Twenty-six days since my last post. I'm improving!
Recently, Honey shared with me a link to a program that would allow us to seal in today's college tuition prices for Shortcake's future use. In other words, we could pay X amount each month for a total of Y amount, which would be honored at up to 270 universities around the U.S. - including our alma mater - in 2028, when she starts college. We figure in 18 years, the program will expand to include more than just 270; but for now, we're pleased that it includes our alma mater, MIT, Stanford and plenty of other recognizable, "good" schools. At our present income, the monthly amount we'd need to deposit for the program is not really do-able. This is something that I want to look into further and might likely be the best idea for college savings for Shortcake. But I'll be honest, I worry that discussing how to save for her will lead to a conversation I'm not sure how to have. Carrying my economic weight.
The underlying topics of this conversation, as I see it applying to me: obligation and role-modeling.
Let's begin with the obvious, obligation. I have a child now. I am no longer the center of my own universe, nor is my husband the center of his own. (Well, when we decided to marry, we combined orbits around a collective of two, so we haven't been the centers of our universes for several years.) Now, the focus of our orbit is around this little girl and any of her future siblings, and it is a vital focus. So that means every decision we make, and action we take, needs to be done for the good of the family, and more specifically, the good of her. Wanna move to Ireland? Will that be good for the unit? Good for her? Maybe. Maybe not. So, it seems like the logical response should be: Molly should get a job outside the house. It is her obligation, if she wants her child to attend college. And don't be so selfish, Molly - your husband needs someone to lighten his load. Get over yourself! What makes you so special that you don't have to get a hair cut and get a real job?
And this is where I begin to falter. I'm not sure I'm ready to re-enter the full-time workforce, yet. I'm not sure I ever want to. Let's get the selfish reasons out of the way, first: I enjoy caring for our daughter. I love it. Even when it's at its most annoying,caring for our daughter is still more rewarding than when outside work is least annoying. I enjoy being able to go to the library or go grocery shopping during the day, or take the dog for a walk in the sunlight, or go on an audition. Though mothering doesn't let me get as much done as I'd like to do on any given day, I like the weekly flexibility it offers. An economic reason I'm reluctant to return: childcare is expensive. The last job I almost took - a contract job that would've lasted a few weeks - I turned down, because the cost of childcare would've been about 2/3 my paycheck. Yes, 1/3 is better than 0/3, but it's hard to argue that I should leave our child in the care of a virtual stranger to bring home 1/3 of a paycheck working on a project that I'm actually not enthusiastic about. I've been in the workforce for about a decade or so, and my attempts to climb beyond the bottom rung have met terribly limited success. So, I'm not entirely sure I qualify for many higher-paying jobs to offset the cost of childcare, anyway. Finally, a sentimental reason: I don't want to become my mother.
My mom has worked outside the house in some form or fashion since she was a teenager. In the 34 years I've been around and have seen her work, I've rarely seen her content with her work situation. She usually resents her jobs. She enjoys being employed. Mom is one of those people who wouldn't know how to fill the time if she didn't have a job. She'd be bored and confused. But she's always ended up resenting her job.
And this is where the role-modeling conflicts with my sense of obligation.
I was lucky enough to see my dad switch career paths and find his calling. Ministry is difficult (financially, emotionally, spiritually), but it's what he's best at and what he loves, passionately. Mom never really found that path of passion. She did what she had to do to pay the bills when they were newlyweds, up through my tween years: working for the state in a mind-numbing bureaucracy. She despised it. When she decided she wanted to teach, she was thrilled to pursue it. She learned, after a few years, that students don't give a shit about learning, administrators' support of teachers is fickle and parents are either disengaged or overly protective. She hates it - or, at least, she's rarely had anything good to say about it in the last 15 years. I'm certain some of my mom's resentment isn't so much at her job as it is at the fact that she's always had to be the one whose salary is most stable, and often larger. Try raising a family of four, plus a dog, on $12k a year, the take-home my dad had when I was a teenager, and you can see how Mom was obligated to stick out a job she didn't like.
