I think that I have some sort of Benjamin Button thing happening. Heaven knows that I'm not looking any younger, and I've never felt young, but I seem to be experiencing a lot of things backwards.
As a kid and a teen, I deeply resented the stereotype that kids felt immortal and invincible. I never felt either. I was always the kid saying, "But someone could get hurt!" I was not a risk taker or a thrill seeker. I was acutely aware that death, dismemberment, pain or scarring were very real possibilities. I worried, I fretted, I avoided risk and danger as best I could. I've never "bailed out" of swings or jumped off of a diving board. (Really.)
Describing my behavior as a child to my middle daughter recently elicited The Look and the verdict, "So you were a wet blanket." The wettest, thank you very much.
Said child, in contrast, had no fear as a child. None. I remember clearly having to repeatedly grab the back of her swimsuit and haul her into the shallows at age 2, because she'd just keep walking into the water, even after it was over her head. Not just once, mind you, but over and over. It never occurred to her, in any situation, that she might get hurt or experience an unpleasant outcome. She looked at people as though they were crazy or unintelligible if they warned her. When she did get hurt, she brushed it off like Monty Python's Black Knight - "It's only a flesh wound."
It wasn't until her 20s that it started occurring to her that she might get hurt, and that hurt was bad. Facing situations that she'd never given a second thought to suddenly had her realizing, "Someone could get hurt." Slowly, she noticed that situations caused her worry, and that she was being more cautious.
"This is how the other half lives," I told her. "Welcome to adulthood."
"I hate it! How do people function like this?" she wanted to know.
I, on the other hand, am slowly growing into feelings of invincibility.
More and more, I find myself mentally spreading my arms and saying, "Bring it on. I've got this." Fear of water? I'll go in a submarine, and then across the Atlantic on a ship. Fear of being disliked? Recently I ran into a kid I'd gone to high school with, a kid who was so much cooler than I was that I spent all of high school awed and intimidated. I may have spoken three sentences to this kid during the entire four years we went to school together. Now that I'm much older, twice my high school weight and going gray (and, unfortunately, bald), what did I do? Run up and say hello, then hug him/her.
Kids are supposed to be the dreamy ones, too, setting ridiculous life goals like, "marry a prince." I was such a practical kid. My goals were things like, "be able to afford groceries." I was clear that I could choose any one of hundreds of paths through life, could be a doctor or teacher or lawyer or painter - but I never imagined, or wanted, the usual things kids covet: obscene wealth, fame, privilege. I still don't, but now I see no barriers to pie-in-the-sky plans. If somebody had told me when I was 18 that they wanted to be something ridiculous and impractical, I would have given them the "It's really difficult to make it" speech, and meant it. Now, I'd give them the "Go for it!" speech, and mean it. Sure, it takes hard work and more than a little luck, but it's not impossible. Knock 'em dead, kid. You can do it.
As a kid, I was easy to psych out or intimidate. I know that there were times that I lost competitions just because I let the other guy(s) get to me. Not any more.
Children are supposed to be trusting; I had severe trust issues. OK, I still have some, and there's good reasons for them, but I no longer feel that I have to do everything, or that something is doomed to failure if multiple people have multiple jobs to do. I only have to do my job, my little part, and not worry, or even necessarily think about, anyone else's job. (Sometimes you carry The One Ring and sometimes you kill the Orcs - am I right?)
I never was young, and I never will be, but that's OK. I may have the best of both worlds.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Friday, May 9, 2014
Let Me Explain
Just so we're all on the same page, I want to point out, again, that I share my opinions so that others will understand me, not so that I can change their minds.
Compare it to someone who refuses to eat breakfast until they've made an origami flower for the table first. You, especially if you're the caregiver, maybe of an elderly relative with this trait, find it to be an aggravating waste of time. But, when Granny explains that this is her good luck charm, and that her days just seem happier and more successful if she has that flower on her breakfast table, you can understand her, and maybe even help her make it. You still don't think that the flower affects anything, but that's not as important as understanding Granny.
Also, people who might already agree with me can feel supported, and not quite so alone. That's important, too.
Now - let's discuss religion.
I belong to a religion. It affects everything I do, every day - what I wear, say, watch on TV, eat and drink; it's important to me. I realize that others live differently, and I'm OK with that. Free will is the most important thing that humans possess.
Whenever someone shares why they left their religion, especially if it's my religion, I always hear a chorus of voices in agreement - "Me, too!" "I thought the same thing!" "That's why I left." Nobody seems to want to hear a dissenting voice, one saying, "I think that's a mistake." Those comments are deemed rude. So, in case anyone wants to peruse, at their leisure, what I may be thinking when I hear or read those reasons and/or comments, I've written them down here.
The thoughts or reasons will be like this, in bold type.
My thoughts will be below that, in regular type.
I just have to live my own life and make my own decisions.
Well, that's a good thing. As I stated, free will is the most sacred of human rights.
I do find, though, that overwhelmingly, people say this when they are disagreeing with their family, and/or the way they were raised, and very infrequently when they are disagreeing with their friends or mentors. Very rarely does anyone say, "I have to make my own decisions, and that's why I do things differently than my friends/classmates/mentors do."
People tend to pat someone on the back for being "brave" and "independent" and "free thinking" when they disagree with their parents. Keep in mind, though, that if I was brave for, say, leaving my parents' Christian faith to become an atheist, then my children would be brave to leave what I had taught them, and become fundamentalist Christians. I know many people who congratulate others for leaving any faith, but say to someone who's joining one, "Are you sure you've thought this through?" They say that they will support whatever their children decide, "provided that they've really thought it through," but would be horrified if their child converted to Islam, or became a Buddhist monk or a Catholic nun. ("I raised you better than that! How can you turn off your brain that way?")
The problem here is using the thoughts and decisions of others to determine what YOU, yourself, think and do, and why. I understand all of the built in human needs to be part of a group, to feel accepted and protected. I understand, too, the necessity of differentiating oneself from one's parents. I just find popular, or unpopular, opinion to be a very unreliable way to make important life choices. That's NOT thinking for yourself, that's a herd mentality. "Others that I admire are doing it this way. I feel protected and accepted when I am like them. Therefore, I must believe what they believe." Or, "Because most people think this, and I am more intelligent and educated than they are, I cannot agree with them." I just can't understand someone seriously thinking that the best way to decide what you believe is to gauge what others believe - or how well spoken those beliefs are.
This church leader (or church member) is someone I don't like. They've done things that upset me.
If an individual hurts, upsets, annoys or confuses you, that's normal. That's OK. It's about them individually, as a person, though (even if what they've done or said is based on their understanding and practice of their religion). Using this to dismiss an entire religion is like saying, "Because no human being is perfect, I don't think that truth exits," and that should be an obviously flawed conclusion.
I've seen them make mistakes (or do something hurtful).
See above answer.
The church leaders seem to be wrong on scientific issues.
In my case, people have frequently pointed out to me that one of my church leaders said publicly that he didn't think men would ever reach the moon; he said it only a handful of years before men did land on the moon. People love to crow, "How could he talk to God and not know that?"
Simple. Did Moses invent the internal combustion engine? Did Abraham understand molecular biology? Did the Apostle Paul invent the airplane? No. I don't go to my accountant to fill my cavities, or my surgeon to repair my home, or the guy who built my deck to do my taxes, either. People have areas of expertise. Religious leaders are inspired to tell the people about how God wants them to behave. These are the things that will do the most good on Earth, and bring us the most happiness after this life. Those things - be honest, be kind, be hardworking, be compassionate, be trustworthy - are the same whether we're living in caves and just discovering fire, or building a self sustaining colony on Mars.
There are huge worlds of knowledge and accomplishment for humans to discover on their own, because learning on our own is what best benefits us, but the religious basics will never change. And unless a religious leader is a doctor, I won't ask him/her about medicine. It's not in their job description.
I think that their youth group (or Scout) activities are lame.
I'm not making this complaint up. Sincerely, folks? If you were talking about leaving a club, or skipping your neighbor's next party, I'd be with you. I think, though, that you're missing the point of religion. You're going to decide what you think that the creator of the universe wants you to do for the eternal salvation of your soul based on whether or not you thought that a group's youth activities were lame? I'm sorry, I have a hard time taking that thought process seriously.
There's no evidence for it.
There's no "evidence" of most of my ancestors. There's no birth certificates or death certificates; even when they were "recorded," that meant that it was hand written in a family Bible. Go far enough back, and there's no military service records, employment records, bank accounts, census records. Yet, because I am here, they obviously existed.
For most of human history, "recording" something meant that the community leaders memorized it. The idea that everything important can be verified to the satisfaction of most people is a very new (in terms of human history) idea. And, for crying out loud, if we can't agree on whether the moon landing was real, whether OJ Simpson is a murderer, whether the Holocaust happened or whether the trails left by airplanes are part of a sinister plot, despite those events being recent and the fact that we have pages and pages and volumes upon volumes of scholarly research and conventional, modern documentation on the subject, there is NO way that we will agree on things that happened long ago, or that defy conventional documentation.
("But only people who are being deliberately ignorant disagree with me on those things!" people say to me frequently. They disregard the fact that the opposite side says exactly the same thing about them.)
Does it matter to me whether we have the actual stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments, or if we can examine Noah's Ark? Not in the slightest.
I've had doubts for most (or all) of my life.
OK. Doubts are legitimate. Still, you need to allow for the fact that reality is not shaped by opinion, yours or others. When the best and brightest scientific minds on the planet thought that the earth was flat and that the sun revolved around us, it didn't affect the actual shape of the planet or the orbits of heavenly bodies or the laws of physics or anything else.
Look back at law enforcement during my early lifetime, and I'm not even out of my 40s. Science could only determine a person's blood type if they were a "secretor." DNA identification was impossible and unheard of. Almost every year, a discovery is made that "changes everything" in a certain field.
The brightest and most educated humans tend to be the ones who know that we as a species have hardly scratched the surface of the knowledge that's out there. Believing that you, personally, hold all the possible knowledge in the universe, or that everything can, and should, be explained to your personal satisfaction is just arrogance. You don't have all the answers because no one ever will have all the answers.
