems this child and I have in understanding each other is that she's a figurative speaker and thinker, who chooses her words for the effect she thinks they'll have instead of for their accuracy. I am a literal thinker, who chooses my words for accuracy, and understates when in doubt.

This means that she frequently looks for hidden meanings when there aren't any. She also tends to think that I'm being sarcastic when I'm not. When given any household chore as a child, she was likely to ask, "Why do I have to?" The answer was always, "Because you live here." She was sure that this was me being a smart mouth, even after complaining to other adults in her life and being told, "That's honestly why you have to."

(Sometimes, though, she took me at my word. In her early teens she wanted to know, "What would you do if I dyed my hair blue?" I responded, "Nothing. It's hair. It'll grow back." She never did dye it blue; it wasn't as much fun if her parents wouldn't be scandalized.)

She was also convinced, deep in her heart of hearts, that if other people disagreed with us, especially if they were people she liked, or a number of people that she considered to be significant, we were legally and morally obligated to change our minds and our rules. At 13, she was sincerely convinced that if we didn't send her to summer camp, we'd go to jail. ("Don't all kids think that?" she asked as an adult. Um - no, Child, they don't.)

"So-and-so thinks your rule is stupid!" we heard repeatedly. I'd usually reply with something like, "Well, I make the rules in my house," which she thought was both a cop out and "stupid." At 12, after I'd pulled rank and said, "I'm the parent. I get to decide," she said, "So you get to do things just because you're the mom? I thought we were all equal here!" My reply of, "Then you thought wrong" infuriated her.

If she kept at it, I'd say, "So, if they get to make the rules for my family, I get to make the rules for their family, right?"

"NO!"

"Why not? That seems fair."

"Because your rules are STUPID and theirs aren't!"

"All my friends think you're so mean!" she snapped at me, after I'd said no to something.

"Good. That means I'm doing my job right." Like most parents, I would die for my kids, but that doesn't mean I should cave to their every whim. The kids would think I was a fantastic parent if I threw out every rule and let them do whatever they wanted, but that wouldn't be good for them, or create healthy, functioning adults.

After my daughter huffed away, another mother pulled me aside to assure me that she spent time with my daughter's friends, "and none of them think you're mean. They all really like you." It was sweet of her, but she needn't have bothered. I do what I think is right; I don't try to win the approval of children. (Or adults, for that matter.)

Throughout her childhood, we heard a constant litany of, "What would you do if...?" More than once, she asked, "What would you do if I was sent to prison?" The answer was always, "Visit you on visiting day."

She must not have believed me, because she was still asking into her mid-20s - "What would you do if I was in prison?" One day, after getting the usual answer, "Visit you on visiting day," she said, "What if it was for a really terrible crime?"

"Visit you on visiting day."

"What if it was for a really awful, messy, premeditated murder?"

"Visit you on visiting day."

"Really?"

"Are you planning on murdering someone?"

"No. But would you really?"

"If you've done something stupid or violent, I expect you to face the consequences. I'm not going to lie for you. I'm not going to hide you from the police. I'm not going to whisk you away to a country with no extradition. I'm not going to bake a file into a cake and help you escape. But you're still my child, and I will always love you. I will visit you on visiting days, and I will be there on the day that you get out."

She must have finally believed me, because she hasn't asked since. (She has not planned or committed any murders, either.)

I think this is how we treat God sometimes. "Will you still love me if I do this?" "If you're really a loving parent, you'll love me even if I do that." Or, "You can't possibly love me after what I've done." "If you love me, you'll give me what I want. If I don't get it, you must not love me."

Sometimes, I think we sound like small children. Any of us who are parents have faced furious or despondent offspring, just sure that if we love them, we'll let them have candy for breakfast, buy them a pony, abolish bedtimes. They can't believe that we ignore their tears or their feelings or their protests. We're sometimes like that. We're seriously, deeply hurt when things don't go our way. Doesn't God love us? Shouldn't that mean that life is easy and we are always happy, and we get what we want? We recognize that our children don't have our perspective and experience, but we can't imagine that God knows something that we don't.

Or, we go the opposite direction. We decide that God loves other people, but not us. We screwed up. We did stupid, willful, harmful stuff. No one could ever love us after that.

The older I get, the more I see theology as a parent/child relationship. God is the parent. He loves us, more than we will ever know. He always will, no matter what we've done. That does not mean that he should always give us what we want - even if not getting it pains us and makes us sad or angry, and even if other people agree with us and think things should be done our way. He not only knows best, it's his job to do things as HE sees fit, not as we see fit.