My goal has always been to provide our children - but particularly any daughters - with a mother who is happy with her career. Whose job is, if not her passion, then at minimum, a source of pride and joy. It has always made me terribly sad that my mom has never been happy in her career choices. The last thing I want my daughter to see, when she sees me, is a woman who lives with personal or professional resentment.
Of course, I realize I have to correct an earlier assertion. My mom did once have a job she was passionate about. She was a feature writer at our town's daily newspaper. Knowing her as I do, these days, I think that was the best job for her personality. It fits her organizational style, her personal curiosity and her writing style. She gave it up about a year or two before I was born. I never knew why until this last year.
She gave it up because she and Dad wanted to have a child. Dad, newly ordained, was chaplaining here and there, and subbing in pulpits, as well as in the local school system as a teacher. His income wasn't steady or sufficient. Mom's was. However, in the mid-70s, if you wanted to keep your job, as a woman, you didn't get pregnant. The only employer who wouldn't fire you if you were pregnant back then, that she knew of - and that would pay a better salary than she made - was the State of Texas. She returned to work six weeks after I was born. Six. Weeks. That's the amount of time they gave her. For those of you who've had kids, you know your body is just then starting to heal, and the baby, who still needs to eat every 2 - 3 hours, is entering the 6-week fussy phase and needs Mommy. Luckily, Dad was unemployed at the time, so he provided the childcare for a few months. Within a year, he got a full-time chaplain job at a local hospital and they had an employee nursery.
And this takes me back to work. I could be wrong, but I suspect that having me at home is an emotionally beneficial arrangement for us as a family, right now. I have had a few auditions (a couple this week, actually) for paying gigs; I'm exploring a paying gig for Shortcake and I'm not without options in terms of working from home or working on occasion. What I need to do right now is decide how committed I am to not subsuming. This would mean more self-promotion on my part, something I am loathe to do. I truly hate tooting my own horn, particularly as a means to an end. It might also mean a little more flexibility on my family's part. Currently, I try not to be out more than 1 - 2 nights a week, for rehearsal and performance. But I could (and would like to) make myself more available for improv teaching opportunities, some of which would be at night. The pay would be a pittance, but it would be pay doing what I enjoy and I'd be getting better at it for future work.
I really do appreciate all Mom has done for us. I just mourn that she decided to sacrifice her personal, professional happiness in the process. For most of human history, women have been the ones who've had to subsume their dreams for the expectations of society, or their subsume their happiness for the good of the family. Though Mom had more options than her mother, and she pursued them, she still subsumed both her dreams and happiness, ultimately. I live in an era when I have more options than my mother had. My dreams are fluid, as is my happiness, but I don't want to subsume them. I want Shortcake to see a woman who is happy with her professional choices, whatever they look like. ... I'm just living in tension about this, right now.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Reluctant Thanks ... and all the guilt.
This is what happens when I can't sleep ...
Twenty-five years ago, yesterday, the father of one of my favorite childhood friends was murdered. He was a cop, just off duty, on his way home. He spotted an accident, moments after it occurred, and he pulled over to help. The driver and passenger were out of the car, and as he approached them, asking if they were okay, one of them shot him in the chest. What he didn't know was that they were fleeing a robbery. They'd just knocked over a convenience store, if I remember correctly. They panicked when they saw a police officer approaching. The perpetrators were caught within a few hours. They were convicted and a few years later, one of them was executed. (The trigger-man, I always presumed, though I don't recall.) This memory is a big, multi-faceted one for me. One of the facets of that memory for me was that he died on Veterans' Day and he was a VietNam vet.
Yesterday, when many people had the day off, and everyone was thanking vets on Facebook and Twitter and in memorial services for their service, my thoughts turned to my friend's dad. He died serving his fellow man. Not as a soldier, not even as a cop (since he was off-duty), but as a concerned citizen. We thank his military service with Veterans' Day, but how do we thank his civil service or his citizen service?
Veterans' Day is frequently a hard one for me to wrap around. Probably largely because I carry a lot of ambivalence about the role of our military in our country. It's also probably hard for me to process Veterans' Day during wartime. And, I guess, I'm a little annoyed that we don't really publicly recognize the service of others in our society with even half as much appreciation. When is Teachers' Day, Clergy Day, EMT Day, Coal-miners' Day, Water Sanitation Provider Day? These people rarely die in the execution of their jobs, but they educate you, comfort you, keep your heart pumping, keep your house fueled and keep you from getting cholera on a daily basis. And each comes with its unique set of skills and training. Where are their honors in rhetoric and mall sales?