I don't understand/agree with certain principles.
See above answer.
The meetings are boring.
Again, this strikes me as self centered. "Because I am not entertained, this can't possibly be true." Churches could, and sometimes do, dress up meetings with rock music, dancing and any number of other efforts to be engaging. If they offered alcohol, snacks and scantily clad dancers, they'd draw bigger crowds, and the people would be more enthusiastic. Would that be "success"? I do't think so, because it would have zero effect on whether the message was true.
I feel uncomfortable (or like I don't belong) in church (or in this congregation).
See above answer. Truth is unaffected by whether you're having fun, or even understanding something, or whether other people are "nice." Again, I assume that you're searching for a religion, not for a club or for entertainment.
God can't possibly punish me for doing my best.
This assumes that God's primary purpose is to punish, which I think is flawed thinking, but look at it like this: the world is a classroom. In a classroom, each child can try their very hardest, and stretch their very farthest, but only some will do A work. Should everyone else be handed an A, on the theory that it's "unfair" otherwise? Are the kids getting Bs or Cs (or even lower) being punished, or picked on by a teacher who hates them? No.
If you are working hard, and doing what you believe is right, you will receive rewards, whether you recognize them or not. This is especially true if you actually are doing what's right. Does that mean, that in the interest of fairness, every person who ever existed should get exactly what you get?
If God existed/if this church were true, the teachings would make sense to me.
Remember that God is a parent. He has lived longer than we have. He has more experience and knowledge. He wants what is best for us. This means, almost by definition, that He will occasionally ask us to do things, or give us information, that makes no sense to us. That doesn't mean that He's non-existent, or cruel.
Every day, especially when they were young, I told my children things that confused, annoyed, frustrated, baffled or angered them. I insisted on behavior that they thought was "stupid." I gave them unpleasant tasks, and unpleasant consequences when they broke the rules. Is that because I'm mean and I don't love them? They sure thought so, many times. Instead, it was a reflection of the fact that I knew more than they did, I had more experience than they did, and I truly wanted them to be happy. Sometimes, that meant not caring how they felt about me or my rules.
Plus, there's that whole, "My judgement is infallible and all knowing" thing again. There are some things you personally don't know, because there is no person who has all knowledge.
A loving God would never want some of His children to be separated from Him eternally.
God's been pretty clear on this subject; He loves us all. He wants us all to return to live with Him eternally. The things that will make this possible are available to everyone who ever lived or will live. God has said that the requirements can be met by the weakest and most rebellious of us. The choice is up to us, and it pains Him when we make choices that separate us from Him.
Think about being a parent. Do you say, "Because I love you kids more than life itself, because I want you to be successful and happy, there are no rules. It is not possible for you to ever do anything wrong. There will never be any punishments or negative consequences." Of course not. God doesn't say that to His children, either.
I don't agree with the church's stance on this issue.
Here you have two main options. You can decide that the religion itself is valid, and therefore, you might be wrong about this issue. Or, you can decide that disagreement on one issue will cancel out every agreement on every other issue, and that therefore, the entire religion has no merit.
For me, I again have to allow for the fact that I do not possess all the knowledge in the universe, so there may be a part of the big picture that I don't see.
I think that the church asks too much of us/you.
Nothing worthwhile is easy.
The Bible describes the same event differently in different books.
Of course - they were written by different authors. Think about the family stories your family has. Will it sound different if you or Uncle Bob or cousin Cyril tells the story? Do those differences mean that it never happened, or that you're being deliberately deceitful?
The Bible never mentions this subject. How can this rule about it be valid?
Imagine, again, that you're a parent. You go out for the evening, leaving your oldest in charge. You say something like, "Be good while we're gone!"
When you come home, and discover chaos, how will you feel if your child says, "You never said that I couldn't tie Timmy up and leave him in the closet. You never told me that I couldn't use your coin collection for the ice cream man. You can't be mad, and you can't punish me."
The best rules are broad enough to be applicable across many behaviors, time periods and eventualities. Just because the Bible never tells us not to sell national or company secrets doesn't mean that it's OK to do so.
All of the above arguments are pretty standard, no matter what your religion, although a couple of them are specific to Christianity. There's a couple more that I hear frequently that are peculiar to my specific religion. These include:
There are scriptures in the Book of Mormon that are identical to scriptures in the Bible.
Of course there are. If something is important, you make sure that you repeat it to every group that you speak to. Think about any story that you tell over and over. Think about instructions that you give, and methods that you use to teach. You will say the same things over and over. Others telling the same story or teaching the same subject will do so, as well. To me, this simply shows that the source - God - is the same.
I'd be worried if the Book of Mormon said, "That whole 'love your neighbor' thing? Forget it. And baptism isn't necessary any more."
I don't believe that the leaders in Salt Lake are prophets. What are the chances that most of the modern prophets would be old, white American men?
Do you believe that there were prophets in the Old World? Well, what are the chances that God would have chosen only people from the same race and the same geographic area?
(Plus, we're taught that there were prophets across the earth, and on all the "isles of the sea," in antiquity. We have the writings of only a few. Plus, if anyone missed the chance to hear the message on Earth, they have that opportunity later. Each community no longer needs their own prophet in order to receive instruction, because ideas can be so widely distributed in written or transmitted form.)
The church has too much money/I don't agree with tithing.
I'd worry more about this if we had paid clergy. We don't. Leaders, teachers, organists, cleaning crew, nursery staff - we're all volunteer. You won't find us going on TV to plead for people to send in additional offerings, only to have it go toward buying a new Lexus for the bishop.
Of course there are many more complaints, and many more answers. I'm not trying to Create the Final Word or mold official doctrine. As I said, I'm just writing it down because I hear these things so often, and I've been told that it's rude or intolerant to reply.
That doesn't seem OK to me either. If it's OK for someone else to tell why they think one thing, it's OK for me to say why I think another.
Thanks for listening.
Compare it to someone who refuses to eat breakfast until they've made an origami flower for the table first. You, especially if you're the caregiver, maybe of an elderly relative with this trait, find it to be an aggravating waste of time. But, when Granny explains that this is her good luck charm, and that her days just seem happier and more successful if she has that flower on her breakfast table, you can understand her, and maybe even help her make it. You still don't think that the flower affects anything, but that's not as important as understanding Granny.
Also, people who might already agree with me can feel supported, and not quite so alone. That's important, too.
Now - let's discuss religion.
I belong to a religion. It affects everything I do, every day - what I wear, say, watch on TV, eat and drink; it's important to me. I realize that others live differently, and I'm OK with that. Free will is the most important thing that humans possess.
Whenever someone shares why they left their religion, especially if it's my religion, I always hear a chorus of voices in agreement - "Me, too!" "I thought the same thing!" "That's why I left." Nobody seems to want to hear a dissenting voice, one saying, "I think that's a mistake." Those comments are deemed rude. So, in case anyone wants to peruse, at their leisure, what I may be thinking when I hear or read those reasons and/or comments, I've written them down here.
The thoughts or reasons will be like this, in bold type.
My thoughts will be below that, in regular type.
I just have to live my own life and make my own decisions.
Well, that's a good thing. As I stated, free will is the most sacred of human rights.
I do find, though, that overwhelmingly, people say this when they are disagreeing with their family, and/or the way they were raised, and very infrequently when they are disagreeing with their friends or mentors. Very rarely does anyone say, "I have to make my own decisions, and that's why I do things differently than my friends/classmates/mentors do."
People tend to pat someone on the back for being "brave" and "independent" and "free thinking" when they disagree with their parents. Keep in mind, though, that if I was brave for, say, leaving my parents' Christian faith to become an atheist, then my children would be brave to leave what I had taught them, and become fundamentalist Christians. I know many people who congratulate others for leaving any faith, but say to someone who's joining one, "Are you sure you've thought this through?" They say that they will support whatever their children decide, "provided that they've really thought it through," but would be horrified if their child converted to Islam, or became a Buddhist monk or a Catholic nun. ("I raised you better than that! How can you turn off your brain that way?")
The problem here is using the thoughts and decisions of others to determine what YOU, yourself, think and do, and why. I understand all of the built in human needs to be part of a group, to feel accepted and protected. I understand, too, the necessity of differentiating oneself from one's parents. I just find popular, or unpopular, opinion to be a very unreliable way to make important life choices. That's NOT thinking for yourself, that's a herd mentality. "Others that I admire are doing it this way. I feel protected and accepted when I am like them. Therefore, I must believe what they believe." Or, "Because most people think this, and I am more intelligent and educated than they are, I cannot agree with them." I just can't understand someone seriously thinking that the best way to decide what you believe is to gauge what others believe - or how well spoken those beliefs are.
This church leader (or church member) is someone I don't like. They've done things that upset me.
If an individual hurts, upsets, annoys or confuses you, that's normal. That's OK. It's about them individually, as a person, though (even if what they've done or said is based on their understanding and practice of their religion). Using this to dismiss an entire religion is like saying, "Because no human being is perfect, I don't think that truth exits," and that should be an obviously flawed conclusion.
I've seen them make mistakes (or do something hurtful).
See above answer.
The church leaders seem to be wrong on scientific issues.
In my case, people have frequently pointed out to me that one of my church leaders said publicly that he didn't think men would ever reach the moon; he said it only a handful of years before men did land on the moon. People love to crow, "How could he talk to God and not know that?"
Simple. Did Moses invent the internal combustion engine? Did Abraham understand molecular biology? Did the Apostle Paul invent the airplane? No. I don't go to my accountant to fill my cavities, or my surgeon to repair my home, or the guy who built my deck to do my taxes, either. People have areas of expertise. Religious leaders are inspired to tell the people about how God wants them to behave. These are the things that will do the most good on Earth, and bring us the most happiness after this life. Those things - be honest, be kind, be hardworking, be compassionate, be trustworthy - are the same whether we're living in caves and just discovering fire, or building a self sustaining colony on Mars.