Like every parent, he will be disappointed, exasperated, angry. Yet he will be beside us whenever he can, and he will be waiting to help us start over and get it right after we've screwed things up. He will do this even if we hate him or think that he's mean.

Because that's what good parents do.

And if we humans can figure that out, trust me, God knew it long ago, and he's better at it than we could be.

Phrases That Irritate

Today, we're going to talk about phrases that really annoy me. I hear them frequently, and I take exception to them, every time.

"Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach."

We've all heard that one. Maybe we've even said it. It's not true. Remember, first, that everyone who "does" - every surgeon, painter, musician, teacher, parent - learned from someone. Sometimes it's by watching another's example, or by examining their work, or by formal instruction. Sometimes, they learn how to be better at what they do, and sometimes, they learn what to avoid, but none would be who they are without teachers.

People who choose to teach professionally truly love what they do. They wouldn't bother otherwise.

When Tom Hanks thanked his high school acting teacher while accepting an Academy Award, it was an amazing moment.

More recently, Kristin Chenoweth graciously shared her stage, and her applause, with a teacher. The video went viral.

Teachers do, every day.

"It's perfectly natural. How can you say that something natural is wrong?"

Almost three years ago, I wrote this in a blog post: "I'm tired of hearing about what is 'normal.' Cancer is normal. It's afflicted humans (and animals) throughout history. All disease, filth, decay and death is normal. Does that mean that we elevate it to the status of desirable?"

Behaviorally, selfishness, greed and violence are natural. Birth defects and mental illness are naturally occurring, most times dictated in utero by body chemistry. They are not dictated by a person's choices or actions. Yet, no one would ever say to a schizophrenic, "Well, you wouldn't have the voices in your head unless you were supposed to embrace them." I want to know if things are beneficial, not whether or not they're natural.

The blog post I just quoted was about bullying, but a family member and I recently had this same conversation about monogamy. (She believes that monogamy is completely unnatural, but extremely desirable and beneficial.) There are many other areas in which it applies equally. "Natural" or "normal" is many times immaterial.

"Since I don't have a uterus (or vagina), I don't get to have an opinion."

I've seen this frequently lately, and I've seen people applaud it. I can't imagine why. This is a sibling sentiment to, "Not in my back yard." It says, "As long as it doesn't affect me personally, I don't care." That's appalling. When people are indifferent to the suffering of others, we decry the idea that it's OK not to care as long as you yourself aren't affected. So why would it be OK in this case, or any case?

More to the point: I do not have a penis, and I never will, but I have very clear ideas about what someone who has one should, and should not, do with it. There are definite rules about when and where its owner should use it. There are acts that it should never participate in.

Chief among these "don'ts" are rape and pedophilia. Virtually everyone agrees that these things are wrong, whether they personally have a penis or not. This consensus is generally accepted to be a good thing. One reason for this is that those acts affect another person besides the owner of the offending penis, people who do not always get a choice in what that penis does.

The above statement is usually used in discussions about either birth control or abortion. These things also affect more than one person. Birth control is only necessary when a man and a woman engage in sexual activity with each other. One plus one equals two people. Abortion is only an issue when a pregnancy has resulted; one plus one plus one equals three people. (This, of course, leaves out siblings, grandparents, and extended family and society at large - the same kinds of people who are affected by sexual assault.) I do not think that the man's opinion, or the opinion of other family or citizens, outweighs the woman's in these decisions, but I think that they certainly do - or should - factor in. Then there's the fact that, with an abortion, the child will be the individual most affected, and we cannot ask them to weigh in. This is true whether you believe that the fetus is a full fledged person, or whether you think that it is potential only. It exists.

I do use birth control, but that is a joint decision that my husband and I make together. I do think that there are circumstances in which abortion would be acceptable, but I think that those circumstances are few and far between.

I also think that, even in circumstances in which abortion would be acceptable or understandable, it is not necessarily the only correct choice. Amanda Berry has reason, if ever anyone had one, not to want to bear a rapist's child. Yet she, and her family, consider the existence of her daughter to be the one good thing that resulted from Amanda's captivity. Bearing and raising such a child is not easy, but I am sure that Amanda feels that it's worth it. Jaycee Dugard's biggest fear in reuniting with her family after 18 years in captivity was whether or not they'd accept her daughters, because "I would never leave my children." They are hers, regardless of the genetic contribution of a man who is both a rapist and a pedophile.