When I consider the training that goes into being a military service member and the discipline that it instills, I'm nothing less than impressed. When I consider the time away from family that we demand of our service members in the service of military goals, I am sympathetic. When I consider the physical conditions our service members endure during war time and other times of conflict - and I suspect my imagination is a paltry shadow of what they actually endure - I am, indeed, grateful that they are trained and willing to go through that on my behalf. (Seriously. Thank you!) And when a military service member dies in battle, or while serving, I am humbled and thankful for their sacrifice. Because of all this, my gratefulness to our veterans is genuine. Heck, even as I write it, I become more acutely aware of how grateful I am for those who served and have served in the military. Wow. Thank you, Vets!
I suppose my ambivalence, then, is about how and when to say thank you, and why. A few years ago, I was on a bus when a man in Army fatigues stepped on. A mother, with a toddler, instructed her child to say "Thank You" to him for his service. He accepted the thanks. But I couldn't help wonder: she doesn't know what this guy's career has looked like; she doesn't know if this guy has seen frontline, or even backline combat; even if he has, she doesn't know exactly how he comported himself there. While I am grateful to our military service members as a collective, I don't know how each of them behaves as an individual representing me. Though, I think it's fair to say that the vaaaaassst majority of military service members behave honorably, and within codes of conduct, how do I know a random stranger in uniform is the paragon of integrity?
My favorite childhood friend's father was a policeman who died helping people. And I trust that the vast majority of police officers in this country honor their badges and their communities. However, a dear, dear friend of mine was also raped by a cop. He did time and lost his badge, thankfully. But I'm sure there are other crooked cops out there who get away with this crap, frequently. I am terribly thankful to our police force for keeping us safe. Seriously, as much as I hate getting tickets, I am so grateful that there are people who enforce the rule of law. But do we teach our children to say thank you to police officers for their service when we just see them randomly on the street? Maybe some do, but I don't know that it's as broadly accepted a convention as thanking random military service members. And if we do, then when we thank the random cop, are we thanking one like my friend's dad, or are we thanking one like my friend's rapist? We never know a stranger's back story or past deeds. Thanking a stranger, based on his or her profession seems kind of hollow to me. (And again, my annoyance: no stranger has ever thanked my mom for being a teacher, nor my dad for being clergy, and I wouldn't be surprised if no stranger has ever randomly thanked my mother in law for being a nurse.)
I consider myself a patriot: I dutifully pay my taxes, without whining (I'm actually okay with paying for services my government provides - like roads, libraries and the military!) I vote in most elections, I even contact my representatives when an issue moves me enough. But I don't thank random strangers for their military service, just because I see evidence of their service. I feel guilty about lacking that impulse. Like I'm an ungrateful, bad citizen.
Honey served in the military for several years, and occasionally, when someone learns of this, they might thank him. The last time I remember someone thanking him was at a wedding last year. It was a table-mate; someone we didn't know and were just chit-chatting with. I later asked Honey what he thinks when strangers thank him for his service. He always graciously accepts the thanks, but he's ambivalent, too. He told me he's known plenty of people in the service who are assholes, who do the bare minimum, who you wouldn't necessarily be proud to have defending you, if you really knew them, so he kind of sees the random thanks as less meaningful. Along the same lines, a friend of mine who spent the 80s and 90s in the Air Force addressed the thanks he got on Facebook with self-deprecating humor: All I really did was drink a lot and learn to swear in foreign languages. I'm sure he did more than that, but the point I take from that is that not everyone in uniform saw combat and defended in the sense that we like to imagine. More significant to me was the rest of his response: But thanks. It means a lot. I haven't asked him, so I don't know, but I took this to mean that the thanks is meaningful because it comes from a friend. This isn't an apples to apples comparison, but random people on the street have congratulated me on having a new baby. I accept it, but their congratulations means far less to me than that of friends and family.