There are huge worlds of knowledge and accomplishment for humans to discover on their own, because learning on our own is what best benefits us, but the religious basics will never change. And unless a religious leader is a doctor, I won't ask him/her about medicine. It's not in their job description.
I think that their youth group (or Scout) activities are lame.
I'm not making this complaint up. Sincerely, folks? If you were talking about leaving a club, or skipping your neighbor's next party, I'd be with you. I think, though, that you're missing the point of religion. You're going to decide what you think that the creator of the universe wants you to do for the eternal salvation of your soul based on whether or not you thought that a group's youth activities were lame? I'm sorry, I have a hard time taking that thought process seriously.
There's no evidence for it.
There's no "evidence" of most of my ancestors. There's no birth certificates or death certificates; even when they were "recorded," that meant that it was hand written in a family Bible. Go far enough back, and there's no military service records, employment records, bank accounts, census records. Yet, because I am here, they obviously existed.
For most of human history, "recording" something meant that the community leaders memorized it. The idea that everything important can be verified to the satisfaction of most people is a very new (in terms of human history) idea. And, for crying out loud, if we can't agree on whether the moon landing was real, whether OJ Simpson is a murderer, whether the Holocaust happened or whether the trails left by airplanes are part of a sinister plot, despite those events being recent and the fact that we have pages and pages and volumes upon volumes of scholarly research and conventional, modern documentation on the subject, there is NO way that we will agree on things that happened long ago, or that defy conventional documentation.
("But only people who are being deliberately ignorant disagree with me on those things!" people say to me frequently. They disregard the fact that the opposite side says exactly the same thing about them.)
Does it matter to me whether we have the actual stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments, or if we can examine Noah's Ark? Not in the slightest.
I've had doubts for most (or all) of my life.
OK. Doubts are legitimate. Still, you need to allow for the fact that reality is not shaped by opinion, yours or others. When the best and brightest scientific minds on the planet thought that the earth was flat and that the sun revolved around us, it didn't affect the actual shape of the planet or the orbits of heavenly bodies or the laws of physics or anything else.
Look back at law enforcement during my early lifetime, and I'm not even out of my 40s. Science could only determine a person's blood type if they were a "secretor." DNA identification was impossible and unheard of. Almost every year, a discovery is made that "changes everything" in a certain field.
The brightest and most educated humans tend to be the ones who know that we as a species have hardly scratched the surface of the knowledge that's out there. Believing that you, personally, hold all the possible knowledge in the universe, or that everything can, and should, be explained to your personal satisfaction is just arrogance. You don't have all the answers because no one ever will have all the answers.
I don't understand/agree with certain principles.
See above answer.
The meetings are boring.
Again, this strikes me as self centered. "Because I am not entertained, this can't possibly be true." Churches could, and sometimes do, dress up meetings with rock music, dancing and any number of other efforts to be engaging. If they offered alcohol, snacks and scantily clad dancers, they'd draw bigger crowds, and the people would be more enthusiastic. Would that be "success"? I do't think so, because it would have zero effect on whether the message was true.
I feel uncomfortable (or like I don't belong) in church (or in this congregation).
See above answer. Truth is unaffected by whether you're having fun, or even understanding something, or whether other people are "nice." Again, I assume that you're searching for a religion, not for a club or for entertainment.
God can't possibly punish me for doing my best.
This assumes that God's primary purpose is to punish, which I think is flawed thinking, but look at it like this: the world is a classroom. In a classroom, each child can try their very hardest, and stretch their very farthest, but only some will do A work. Should everyone else be handed an A, on the theory that it's "unfair" otherwise? Are the kids getting Bs or Cs (or even lower) being punished, or picked on by a teacher who hates them? No.
If you are working hard, and doing what you believe is right, you will receive rewards, whether you recognize them or not. This is especially true if you actually are doing what's right. Does that mean, that in the interest of fairness, every person who ever existed should get exactly what you get?
If God existed/if this church were true, the teachings would make sense to me.
Remember that God is a parent. He has lived longer than we have. He has more experience and knowledge. He wants what is best for us. This means, almost by definition, that He will occasionally ask us to do things, or give us information, that makes no sense to us. That doesn't mean that He's non-existent, or cruel.
Every day, especially when they were young, I told my children things that confused, annoyed, frustrated, baffled or angered them. I insisted on behavior that they thought was "stupid." I gave them unpleasant tasks, and unpleasant consequences when they broke the rules. Is that because I'm mean and I don't love them? They sure thought so, many times. Instead, it was a reflection of the fact that I knew more than they did, I had more experience than they did, and I truly wanted them to be happy. Sometimes, that meant not caring how they felt about me or my rules.
Plus, there's that whole, "My judgement is infallible and all knowing" thing again. There are some things you personally don't know, because there is no person who has all knowledge.
A loving God would never want some of His children to be separated from Him eternally.
God's been pretty clear on this subject; He loves us all. He wants us all to return to live with Him eternally. The things that will make this possible are available to everyone who ever lived or will live. God has said that the requirements can be met by the weakest and most rebellious of us. The choice is up to us, and it pains Him when we make choices that separate us from Him.
Think about being a parent. Do you say, "Because I love you kids more than life itself, because I want you to be successful and happy, there are no rules. It is not possible for you to ever do anything wrong. There will never be any punishments or negative consequences." Of course not. God doesn't say that to His children, either.
I don't agree with the church's stance on this issue.
Here you have two main options. You can decide that the religion itself is valid, and therefore, you might be wrong about this issue. Or, you can decide that disagreement on one issue will cancel out every agreement on every other issue, and that therefore, the entire religion has no merit.
For me, I again have to allow for the fact that I do not possess all the knowledge in the universe, so there may be a part of the big picture that I don't see.
I think that the church asks too much of us/you.
Nothing worthwhile is easy.
The Bible describes the same event differently in different books.
Of course - they were written by different authors. Think about the family stories your family has. Will it sound different if you or Uncle Bob or cousin Cyril tells the story? Do those differences mean that it never happened, or that you're being deliberately deceitful?
The Bible never mentions this subject. How can this rule about it be valid?
Imagine, again, that you're a parent. You go out for the evening, leaving your oldest in charge. You say something like, "Be good while we're gone!"
When you come home, and discover chaos, how will you feel if your child says, "You never said that I couldn't tie Timmy up and leave him in the closet. You never told me that I couldn't use your coin collection for the ice cream man. You can't be mad, and you can't punish me."
The best rules are broad enough to be applicable across many behaviors, time periods and eventualities. Just because the Bible never tells us not to sell national or company secrets doesn't mean that it's OK to do so.
All of the above arguments are pretty standard, no matter what your religion, although a couple of them are specific to Christianity. There's a couple more that I hear frequently that are peculiar to my specific religion. These include:
There are scriptures in the Book of Mormon that are identical to scriptures in the Bible.
Of course there are. If something is important, you make sure that you repeat it to every group that you speak to. Think about any story that you tell over and over. Think about instructions that you give, and methods that you use to teach. You will say the same things over and over. Others telling the same story or teaching the same subject will do so, as well. To me, this simply shows that the source - God - is the same.
I'd be worried if the Book of Mormon said, "That whole 'love your neighbor' thing? Forget it. And baptism isn't necessary any more."
I don't believe that the leaders in Salt Lake are prophets. What are the chances that most of the modern prophets would be old, white American men?
Do you believe that there were prophets in the Old World? Well, what are the chances that God would have chosen only people from the same race and the same geographic area?
(Plus, we're taught that there were prophets across the earth, and on all the "isles of the sea," in antiquity. We have the writings of only a few. Plus, if anyone missed the chance to hear the message on Earth, they have that opportunity later. Each community no longer needs their own prophet in order to receive instruction, because ideas can be so widely distributed in written or transmitted form.)
The church has too much money/I don't agree with tithing.
I'd worry more about this if we had paid clergy. We don't. Leaders, teachers, organists, cleaning crew, nursery staff - we're all volunteer. You won't find us going on TV to plead for people to send in additional offerings, only to have it go toward buying a new Lexus for the bishop.
Of course there are many more complaints, and many more answers. I'm not trying to Create the Final Word or mold official doctrine. As I said, I'm just writing it down because I hear these things so often, and I've been told that it's rude or intolerant to reply.
That doesn't seem OK to me either. If it's OK for someone else to tell why they think one thing, it's OK for me to say why I think another.
Thanks for listening.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Duchess
I was probably about seven years old when a visitor asked my mother something that puzzled me. She watched our dog Duchess, and said to my mother, warily, "Don't you worry about her?" At first I thought the "her" was directed at me, and wondered what the woman didn't like about me, but then she said something about "allowing her in the house," and it became clear that she meant the dog.
"Oh, no, not at all," said my mother.
"Even around the children?" the woman asked.
"She's great with kids," Mom said.
After the woman left, I asked my mom, "Why would she be worried about Dutchy?" I'd been trying to make sense of it myself, but I couldn't figure it out. It made even less sense to me because we had two big dogs, but the woman had only seemed worried about one.
"Some people are that way. They worry about the coyote in her," Mom explained.
Duchess was a bit older than I was. I don't remember her as a puppy, but I knew the story. A friend of my parents had a German shepherd female who'd been impregnated by a coyote while out in their yard. When the litter was born, the owners worried that no one would want the little "halfbreeds," and they planned to drown them. Back then, that was considered the humane and responsible thing to do with unwanted puppies and kittens; put them in a bag or pillowcase, weight it down, and toss it into the river. My parents couldn't bear to see them all drown, and had requested a puppy for their family. They got "the pick of the litter" - the smartest, cutest, liveliest puppy - and named her Duchess. She went home to the horses and children on our acre plus.
We usually described her as a German shepherd; not because we were embarrassed, or afraid of an adverse reaction, but for the same reason we didn't usually use the words "step" or "half" in describing relationships in our family. Default to the simplest explanation. If people asked, though - and often, someone would say, "And what else?" or, "She doesn't look like a shepherd" - we'd tell them about the coyote half. I never expected anyone to worry, or even be too terribly surprised. It seemed very normal to me.