I know many adoptive parents; they, too, are glad that someone did for them what they could not do for themselves, and carried and delivered their child (or children).

"He's a good father and a good provider. Isn't that enough?"

No. It isn't. Honestly. It's a good start, but it is not everything needed to be a good husband. A good dad, maybe, but that's a different job description. That's like saying, "Bob is a great mechanic, so he's obviously an excellent automobile designer (or manufacturer or assembly line worker or driver)." They might be related fields, but they are not the same.

"Love is all you need."

I wrote an entire post about this. It's like a politician's promise - it sounds good, but it fails to hold water.

Tune in next time for more Phrases That Irritate. There are more out there.

Lennon Had It Wrong

I recently read an article in the local paper about underage prostitution. Local law enforcement said that, when they apprehend an underage girl engaging in prostitution, their first priority is to separate the girl and her pimp for as long as possible, in order to convince the girl that the pimp doesn't really love her. Only then, the thinking goes, will she be willing to leave "the life."

I have great respect for law enforcement, social services and others who work in these areas, but it seemed to me that they were missing the point here. I realize that they have years of experience, and often education and degrees that I do not, but I would approach things differently.

First, it will be extremely difficult to convince a girl that her boyfriend or father figure doesn't love her. Ironically, the worse she has been treated, the tougher it will be. She will hang on tighter and tighter if someone tries to "take him away." The idea of not being loved is so unthinkably painful that she will avoid that conclusion at all costs, especially if she's used to being let down, disappointed, exploited or feeling unloved.

The thing is, I don't think it matters if he loves her. Sometimes, as much as these damaged men are capable, they do care about the girls. Sometimes, they do treat them better than anyone else ever has. It still doesn't matter. Whether he loves her is irrelevant.

I would tell her that, with all due respect to the songwriting genius of John Lennon, philosophically he had it all wrong. Love is not all you need. It's a nice starting point, but it's not necessary in order for someone to treat you well.

If someone is asking you to do something illegal, potentially dangerous or potentially harmful, it doesn't matter if they love you. It is wrong of them to ask you. Especially if it goes against your wishes, it is extraordinarily wrong for them to either ask again or force the issue. It does not show love on your part if you say "yes" to such a request. It shows a lack of good judgement, and probably a tragic lack of self esteem.

I wouldn't waste my time trying to convince her that her pimp doesn't love her. I'd tell her, "It's irrelevant. It doesn't matter."

I feel the same way about people who are violent or controlling or otherwise abusive toward their partners. I cannot believe it when people excuse that behavior by saying, "But I know that he loves me. He doesn't really mean it (the bad behavior)." Everyone has bad days, loses their cool, hurts your feelings. That's part of being human. Broken bones, threats of death, hospital stays and more - these things are not OK. It truly, completely does not matter who loves whom.

People say, "But he loves me," or, "But I love her," as though it means that everyone will say, "Oh, well, OK then, that changes everything." No. It is irrelevant. It may be a fact, but it's a fact like, "Water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit." It has zero bearing on the situation at hand.

Just because you love someone, or they love you, does not mean that the relationship is healthy. If the relationship is unhealthy, it's bad for both of you, and both of you will benefit if it is ended. Feeling in pain because it ended or missing them does not mean that you did the wrong thing ending it or that you should have stayed. It means that you're human. If it's unhealthy, get out.

Some people do not believe in monogamy, and those people should only be in relationships with partners who also do not believe in monogamy. If cheating or multiple partners are a problem for one partner, then the relationship is unhealthy if the other partner insists on going outside the marriage for intimacy (whether or not the other partner knows about it). It does not matter if you love each other.

This is another situation in which, "But I love you," or, "But he loves me," are deeply irrelevant. I cannot imagine what people are thinking when they attempt to explain straying by saying to a distraught partner, "But I love you," or, "But I don't love him/her." You might as well say, "I had my teeth cleaned on Tuesday." It's a fact, but an irrelevant one. "He loves me, he's a good father and provider, and he comes home every night," also falls into this category. Bully for him. That doesn't mean that he can do no wrong.

Never let someone tell you that if you love them and they love you, anything goes. They are wrong.

Practice saying it - "That is irrelevant." Practice meaning it. Sometimes, love is irrelevant.