We later added another dog, my dad's black lab named Ebony. He was younger than Dutchy, and I remember him a puppy, an energetic ball of pitch black fur. He was my dad's hunting dog, a retriever; Dad said he was great at it. He was sweet and lovable, but not very bright. He also spent less time in the house than Duchess did, because he had a tendency to get overexcited and trash things. Even at 80 lbs., he also fancied himself a lap dog, and he'd sit in our laps even when he was clearly larger than we were.
Duchess was clearly the Alpha. Ebony adored her. She was our companion and watchdog.
"Oh, no, not at all," said my mother.
"Even around the children?" the woman asked.
"She's great with kids," Mom said.
After the woman left, I asked my mom, "Why would she be worried about Dutchy?" I'd been trying to make sense of it myself, but I couldn't figure it out. It made even less sense to me because we had two big dogs, but the woman had only seemed worried about one.
"Some people are that way. They worry about the coyote in her," Mom explained.
Duchess was a bit older than I was. I don't remember her as a puppy, but I knew the story. A friend of my parents had a German shepherd female who'd been impregnated by a coyote while out in their yard. When the litter was born, the owners worried that no one would want the little "halfbreeds," and they planned to drown them. Back then, that was considered the humane and responsible thing to do with unwanted puppies and kittens; put them in a bag or pillowcase, weight it down, and toss it into the river. My parents couldn't bear to see them all drown, and had requested a puppy for their family. They got "the pick of the litter" - the smartest, cutest, liveliest puppy - and named her Duchess. She went home to the horses and children on our acre plus.
We usually described her as a German shepherd; not because we were embarrassed, or afraid of an adverse reaction, but for the same reason we didn't usually use the words "step" or "half" in describing relationships in our family. Default to the simplest explanation. If people asked, though - and often, someone would say, "And what else?" or, "She doesn't look like a shepherd" - we'd tell them about the coyote half. I never expected anyone to worry, or even be too terribly surprised. It seemed very normal to me.
We later added another dog, my dad's black lab named Ebony. He was younger than Dutchy, and I remember him a puppy, an energetic ball of pitch black fur. He was my dad's hunting dog, a retriever; Dad said he was great at it. He was sweet and lovable, but not very bright. He also spent less time in the house than Duchess did, because he had a tendency to get overexcited and trash things. Even at 80 lbs., he also fancied himself a lap dog, and he'd sit in our laps even when he was clearly larger than we were.
Duchess was clearly the Alpha. Ebony adored her. She was our companion and watchdog.
We have few photos of her. My parents took very few photos - back in the days of film, it often took them years to fill up a roll of 12 exposures - and neither of them was particularly gifted with a camera.
This photo was taken on Easter, the year I was 3. I remember that holiday. It was the first time that I understood that there was something special about the day. I loved my fancy new dress, even though it was kind of scratchy. I loved my Easter basket and cute candy.
We were getting ready to leave the house for church. Moments before this was taken, I'd been hugging Dutchy. My sister Lynne, the brunette beauty in pink, had scolded me for "getting dog hair all over your pretty dress," and encouraged me to pat with my hand. I wanted to please Lynne - I adored her. I could not figure out what she was thinking, though. I always hugged the dog. What was wrong with dog hair, anyway? And why was it OK to have it on my everyday clothes, but not on my new dress? Maybe my new dress wasn't as much fun to wear as I thought it would be. How much could you really enjoy a dress if you couldn't hug the dog while wearing it?
Look at the tolerant look on Duchess's face. She let me hug her and lay my head on her side. She listened to everything we said, accepting all the mushiness: "Who's a good girl? There's our good Dutchy-dog!"
She understood every word we uttered, I swear. If she'd had opposable thumbs, we could have said something like, "Could you drive down to the store and bring back some eggs and bread, please?" and she would have done it. For most dogs (and small children), you have to issue short, crisp commands - "Sit. Stay." We spoke to Duchess conversationally; we'd say something like, "You sit down here and wait for me, OK? I'll be right back." She'd sit down, wait, and trot off by your side as soon as you reappeared.
My dad trained the dogs to respond to certain whistle commands. The one that meant "Come here" was 4 short, one long, and then an undulating, "ooooo-weeee-oooooo-weeee-oooooo" sound. Sometimes Dutchy would take off from our yard to do something I think of as "going walkabout." There was a lot of open land around us, and she just wanted to go out and explore. She could sail over our backyard fence like it wasn't even there, much to Ebony's dismay. Sometimes, she'd just disappear. When we wanted her home, someone would go out on the back porch and whistle. She'd come trotting home a few minutes later. If she'd gone really far, we might have to wait a few minutes and whistle again, but I don't think it ever took more than 3 whistles.
Her obedience had only one loophole. If she was staring at a cat, you had to issue the command, "Dutchy, you leave that kitty cat alone!" before she started to run. She hated cats with a fervor my mother termed "a purple passion," and she'd perk up and go on alert if she saw one. Any of us could give her the command to "leave that kitty cat alone" and she would, without fail, provided she wasn't running yet. Once she took off, she wouldn't back off for God himself.
To my knowledge, she only caught one once, and held its face down in a puddle, with it clawing her leg to shreds, until it drowned. My dad tried to drag her away, to no avail. As my parents cleaned and wrapped her leg afterward, they scolded her. She looked at them as if to say, "I understand that you're upset, but it was the devil."
When our family adopted first one cat, and then more, she tolerated them only because they were ours. She never chased or harassed them, never so much as barked or growled, but she glared at them. "You be nice to that kitty cat," we'd say, and you could tell that she was thinking, "I am."
I only recall her chasing one other animal, and that ended badly. We were camping with my extended family, aunts, uncles and cousins, and Duchess decided to chase a porcupine. I had to be only 3 or 4, because I remember that the solid part of the cabin's screen door came up to my chest. I stood on my toes listening to an unfamiliar wailing and howling, and watched as my dad and cousins half dragged, half carried a howling Duchess to the ranger station. Her face bristled with quills. After the ranger and my dad pulled all the quills with pliers, and slathered disinfectant on her, she came back to the cabin. She was subdued and raw. I fussed over her, horrified by all the puncture wounds under the ointment. I don't think she ever forgot that lesson. (Who knows, though - she chased another porcupine years later.)
She barked only to alert us to perceived danger. (Thank heaven she didn't consider knocks on the door to be threats. I can't stand it when dogs bark at the door.) I heard her growl only once.
We had a wishing well in our front yard. We'd occasionally toss pennies, and sometimes, larger coins, in, making wishes. We didn't take the coins out, because that would negate the wish, but I don't think there was ever more than $2 or $3 in the well.
Still, some neighborhood boys once decided that they'd help themselves to the coins. I was probably 9 or 10, and they struck me as about 13. There were four or five of them, ignoring me as I shouted at them to get out of our yard and leave our stuff alone. I was just inside the wire backyard fence, about 15 feet away. They ignored me as an impotent, whiny kid.
Duchess sat quietly by my side, simply observing. Finally, hoping to scare them, I issued a command that, to my knowledge, she had never heard: "Sic 'em, Dutchy."
She went over the fence so fast that she seemed to have levitated. In less than a second, she'd grabbed the most vocal and obnoxious of the boys by the seat of his pants, and shook him back and forth, growling a deep, menacing growl. The other boys scattered as this boy shouted, "Call off your dog! Call off your dog!" Duchess shook him hard, and I stared, open mouthed, until his pants started to rip. I called, "Dutchy! Come here," and she instantly let go, stopped growling, and trotted back. She jumped over the fence and resumed sitting placidly next to me.
As I watched the boy pedal away on his bike, I imagined (with some glee) him trying to explain the ripped pants to his parents, and I rubbed Duchess's ears. "Good girl! You are such a good girl!"
I later told my mother, and she chuckled. "I didn't even know that Dutchy knew what 'sic 'em' means!" I said.
"She probably doesn't. But, she knew they were bad news. She was just waiting for you to ask her to do something."
I was in junior high when Duchess started showing signs of aging. First, her fur started showing gray. Then, she got arthritis, which was painful to watch. We started taking her food to her, instead of calling her to it. Then, she started losing weight. By the time this was taken, when I was about 12 and she was about 14, she wasn't looking, or feeling, like herself.
She finally developed some sort of cancer. I can't remember if we had her put to sleep, or if she passed away on her own. I know that, by the time she was gone, I was happy for her to be out of pain.
I often imagine that she was one of the first loved ones to greet my parents, after they passed away. I'm pretty sure that she loves heaven.
I think she may have learned to like cats.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Not For Sale
I will concede that I could be cranky and overreacting. Let's establish that right away.
Still, I keep hearing in my head the growling, snarling noises that the cartoon Tasmanian Devil makes; that's what I hear in my head, too, every time I see, "&^$%#@!" or the equivalent.
My parents bought their house, on an acre and a third, back when the house was one of only three on the entire dirt road, outside of town. We kept horses in the back pasture the entire time I was growing up, even as the city grew up to and then past us. Today, the property is on an ordinary street in an ordinary neighborhood - a neighborhood that's considered "aging" and not very desirable, real estate-wise. The house across the street was the home of local casino owners for a while, the only one in our neighborhood with two bathrooms and a family/rec room. Now, even it's considered fairly ordinary. Its most unusual feature is an RV garage; plus, many of the surrounding homes added on those second bathrooms and rec rooms.
My parents had originally planned to sell off pieces of their property, but they never did, so it's still an acre and a third. The largest portion, by far, is behind the house, reachable only by going down a gravel driveway.
My brother owns the house now. He isn't sure if he wants to live there or sell it, so for now, he rents it to a family member. The agent who came out to appraise it kept saying, "If only it was 2005. You could have gotten so much for this in 2005." Now, of course, it's worth far less, and "You'd never get your money back if you tried to develop it ("develop," of course, meaning "subdivide and build houses on.")" We understand that. If my mother had wanted or needed money more than she needed an unused horse pasture, she would have sold it in 2005.
I bring this up because it's relevant backstory.
My dad died years ago. After my mother died, while we were still measuring her loss in days, we started getting notes in the mailbox. "Hi! I'd love to buy your property! Call me." We rolled our eyes and tossed the notes. Is there a "for sale" sign out front? No. Then please assume that it's not for sale. Most of the would be buyers gave up, but some kept sending new notes, getting progressively pushier. One of the last ones said, "I can't believe you haven't taken me up on this offer!"
Really? You're surprised by this? Note, pushy neighbors, the continued lack of a "for sale" sign! Nobody took you up on your offer because the property is not for sale! This cannot be a difficult concept to grasp.
I mean, good heavens, my mother has four children, ten grandchildren and four great grandchildren. If my brother decides that he doesn't want the house, there will be any number of heirs who do. Does anyone honestly imagine that we're just waiting for the neighbors to swoop in?
I thought they'd given up; I hoped they'd given up. It's been a year and a half. For crying out loud, we haven't even emptied the linen closets. The house is occupied by family. If the owner wanted to sell it to strangers, he'd put it on the market, not wait for little notes to be dropped in his mailbox.
The day before Easter, we were in the back yard hiding eggs. Friends and family, including at least two toddlers, were invited over for a BBQ. Normal, wholesome family holiday, right? The neighbor came out, stood on their side of the fence and yelled over, "Are you selling that property?"
Truly, neighbor? You left "pushy" behind in the dust long ago.
My husband was the nearest one to the disembodied voice. He said, "Probably not." (He has an almost pathological aversion to uttering definitive declarative statements.)
What I said to him was, "Don't say 'probably.' They're thinking that you've left the door open to the possibility."
It's probably a good thing that he answered them, instead of me. What I wanted to say to the neighbor was, "Do you SEE a 'for sale' sign? NO! You do NOT! The property is NOT for sale, and if it was, we wouldn't sell to YOU! Stay on your own side of the fence, you opportunistic jackals!"
Which, you know, all things considered, may be an overreaction.
But the property still isn't for sale.
Still, I keep hearing in my head the growling, snarling noises that the cartoon Tasmanian Devil makes; that's what I hear in my head, too, every time I see, "&^$%#@!" or the equivalent.
My parents bought their house, on an acre and a third, back when the house was one of only three on the entire dirt road, outside of town. We kept horses in the back pasture the entire time I was growing up, even as the city grew up to and then past us. Today, the property is on an ordinary street in an ordinary neighborhood - a neighborhood that's considered "aging" and not very desirable, real estate-wise. The house across the street was the home of local casino owners for a while, the only one in our neighborhood with two bathrooms and a family/rec room. Now, even it's considered fairly ordinary. Its most unusual feature is an RV garage; plus, many of the surrounding homes added on those second bathrooms and rec rooms.
My parents had originally planned to sell off pieces of their property, but they never did, so it's still an acre and a third. The largest portion, by far, is behind the house, reachable only by going down a gravel driveway.
My brother owns the house now. He isn't sure if he wants to live there or sell it, so for now, he rents it to a family member. The agent who came out to appraise it kept saying, "If only it was 2005. You could have gotten so much for this in 2005." Now, of course, it's worth far less, and "You'd never get your money back if you tried to develop it ("develop," of course, meaning "subdivide and build houses on.")" We understand that. If my mother had wanted or needed money more than she needed an unused horse pasture, she would have sold it in 2005.
I bring this up because it's relevant backstory.
My dad died years ago. After my mother died, while we were still measuring her loss in days, we started getting notes in the mailbox. "Hi! I'd love to buy your property! Call me." We rolled our eyes and tossed the notes. Is there a "for sale" sign out front? No. Then please assume that it's not for sale. Most of the would be buyers gave up, but some kept sending new notes, getting progressively pushier. One of the last ones said, "I can't believe you haven't taken me up on this offer!"
Really? You're surprised by this? Note, pushy neighbors, the continued lack of a "for sale" sign! Nobody took you up on your offer because the property is not for sale! This cannot be a difficult concept to grasp.
I mean, good heavens, my mother has four children, ten grandchildren and four great grandchildren. If my brother decides that he doesn't want the house, there will be any number of heirs who do. Does anyone honestly imagine that we're just waiting for the neighbors to swoop in?
I thought they'd given up; I hoped they'd given up. It's been a year and a half. For crying out loud, we haven't even emptied the linen closets. The house is occupied by family. If the owner wanted to sell it to strangers, he'd put it on the market, not wait for little notes to be dropped in his mailbox.
The day before Easter, we were in the back yard hiding eggs. Friends and family, including at least two toddlers, were invited over for a BBQ. Normal, wholesome family holiday, right? The neighbor came out, stood on their side of the fence and yelled over, "Are you selling that property?"
Truly, neighbor? You left "pushy" behind in the dust long ago.
My husband was the nearest one to the disembodied voice. He said, "Probably not." (He has an almost pathological aversion to uttering definitive declarative statements.)
What I said to him was, "Don't say 'probably.' They're thinking that you've left the door open to the possibility."
It's probably a good thing that he answered them, instead of me. What I wanted to say to the neighbor was, "Do you SEE a 'for sale' sign? NO! You do NOT! The property is NOT for sale, and if it was, we wouldn't sell to YOU! Stay on your own side of the fence, you opportunistic jackals!"
Which, you know, all things considered, may be an overreaction.
But the property still isn't for sale.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Loving Tony
I recently lost a man I have loved since we were both children. He was 48 when he passed away - much too young for us to be prepared to lose him. Still, as they say, "It's not the years; it's the mileage," and he'd lived more than most people.
He wrote a published book in his 20s. In his 40s, he started working on an autobiography. It would tell details of his life, like how, at 25, he owned the second largest company of its kind in the world, printing backstage passes for the likes of the Rolling Stones, Madonna, and Billy Joel. He was making, we often said, more money than God.
Nothing in his life was of ordinary size and scope. Years later, he lost the company, and eventually, his family. He developed a drug problem that should have killed him. He consumed alcohol like it was water.
And, he lived to get clean and sober, religiously attending his meetings for AA, NA, and CA.
He asked me to write the foreward to his book. This is it.
*******************
Tony Perry is my brother. Most people gain siblings through some action taken by their parents, and are linked by biology, marriage, adoption, or in some other legal and definable way. This is not true for us; our parents might not immediately recognize each other if they passed on the street. There is no legal document defining our relationship. He is my brother because of decisions he and I have made, and because something in his soul speaks to something in mine. If you have people like this in your life – and I am fortunate to have many – you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you don't, there are no words that will adequately explain it to you.
I remember the first time I saw Tony. I was a 14 year old high school freshman. He was a 14 year old sophomore, wearing a jacket that said, "Italian Stallion" on the back. He wore that jacket everywhere. He was loud, abrasive, charismatic and funny. I was quiet and unsure. At the first audition of the year, he made a hash out of the cold reading, and obviously delighted in doing so. The teacher sighed and said, "Never ask a techie to read lines." My attention sharpened – I was one of the few kids from my junior high theater department to actually have tech experience. It soon became apparent that not only was Tony a techie, he was THE techie in our school.
I also remember the first time Tony met my mother. So does Tony – she impressed him immediately. The school boundaries for our school were odd and elongated, so that a large number of my schoolmates came from the neighboring city, and rode the bus for half an hour to get to and from school. Tony was one of those kids. One day he missed the bus, and asked if my mom could drive him home. My mom always had a car full of kids, no matter where we went. "It's pretty far, clear out in Hidden Valley," I told her, but she was willing to take him. Tony climbed into the back of the car with an armload of books, far too many to be just his homework. "Hi," he said, "I'm Tony. I steal textbooks." Mom didn't bat an eye.
"Hello, Tony," she said.
Down the street from our school, there was a convenience store. Tony seemed to live on apple juice sold in little round, apple shaped, single serving bottles. He leaned over the back of the seat and said, "I feel like an apple juice. Can we stop and get one?" Mom slowed down and pulled into the parking lot.
Tony was beside himself. "She's stopping! You're stopping! You're actually gonna stop?"
"Sure," she said. "You have money, right?"
Tony talked about that for years. "I couldn't believe she actually stopped so I could get an apple juice!"
We had little in common, really, but it didn't matter.
Tony was the sun around which the theater revolved. He designed our drama guild T-shirts and our black satin jackets. He was our official technical director and our unofficial social director. Tony created our own holidays, The Thirteen Radical Days of Christmas, and as a group we designed a different activity every day for the thirteen days leading up to Christmas break. One day, we went to a Monty Python film festival; one day we bought our lunch from the generics aisle of Albertson's. (Remember generics? Remember when they took up an entire aisle?) He planned our group vacations to Disneyland.
On our first Disneyland trip, we had 9 or 10 of us, of both sexes, crammed into a single hotel room. My mother slept in the armchair; Tony slept in the bed next to me.
He'd started out across the room, on the floor, but two of the girls kept flicking Skittles candy at him after lights out. "Hey!" he yelled loudly, into the dark, "she hit my wiener with a Skittle!"
"Tony. Don't use that word," my mother chastised.
"Fine. She hit me in the penis with a Skittle." A few minutes later, he declared loudly, "She did it again!"
"Find somewhere else to sleep, then," Mom told him.
"There is nowhere else!"
"You can find someplace."
He walked around the room, stopping at the side of the double bed I was in. "I," he declared dramatically, pointing down at the bed, "am sleeping here." Then he looked down at me. "That OK with you?"
"Fine with me."
He checked with my mom. "OK?"
"OK. Now settle down."
I was notoriously chaste. For years, Tony took great delight in announcing to people, sometimes upon first meeting them, "I was the first man ever to sleep with Sharon Smith."
When Tony was arrested during my junior year, it absolutely undid me. I had not lived a life of unrelenting sunshine and rainbows, but this was, absolutely and undeniably, the worst thing that had ever happened to me.