A Truly Grand Parent

My mother hated crowds and noise. For her, the concept of "crowd" was pretty small, too, encompassing groups that others might deem modest or intimate. When we celebrated my children's birthdays, she would only come celebrate with us if it was just the immediate family. If they were having a party, she would come by earlier that day to drop off a gift and then skip the party. They never felt neglected - they knew how she felt. If she went to the extended family Christmas party (and she didn't always go), she would stay for an hour or less and then slip quietly out without saying goodbye.

It was a big deal, then, when she went with us to Las Vegas for our daughter Terry's college graduation.

Mom had never been to Vegas. For most of her life she'd loved to travel, but at 78 she was frequently in pain and always walked with a cane. She also hated leaving her home and her cat in someone else's care, trusting only my cousin Ted to do a good job.

We offered to fly her there and back, sparing her the experience of a road trip of almost 450 miles one way. Still, she opted for the whole road trip, including the post-graduation trip to Disneyland. She'd be rooming with us, and sharing a bed with our oldest daughter. The kids were thrilled.

The graduation invitations had indicated that the ceremony would be held not at the school, a hotel or an auditorium, but at the Fashion Show Mall. We found that very odd - a mall? Really? Then we attended the rehearsal and saw why. The graduates would enter by being raised up out of the floor in a huge glass sided elevator, then walk down the fashion show catwalk, all the while accompanied by special effects smoke, lights and music. I forget which of my family said it first - "It's a very Vegas graduation."

So there's my elderly mom, surrounded by the regular shoppers, the graduation crowd, and loud rock and roll accompanied by smoke, in the Fashion Show Mall on the Las Vegas Strip. It would not have been unheard of for her to simply flee, but she didn't. She sat through the whole thing.

She also let us take photographs of her afterward. This too was not something she enjoyed. To say that she hated to be photographed is understating things. She would, however, agree to a few on special occasions.

Look at the sheer joy in that photo!

There was no question that she was proud of Terry.

Three years later, when Lana, our oldest, graduated from college in Provo, Utah, it was important to her to have Grandma there. It was even more important because she was getting married the day after graduation.

Again, we offered to fly Mom there and back. This time, it was 560 miles one way. Again, she opted for the road trip and shared hotel, this time sharing a bed with Terry.

She was even slower and in more pain when she walked than she had been for Terry's graduation. Climbing in and out of our Suburban was difficult, painful and laborious, yet she didn't even consider not going.

Take a look at the size of that auditorium, and how high up we were sitting! Still, not a single complaint - not so much as a bad mood from Mom.

After she passed away, Lana found that "I <3 BYU" button in Mom's bedroom.

The graduation was so huge that it spread over 2 days. If you wanted to actually hear your name called and to walk across the stage, you had to attend your department's ceremony the day after the huge commencement.   Mom was in such pain from navigating the campus that she skipped those ceremonies for our son in law (morning) and daughter (afternoon). Even then she didn't complain, but simply said, "If I'm going to be up to all the walking tomorrow, I have to rest today."

Weddings in our temples tend to be small and private, often with only the couple and their witnesses or their immediate family present. Often, even the wedding party is not present for the actual ceremony. The reception tends to be the big event. Sometimes, there's more than one reception, especially if the wedding takes place away from the bride's or groom's home town. I've known couples who've had a wedding luncheon for the family and wedding party after the ceremony, gone on their honeymoon, and then returned to a reception in the bride's home town and one in the groom's home town.

In order to witness the actual wedding ceremony, you need to be an adult member of our church, in good standing, and have received certain ordinances.

Because they've grown up in this culture, my kids have never minded not attending someone's actual wedding, even when they're in the wedding party. They don't mind at all waiting in the waiting room. I fit all the requirements to attend the ceremony, but I've spent many weddings in the waiting room, simply because I'm not immediate family (and the rooms are small). I find that to be normal. Others, though, especially those who aren't members of our church or those who haven't been exposed to LDS weddings, find it very odd and are sometimes quite put out.

Not my mom.

Allow me to digress a bit here for some history. I joined my church, by myself but with my parents' permission, when I was 12. My dad's family was not particularly religious at all. My mom's family was moderately religious; they claimed a denomination, and my mom was baptized as a baby. When my siblings and I were children, we attended church once a year, on Easter, at the Methodist church.

All three of my mother's daughters joined churches that our parents did not attend. It did not bother or fluster Mom in any way. She spent all of my pre-driving years driving me to and from church services and activities. Sometimes, when invited, she'd attend meetings or activities with my sister, with me or even with my cousins. She never felt that anyone, at any church, was trying to convert her, or was judging her, or was expecting her to explain herself. If she had, she would have firmly declined any further invitations. When one of her granddaughters converted to Judaism and married a rabbi, my mother met it with the same acceptance and grace and true happiness for her that she had exhibited when her daughters joined Christian churches.