One of the things we had in common back then was sobriety, a relatively uncommon trait in our group. When Tony arrived back at the school after being processed and released at the juvenile facility, I saw him climb out of the car and I went to meet him. I had never seen that look on his face, never seen him walk with that heaviness. He looked at me and said quietly, "They strip searched me for drugs, Sharon." My heart broke.
We were in the middle of rehearsing for our spring play, the largest show of the year. When Tony was suspended and then expelled and forced to complete the year at another school, I was a mess. Barred from even attending the show, Tony arranged for a bouquet of blue balloons to be delivered to the cast onstage during curtain call closing night. I wrote a sappy poem about it that was published in our school literary magazine, and saved one of the blue ribbons and wove it into my hair the next year when I went to the prom.
Tony was the only person I danced with at my prom. He was there with his fiancee, Jeanette. I was there hoping to see my best friend be crowned Prom Queen. Someone else won, and Tony barked to our table, "Nobody clap!" I clapped anyway – it was only courteous. I stepped on his feet twice during the dance; I am dance impaired.
Tony quite literally handed me back my life once. I'd been acting since I was 12, loved tech almost as much, and intended to continue doing both forever. But, I spent three of my four high school years with a teacher assigned to the theater classes simply because she had low seniority and no one else wanted the job; she'd never even seen a play before being assigned to us. I left high school having learned anything new, for three quarters of my time there, from the other students or on my own. I felt woefully inadequate to pursue anything theater related, even for fun. Oh, well, I thought, those are the breaks. Things happen. I'll get over it. Then Tony phoned one day shortly after my graduation.
The local university was having open auditions for "Chicago." Their auditions were always open to the public, so it didn't matter that neither of us were students - Tony wanted me to go try for a tech job with him. I dragged my feet.
"You don't sound excited about this!" he barked at me.
"I don't think I'm qualified to do anything."
"I'm not qualified either! Let's just go." Tony'd owned his own stage lighting company since he was 13; if he wasn't qualified, who was? I went with him. I spent the next ten years exclusively with the university theater department, then found I was also at home in other theater companies. As I write this, I'm preparing for the final dress rehearsal of a show, one I'm in with my husband and two of my kids. There are no words adequate to thank someone for handing you your identity back.
Most of the time, girls Tony was dating, and girls who wanted to date him, didn't worry about me at all, since I was obviously not a romantic rival. Sometimes, though, someone resented me. After Tony and Jeanette broke up, a girl working on a show with Tony and me took the opportunity to ask him out. He was taking the breakup pretty hard, and told her, "I just can hardly stand to even look at anyone female right now. I don't even want to be in the same room with any females." She was disappointed; in a few minutes, she became angry – at me.
Tony asked me, in the course of conversation, if I wanted to go to a movie the next night. Incensed, the girl said, "I thought you couldn't even look at anything female right now!" Tony looked at me, back at the girl, and expressed his puzzlement.
"That's not a female! That's Sharon."
The poor girl was fairly lukewarm to me after that, even years later.
When I got married, Tony stood beside my husband. When my first child was born, he brought a tiny T-shirt to the hospital that was a replica of our high school drama guild shirts. My children have called him "Uncle Tony" all of their lives. When he got married on New Year's Eve, I bought a black and gold formal to wear. When he broke his back, I drove him on errands and prayed for his recovery.
For years, he had the Midas touch. Nothing he tried failed, or turned out badly, or lost money. Since he never does anything in a small way, when it all went to hell it was really, truly hell.
Tony probably doesn't remember this, but when things got really ugly, with the cocaine, the booze and the craziness, I told him that he could only screw up badly in front of my kids once, and then he wouldn't see them again until they were 25. I meant it, too. He may not remember it, but somewhere he internalized it. He may have been absent from our lives for months at a time, but he never made me question whether he could be around my kids. He came close only once. The few horror stories they've heard, they've heard now that he's sober. They never had to watch him spiral out of control. That's a gift, too, to me and to them.
"Can you imagine me on cocaine?" he asked at one of our theater reunions. (Yes, we organize our own high school reunions, just for those of us from the theater department.) We all said the same things. "I don't have to – I saw it!" "It was ugly." "You're so lucky you never really saw it, Tony." "God help me, it was awful."
When Tony decided to get sober, he was a mess. His hands shook. His memory was dreadful. More than once, we'd be somewhere in public and someone would approach, saying, "Hey, man, it's been a long time. How are you?" Tony would have an entire conversation, then ask me after they'd gone, "Who was that, and how do I know them?"
His life sounds more like melodramatic fiction than a real life. It's not, I promise you. You will find yourself disbelieving what he has to say, but it all happened.
Tony is exasperating, clueless, infuriating, loving, amazing, talented beyond belief and his own worst enemy. I love him with all my heart.
Love him or hate him, you'll never forget him.
******************
I'm not sure what it will be like to be here on Earth without him.
I wish him peace in the next life.
I am so glad that those of us who knew him have each other to lean on right now.
I miss you, my brother. I always will.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Madeira
When I made mental lists of places that I wanted to visit, I never said to myself, "I really need to see Madeira!" I don't think it was on my radar at all. Then, we booked a cruise that would take my husband, myself, and two youngest children there.
This is our first glimpse of the city of Funchal, from the deck of our cruise ship.
Holy cow! So gorgeous.
By the time we tried to book a shore excursion, they were full, so we walked off the ship to see what we could find.
We found these sights before we even left the port.
I haven't edited any of these images, by the way - no filters, no color correcting. These are just as they came out of the camera. The colors really were that vivid.
We'd passed the first group of gathered cabbies hoping to entice us to hire them, but now we ran into a second group. We don't come from a large city, so we're not used to hiring cabs. My 18 year old and my 14 year old had only been in a cab once before.
One friendly but not overly aggressive driver handed us a homemade brochure. "I take you to the botanical gardens, the sea cliffs, a fishing village and back here. OK?" He named a price.
OK. Let's go see the island, we decided.
I'm so glad that we hired a driver. I would not have been able to make sense of, nor feel safe driving, the narrow, winding, hillside streets, even if I had access to a car.
It might have been worth the price just to see the Jardim Botanico da Madeira.
Looking down the mountain, you could just barely see the ship that had brought us across the Atlantic.
There she is - the Disney Magic.
Driving across the island, everything looked amazing and exotic to us - narrow streets, tiny cars, old buildings. We're from the American West, where something 50 years old is considered a teardown. Here, people lived, shopped and worshipped in buildings centuries old.
One of the local traditions turned tourist attraction involved sledding down the mountain streets. Straw hatted drivers steered the wheeled sleds down the mountain, and drivers like ours waited at the bottom to pick them up. We watched, delighted, but decided to pass on actually sledding.
A significant portion of the steep hills were terraced for growing. We're not wine people, but I hear that Madeira wines are highly rated.
The next stop was Cabo Girao, the tallest sea cliffs in Europe. The clear viewing deck was too unnerving for my youngest; she stayed well back. "I can see fine from here!"
Being a desert dweller, I find anything to do with water overly romantic (or overly terrifying, depending). I found myself in Camara de Lobos practically swooning. Drying fish! Battered boats! And the colors!
Our driver dropped us back in Funchal, where we had lunch and kept the camera clicking on our way back to the ship.
This is our first glimpse of the city of Funchal, from the deck of our cruise ship.
Holy cow! So gorgeous.
By the time we tried to book a shore excursion, they were full, so we walked off the ship to see what we could find.
We found these sights before we even left the port.
I haven't edited any of these images, by the way - no filters, no color correcting. These are just as they came out of the camera. The colors really were that vivid.
We'd passed the first group of gathered cabbies hoping to entice us to hire them, but now we ran into a second group. We don't come from a large city, so we're not used to hiring cabs. My 18 year old and my 14 year old had only been in a cab once before.
One friendly but not overly aggressive driver handed us a homemade brochure. "I take you to the botanical gardens, the sea cliffs, a fishing village and back here. OK?" He named a price.
OK. Let's go see the island, we decided.
I'm so glad that we hired a driver. I would not have been able to make sense of, nor feel safe driving, the narrow, winding, hillside streets, even if I had access to a car.
It might have been worth the price just to see the Jardim Botanico da Madeira.
Looking down the mountain, you could just barely see the ship that had brought us across the Atlantic.
There she is - the Disney Magic.
Driving across the island, everything looked amazing and exotic to us - narrow streets, tiny cars, old buildings. We're from the American West, where something 50 years old is considered a teardown. Here, people lived, shopped and worshipped in buildings centuries old.
One of the local traditions turned tourist attraction involved sledding down the mountain streets. Straw hatted drivers steered the wheeled sleds down the mountain, and drivers like ours waited at the bottom to pick them up. We watched, delighted, but decided to pass on actually sledding.
A significant portion of the steep hills were terraced for growing. We're not wine people, but I hear that Madeira wines are highly rated.
The next stop was Cabo Girao, the tallest sea cliffs in Europe. The clear viewing deck was too unnerving for my youngest; she stayed well back. "I can see fine from here!"
Being a desert dweller, I find anything to do with water overly romantic (or overly terrifying, depending). I found myself in Camara de Lobos practically swooning. Drying fish! Battered boats! And the colors!
Our driver dropped us back in Funchal, where we had lunch and kept the camera clicking on our way back to the ship.
Maybe we'll be back there some day; maybe not. It will continue to be one of my favorite places that I never knew I wanted to see, until I was there.
All photos copyright: The Reflection Works Photography, 2013
Sunday, March 30, 2014
The Example of an Olympian
Every two years, I watch televised sports. I've never watched a Super Bowl - I'm so glad that I can now see all the commercials online the next day - or a World Series. I don't follow Nascar drivers. I am, however, glued to the Olympics.
I'm not sure why that is, but it doesn't really matter. I watch the opening ceremonies, all 3 or 4 hours of them. I watch sports I know nothing about, and may never have heard of. I was delighted when I discovered curling. A sport played with brooms and a stone - how is it that everyone doesn't love this? My family mocks me, but curling is amazing.
Watching the Sochi Olympics, as usual I felt for every competitor who fell, exulted with every competitor who placed. Sure, I love it when Americans take home medals, but I don't need the winners to be American to be glad for them.
There's usually someone local at the Winter Olympics. I live 30 minutes from Lake Tahoe (home of the 1960 Winter Games), and many top athletes still live or train nearby. In 2014, the Lake Tahoe region had more medalists than 68 countries - yes, countries. It's exciting to know that there are locals on the podium.
Here in the Reno/Sparks area, everyone is particularly delighted this year by the gold medal win of David Wise, who grew up here in Reno, skied at local resorts, attended local public schools. He's one of us, and we all seem to claim him. The high school he attended held a schoolwide assembly in order to record and send a message of congratulations. His father was interviewed by the local paper. When I went with my Rotary Club to read to students at an elementary school, I discovered that they have an autographed poster hanging in their office; David Wise attended the school as a child.
Like most of the rest of the country, I found the choice of words by NBC News reporter Skyler Wilder as unusual, to say the least, when Wilder described Wise as living an "alternative lifestyle."
I was actually more and more amused as I read prose like this: "He's not like the rest of the field. Wise is mature." "At such a young age, Wise has the lifestyle of an adult."
That's because Wise is an adult. He's 23. He's five years past the legal age to be considered an adult. He's two years past the higher legal age to buy alcohol (which, ironically, is years past the age at which a person can join the military). It's not as if he's teetering on the cusp; the man has been a full fledged adult for years.
At 23, my daughter was a university graduate, and she took five years, not four, to earn her degree. At 23, my son in law was nearing graduation at the same university, and he'd taken two years off to serve as a full time missionary for our church. At 23, I had a husband, a mortgage and two preschoolers - and no, I was not a teenage bride. I was 20 when I got married and had my first child.
That's what seemed to really amaze NBC's Wilder: David Wise is a husband, father, and churchgoer, who says that he can picture himself being a pastor one day. The way Wilder describes it, you'd think that this was some kind of bizarre lifestyle heard about only in the pages of National Geographic Magazine. This is the ordinary, expected way that people behaved until a generation or two ago. In centuries past, when the average life expectancy was 35, Wise would already be one of the revered elders of his community. People matured fast enough to apprentice to a profession at 3 or 4, marry at 12 or 13, and lead communities by 18, because they had to. Prolonged immaturity was not a desirable or accepted outcome.
Now, though, society has decided that, in order to be an effective, happy, fulfilled adult, you have to have a prolonged adolescence that lasts for decades. What? How does that make any sense? Do we tell kids that in order to be an effective, mature college student, they should postpone learning to tie their shoes, write their name or do simple addition for as long as possible? "You don't want to rush it. Most people aren't ready. You have to figure out who you are first."
Adolescence in the biological sense lasts for about 6 years. Trying to drag it out for decades behaviorally, under the assumption that people can't handle growing up, is ridiculous.
Frequently - bordering on "always" - when I say things like, "I was married with kids at that age," someone replies, "Yes, but most people that age can't handle it," or, "That usually ends badly." When I say, "Let me introduce you to dozens of people, of varying ages, who were ready," I'll hear, "Yes, but more people aren't ready." I will never understand the mindset that says, "The majority is always right, and their ways are always desirable."
I think that the speakers are expecting, at that moment, that I'll say something like, "Oh, gosh, if the majority is doing something different than I am, I'm an anomaly (or wrong or misguided or misinformed or lucky)." What I actually think is, "Well, why aren't they ready? And what are they doing to ensure that they grow up?"
I mean, if you heard that someone wasn't walking, or reading, or driving, or holding a job, far (in fact, years) past the age that they should be mentally and physically capable, do you think, "Everyone else should slow down and do it the same way, instead of trying to achieve," or do you think, "They should get some pretty intensive counseling and intervention in order to catch up"? In theory, a healthy 5 year old who still crawled everywhere would just be exercising prudence, right, taking all those extra years to mature? Maybe he'll fall less often when he does start walking, right?
I'm not talking about perfectly mature people who know that they're ready, but choose, say, not to have children. My own deeply adored brother is childless in his 60s. I'm talking about the prevailing attitude of, "I'm just not mature enough to handle that yet. Maybe in another 10 or 15 years, I'll get there," and the society that says, "Oh, you're so smart to continue to be an adolescent into your 30s." How is it that we feel that people are adult enough to be college grads, nurses, police officers, fire fighters, social workers or members of the armed forces, trusted to make life and death decisions (often for large numbers of strangers), but we don't think they're mature enough to choose a spouse or parent a child? And worse, we're OK with that?
Yes, yes, I know all about studies that say that the human brain isn't done developing until about age 25. I happen to think that that fact proves my point. Is it easier to set attitudes, behaviors and expectations in place while the brain is still growing, or after it's done? I mean, we educate our young precisely so that when adulthood arrives, they'll be ready for it. Why do we assume that postponing maturity and responsibility will increase either characteristic?
I also fight not to roll my eyes when people say, "Well, I've been with my boyfriend/girlfriend for 10 years or so now. We weren't ready for a permanent commitment then, but now, after being exclusive or nearly exclusive, living together, raising kids together, buying a house and waiting to see if the relationship imploded or someone better came along, I'm now prepared to actually commit to getting married some time in the future." Do you not trust your own judgement? Will waiting, or anything else, change the age that you were when you decided to enter into this relationship?
"Well, it's different for you. You were raised that way," people say to me. OK, yes and no. If by "raised" you mean "taught by parents," then no, I wasn't raised that way. My dad was 50 before he got married for the first (last, and only) time. My mother told us all, over and over, that her first marriage ended in divorce because she got married too young, and couldn't see the dangers signs in marrying an alcoholic. If you mean "belong to a religion that strongly encourages marriage and families," then yes, I was raised that way. I joined the church, on my own, at 12.
Here's the thing - if it is widely recognized that it is possible for a family, town, group or culture to raise kids who mature faster than their peers, and do so while living ordinary lives in ordinary neighborhoods, by and large attending local public schools, why do we not widely accept this as a good thing, ask ourselves what they're doing right, and adopt those practices? Why don't we collectively say, "Hey, they're onto something"?
Sometimes, we do. I noticed this Bloomberg News story when it was first published - "Mission Training Grooms Mormons to Pursue Presidency, CEO Suite." The author noticed that LDS young men and women, ages 19 to 21, who went through missionary training and served church missions of 18 months to 2 years, "have gone on to become among the most distinguished and recognizable faces in American business and civic life." Mormons make up about 2% of the population, but "Latter Day Saints hold, or have held, a seemingly disproportionate number of top jobs at major corporations."
Why is that? The article talks about the rigid rules and fairly demanding schedule of work and study that missionaries experience. A Harvard business school professor quoted says, "I don't think there's any more demanding profession than being a Mormon missionary." The result, often, is a fairly young individual with skills, maturity and confidence. One former missionary, now dean of a prestigious School of Business, says that, before his mission, "I frankly didn't know if I could do anything. I came back with the confidence that I could accomplish most hard things."
Isn't this pretty much a no-brainer? If you expect and nurture maturity and responsibility, you will get maturity and responsibility. Instead, society is telling young people, "You can't do it. Don't even try, because you'll fail. It will be humiliating and futile." Is it any wonder that we get the exact opposite of maturity and responsibility?
It is worth noting that David Wise, and many other young successful husbands, wives, parents and employees, are not LDS. It's not exclusive to one school of religious thought. It's a process that's applicable no matter what your belief system. The entire Bloomberg article is geared toward taking the Missionary Training model and applying it to other circumstances.
It's also worth noting that even my own children sometimes disagree with me on this subject. "Come on, Mom! You know what I was like at 19 and 20! Do you really think that I was ready to get married and have kids?" one has asked me frequently. No, Child, I do not think that you, personally, were ready to choose a lifelong partner or start a family. That does not change my belief that high school grads should have a whole world of opportunities open to them, not be limited by their own immaturity. Having options available does not mean that each person needs to do the same things at the same time. It means the freedom to choose what you, personally, want, expecting that you can be successful at it now, not at some indeterminate time in the future.
What kind of message are we sending when we say, implicitly or through suggestion, "If you want to achieve anything, you need to do it before you get married or before you have children. After that, you won't be able to achieve your best or have any significant fun"? It's especially maddening when the people who say this claim to value marriage.
That's the reason people usually give for avoiding grownup choices or responsibilities - the idea that success is unobtainable, that it's impossible. If you get married young, or have children young, the conventional thinking goes, you won't get an education or have career success. The idea that being responsible and capable will somehow cripple you is odd, to me. It makes more sense when I hear things like this, from David Wise: "I think my lifestyle - the fact that I have a little girl to take care of, and a wife - really takes the pressure off of my skiing, because first and foremost, I have to be a good husband and father. When you're out there skiing for something bigger than yourself, it really takes the pressure off for me."
(In an interview with our local paper, his father also credits the work ethic David learned while attending public schools instead of an elite ski academy that may have instilled the idea that being athletically gifted gave you a "pass" in other areas of your life.)
I have, over the years, grown very tired of hearing how rare and gifted (or odd and out of touch) I am, for anything from being married young (and having a successful marriage and family) to not drinking to never having slept around. I've spent most of my life saying, "I'm an ordinary person. I'm not that amazing. If I can do it, other people can do it." I have now decided that this was the wrong approach. I need to say, "You're right. I am incredible and amazing. I am so advanced that I am barely human. I can accomplish things that ordinary mortals cannot. That's exactly why you should listen to me, and do things my way."
Or, don't take my word for it. You could look to the life of a 23 year old Olympic gold medalist.
Thanks, David, and congratulations. Congratulations not only on your athletic achievement, but your focus on what's truly important, what will last after your Olympic career is over. Thanks for bringing good publicity to Reno. Thanks for shining a spotlight on responsible, capable young adults - and the achievement and happiness they can obtain.
I'm not sure why that is, but it doesn't really matter. I watch the opening ceremonies, all 3 or 4 hours of them. I watch sports I know nothing about, and may never have heard of. I was delighted when I discovered curling. A sport played with brooms and a stone - how is it that everyone doesn't love this? My family mocks me, but curling is amazing.