One of the governing documents of my religion says, "We claim the privilege of worshipping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where or what they may." I had been taught that precept by example my entire childhood, so when I heard it, I already knew of its validity. Your worship, or lack of it, is between you and God. I am neither of those people. I might admire you, pity you, or be annoyed by you, but it won't affect whether I love you or how I treat you. I learned that first, and best, from my mom.

Mom was not into very existential "there is no right, there is no wrong" philosophies. She was very sure of what she felt was right and what she felt was wrong. She just had no interest in making you agree with her, or even in knowing if you did or not.

I have seen and heard the way some other people react to situations similar to ours. Relatives who can't attend the wedding ceremony are very hurt, feel very left out, and are often vocal. They say things like, "I've waited my whole life to see you walk down the aisle!" and, "Your church can't really care very much about families if they're willing to put them through this kind of pain."

My mom, far from home and in physical pain, didn't even think about complaining. It's not as if she put on a happy face for us and vented to people about how awful and inconsiderate it was after she got back home. Trust me, my mother had no problem being very vocal about her displeasure. She never even considered that the day should be about what she wanted or expected. It was about what Lana and Craig wanted, and she was truly happy for them that they got to have what THEY wanted. She was very, very happy that her presence there that day made her granddaughter happy.

She wore the same dress she'd worn to my wedding 24 years earlier. It matched Lana's wedding colors.

She waited in the waiting room with the younger children during the ceremony. They had loaner wheelchairs, which she accepted after three full days of walking farther than normal, and climbing in and out of our behemoth of a vehicle. After the family photos were taken, a family friend - the closet thing we had to our side of the family being there that day - whisked her off on a tour after hearing that she'd never been in Salt Lake City before. She loved it.

She spent the reception that evening commenting on how happy the couple was, and what a wonderful thing it was for them to have a happy wedding day. She even let us take more photos.

A week later, after their honeymoon, she braved a larger crowd to attend the reception in our home town. Almost all of my side of the family made it there; my sister and her husband drove for 12 hours to attend the reception, then drove 12 hours back home so as not to miss work. My daughter felt very loved.

Some people spend a lot of time talking about tolerance, consideration, kindness and respect. Often, unfortunately, I have observed that what they mean is, "I don't think that you are sending enough of these things my way. You should do better." My mom didn't spend much time talking about such things, or telling us to treat everyone with respect; she just did it. She never said, "So-and-so is just as good as we are, even though his skin is a different color;" she treated So-and-so the same way she treated everyone else. We learned by watching.

So many people don't understand the difference between understanding someone, accepting someone and agreeing with them. They say, "I want your understanding," when what they mean is, "I want you to agree with me." They say, "I just can't accept you because of your belief system," instead of realizing that it's totally possible to accept someone while disagreeing with them. I think I have an easier time navigating those feelings than many people do, because I had such a stellar example.

Just as an aside, the niece I mentioned who married the rabbi - perhaps that's not an entirely accurate way to describe it. The rabbi is a lovely, red haired woman, and as far as I know, they haven't had a ceremony, religious, legal or private. They simply decided to form a family - and so, years ago, I gained a niece, my kids gained a cousin, my mom gained a granddaughter.

(Postscript: four years after this was written, my nieces made it official with a wedding on the beach, attended by their children.)

One of the last pieces of mail my mother got was a card from those nieces, letting her know the gender of the baby they're expecting. "Did you know that Kara and Mari are having a girl?" she excitedly asked Terry that night. She was looking forward to this 5th great-grandchild. None of us are concerned with the biology of this child; she's already ours, and always will be.

I have no idea how my mom felt about many things, including gay marriage. I do know that I was raised to accept others for who they are, not who we want them to be. We do not need to agree to love one another, to treat each other with respect and kindness, and to enjoy each other's company. My mother taught me that. My religion reinforced it. Most of the people I choose to fill my life with embrace it.

Take a look again at the elderly woman in a wheelchair, in front of a building she would never enter. That is the face of religious tolerance. That is the face of someone so secure in her belief system that she didn't need to challenge or argue with anyone. That is the face of love and acceptance. That is the woman who taught me  that to be sure of yourself does not mean belittling or demeaning others.

That is my mom.