Watching the Sochi Olympics, as usual I felt for every competitor who fell, exulted with every competitor who placed. Sure, I love it when Americans take home medals, but I don't need the winners to be American to be glad for them.
There's usually someone local at the Winter Olympics. I live 30 minutes from Lake Tahoe (home of the 1960 Winter Games), and many top athletes still live or train nearby. In 2014, the Lake Tahoe region had more medalists than 68 countries - yes, countries. It's exciting to know that there are locals on the podium.
Here in the Reno/Sparks area, everyone is particularly delighted this year by the gold medal win of David Wise, who grew up here in Reno, skied at local resorts, attended local public schools. He's one of us, and we all seem to claim him. The high school he attended held a schoolwide assembly in order to record and send a message of congratulations. His father was interviewed by the local paper. When I went with my Rotary Club to read to students at an elementary school, I discovered that they have an autographed poster hanging in their office; David Wise attended the school as a child.
Like most of the rest of the country, I found the choice of words by NBC News reporter Skyler Wilder as unusual, to say the least, when Wilder described Wise as living an "alternative lifestyle."
I was actually more and more amused as I read prose like this: "He's not like the rest of the field. Wise is mature." "At such a young age, Wise has the lifestyle of an adult."
That's because Wise is an adult. He's 23. He's five years past the legal age to be considered an adult. He's two years past the higher legal age to buy alcohol (which, ironically, is years past the age at which a person can join the military). It's not as if he's teetering on the cusp; the man has been a full fledged adult for years.
At 23, my daughter was a university graduate, and she took five years, not four, to earn her degree. At 23, my son in law was nearing graduation at the same university, and he'd taken two years off to serve as a full time missionary for our church. At 23, I had a husband, a mortgage and two preschoolers - and no, I was not a teenage bride. I was 20 when I got married and had my first child.
That's what seemed to really amaze NBC's Wilder: David Wise is a husband, father, and churchgoer, who says that he can picture himself being a pastor one day. The way Wilder describes it, you'd think that this was some kind of bizarre lifestyle heard about only in the pages of National Geographic Magazine. This is the ordinary, expected way that people behaved until a generation or two ago. In centuries past, when the average life expectancy was 35, Wise would already be one of the revered elders of his community. People matured fast enough to apprentice to a profession at 3 or 4, marry at 12 or 13, and lead communities by 18, because they had to. Prolonged immaturity was not a desirable or accepted outcome.
Now, though, society has decided that, in order to be an effective, happy, fulfilled adult, you have to have a prolonged adolescence that lasts for decades. What? How does that make any sense? Do we tell kids that in order to be an effective, mature college student, they should postpone learning to tie their shoes, write their name or do simple addition for as long as possible? "You don't want to rush it. Most people aren't ready. You have to figure out who you are first."
Adolescence in the biological sense lasts for about 6 years. Trying to drag it out for decades behaviorally, under the assumption that people can't handle growing up, is ridiculous.
Frequently - bordering on "always" - when I say things like, "I was married with kids at that age," someone replies, "Yes, but most people that age can't handle it," or, "That usually ends badly." When I say, "Let me introduce you to dozens of people, of varying ages, who were ready," I'll hear, "Yes, but more people aren't ready." I will never understand the mindset that says, "The majority is always right, and their ways are always desirable."
I think that the speakers are expecting, at that moment, that I'll say something like, "Oh, gosh, if the majority is doing something different than I am, I'm an anomaly (or wrong or misguided or misinformed or lucky)." What I actually think is, "Well, why aren't they ready? And what are they doing to ensure that they grow up?"
I mean, if you heard that someone wasn't walking, or reading, or driving, or holding a job, far (in fact, years) past the age that they should be mentally and physically capable, do you think, "Everyone else should slow down and do it the same way, instead of trying to achieve," or do you think, "They should get some pretty intensive counseling and intervention in order to catch up"? In theory, a healthy 5 year old who still crawled everywhere would just be exercising prudence, right, taking all those extra years to mature? Maybe he'll fall less often when he does start walking, right?
I'm not talking about perfectly mature people who know that they're ready, but choose, say, not to have children. My own deeply adored brother is childless in his 60s. I'm talking about the prevailing attitude of, "I'm just not mature enough to handle that yet. Maybe in another 10 or 15 years, I'll get there," and the society that says, "Oh, you're so smart to continue to be an adolescent into your 30s." How is it that we feel that people are adult enough to be college grads, nurses, police officers, fire fighters, social workers or members of the armed forces, trusted to make life and death decisions (often for large numbers of strangers), but we don't think they're mature enough to choose a spouse or parent a child? And worse, we're OK with that?
Yes, yes, I know all about studies that say that the human brain isn't done developing until about age 25. I happen to think that that fact proves my point. Is it easier to set attitudes, behaviors and expectations in place while the brain is still growing, or after it's done? I mean, we educate our young precisely so that when adulthood arrives, they'll be ready for it. Why do we assume that postponing maturity and responsibility will increase either characteristic?
I also fight not to roll my eyes when people say, "Well, I've been with my boyfriend/girlfriend for 10 years or so now. We weren't ready for a permanent commitment then, but now, after being exclusive or nearly exclusive, living together, raising kids together, buying a house and waiting to see if the relationship imploded or someone better came along, I'm now prepared to actually commit to getting married some time in the future." Do you not trust your own judgement? Will waiting, or anything else, change the age that you were when you decided to enter into this relationship?
"Well, it's different for you. You were raised that way," people say to me. OK, yes and no. If by "raised" you mean "taught by parents," then no, I wasn't raised that way. My dad was 50 before he got married for the first (last, and only) time. My mother told us all, over and over, that her first marriage ended in divorce because she got married too young, and couldn't see the dangers signs in marrying an alcoholic. If you mean "belong to a religion that strongly encourages marriage and families," then yes, I was raised that way. I joined the church, on my own, at 12.
Here's the thing - if it is widely recognized that it is possible for a family, town, group or culture to raise kids who mature faster than their peers, and do so while living ordinary lives in ordinary neighborhoods, by and large attending local public schools, why do we not widely accept this as a good thing, ask ourselves what they're doing right, and adopt those practices? Why don't we collectively say, "Hey, they're onto something"?
Sometimes, we do. I noticed this Bloomberg News story when it was first published - "Mission Training Grooms Mormons to Pursue Presidency, CEO Suite." The author noticed that LDS young men and women, ages 19 to 21, who went through missionary training and served church missions of 18 months to 2 years, "have gone on to become among the most distinguished and recognizable faces in American business and civic life." Mormons make up about 2% of the population, but "Latter Day Saints hold, or have held, a seemingly disproportionate number of top jobs at major corporations."
Why is that? The article talks about the rigid rules and fairly demanding schedule of work and study that missionaries experience. A Harvard business school professor quoted says, "I don't think there's any more demanding profession than being a Mormon missionary." The result, often, is a fairly young individual with skills, maturity and confidence. One former missionary, now dean of a prestigious School of Business, says that, before his mission, "I frankly didn't know if I could do anything. I came back with the confidence that I could accomplish most hard things."
Isn't this pretty much a no-brainer? If you expect and nurture maturity and responsibility, you will get maturity and responsibility. Instead, society is telling young people, "You can't do it. Don't even try, because you'll fail. It will be humiliating and futile." Is it any wonder that we get the exact opposite of maturity and responsibility?
It is worth noting that David Wise, and many other young successful husbands, wives, parents and employees, are not LDS. It's not exclusive to one school of religious thought. It's a process that's applicable no matter what your belief system. The entire Bloomberg article is geared toward taking the Missionary Training model and applying it to other circumstances.
It's also worth noting that even my own children sometimes disagree with me on this subject. "Come on, Mom! You know what I was like at 19 and 20! Do you really think that I was ready to get married and have kids?" one has asked me frequently. No, Child, I do not think that you, personally, were ready to choose a lifelong partner or start a family. That does not change my belief that high school grads should have a whole world of opportunities open to them, not be limited by their own immaturity. Having options available does not mean that each person needs to do the same things at the same time. It means the freedom to choose what you, personally, want, expecting that you can be successful at it now, not at some indeterminate time in the future.
What kind of message are we sending when we say, implicitly or through suggestion, "If you want to achieve anything, you need to do it before you get married or before you have children. After that, you won't be able to achieve your best or have any significant fun"? It's especially maddening when the people who say this claim to value marriage.
That's the reason people usually give for avoiding grownup choices or responsibilities - the idea that success is unobtainable, that it's impossible. If you get married young, or have children young, the conventional thinking goes, you won't get an education or have career success. The idea that being responsible and capable will somehow cripple you is odd, to me. It makes more sense when I hear things like this, from David Wise: "I think my lifestyle - the fact that I have a little girl to take care of, and a wife - really takes the pressure off of my skiing, because first and foremost, I have to be a good husband and father. When you're out there skiing for something bigger than yourself, it really takes the pressure off for me."
(In an interview with our local paper, his father also credits the work ethic David learned while attending public schools instead of an elite ski academy that may have instilled the idea that being athletically gifted gave you a "pass" in other areas of your life.)
I have, over the years, grown very tired of hearing how rare and gifted (or odd and out of touch) I am, for anything from being married young (and having a successful marriage and family) to not drinking to never having slept around. I've spent most of my life saying, "I'm an ordinary person. I'm not that amazing. If I can do it, other people can do it." I have now decided that this was the wrong approach. I need to say, "You're right. I am incredible and amazing. I am so advanced that I am barely human. I can accomplish things that ordinary mortals cannot. That's exactly why you should listen to me, and do things my way."
Or, don't take my word for it. You could look to the life of a 23 year old Olympic gold medalist.
Thanks, David, and congratulations. Congratulations not only on your athletic achievement, but your focus on what's truly important, what will last after your Olympic career is over. Thanks for bringing good publicity to Reno. Thanks for shining a spotlight on responsible, capable young adults - and the achievement and happiness they can obtain.
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