I should divorce my dislike of thanking random vets for their service from my desire to thank the collective. It's not fair to my friends and family who have served honorably in whatever capacity. I am a "partly cloudy patriot." I'll admit it. (Incidentally, if anyone wants to get me that book - or that other newer one Sarah Vowell wrote - you'd definitely get a huge thanks from me!) Maybe it's my tendency to be contrary, but almost any time the masses wave flags, wax sentimental and hum America the Beautiful, I kind of crinkle up my nose and think, "really?" Unless it's the Fourth of July, because, then, dammit: citizen, soldier, immigrant or fan, America is the best damn country on the planet! But I digress. Though few read this blog (largely because they don't know about it), I'll use this space to thank my friends and family who have served, using initials and pseudonyms, because you know how I am about my anonymity.
Thank you: Honey, Grandfather SM (WWII, Pacific), Honey's grandfather LM (WWII, Europe, Africa), Honey's other grandfather RF (WWII, Europe), Cousin PH, Cousin MG (OEF), Uncle TM, Uncle RAM, Uncle CR, Uncle BP, SB, SW, JM** (VietNam), AB (Afghanistan), PB, JP, RGR ... and probably lots of other friends I'm having difficulty recalling in the twilight of dawn after a mostly sleepless nights. You're all awesome and I'm relieved to have had you, specifically, guarding us.
** and thanks for coaching my tee-ball team when I was five and fathering my friends. They miss you.
Twenty-five years ago, yesterday, the father of one of my favorite childhood friends was murdered. He was a cop, just off duty, on his way home. He spotted an accident, moments after it occurred, and he pulled over to help. The driver and passenger were out of the car, and as he approached them, asking if they were okay, one of them shot him in the chest. What he didn't know was that they were fleeing a robbery. They'd just knocked over a convenience store, if I remember correctly. They panicked when they saw a police officer approaching. The perpetrators were caught within a few hours. They were convicted and a few years later, one of them was executed. (The trigger-man, I always presumed, though I don't recall.) This memory is a big, multi-faceted one for me. One of the facets of that memory for me was that he died on Veterans' Day and he was a VietNam vet.
Yesterday, when many people had the day off, and everyone was thanking vets on Facebook and Twitter and in memorial services for their service, my thoughts turned to my friend's dad. He died serving his fellow man. Not as a soldier, not even as a cop (since he was off-duty), but as a concerned citizen. We thank his military service with Veterans' Day, but how do we thank his civil service or his citizen service?
Veterans' Day is frequently a hard one for me to wrap around. Probably largely because I carry a lot of ambivalence about the role of our military in our country. It's also probably hard for me to process Veterans' Day during wartime. And, I guess, I'm a little annoyed that we don't really publicly recognize the service of others in our society with even half as much appreciation. When is Teachers' Day, Clergy Day, EMT Day, Coal-miners' Day, Water Sanitation Provider Day? These people rarely die in the execution of their jobs, but they educate you, comfort you, keep your heart pumping, keep your house fueled and keep you from getting cholera on a daily basis. And each comes with its unique set of skills and training. Where are their honors in rhetoric and mall sales?
When I consider the training that goes into being a military service member and the discipline that it instills, I'm nothing less than impressed. When I consider the time away from family that we demand of our service members in the service of military goals, I am sympathetic. When I consider the physical conditions our service members endure during war time and other times of conflict - and I suspect my imagination is a paltry shadow of what they actually endure - I am, indeed, grateful that they are trained and willing to go through that on my behalf. (Seriously. Thank you!) And when a military service member dies in battle, or while serving, I am humbled and thankful for their sacrifice. Because of all this, my gratefulness to our veterans is genuine. Heck, even as I write it, I become more acutely aware of how grateful I am for those who served and have served in the military. Wow. Thank you, Vets!
I suppose my ambivalence, then, is about how and when to say thank you, and why. A few years ago, I was on a bus when a man in Army fatigues stepped on. A mother, with a toddler, instructed her child to say "Thank You" to him for his service. He accepted the thanks. But I couldn't help wonder: she doesn't know what this guy's career has looked like; she doesn't know if this guy has seen frontline, or even backline combat; even if he has, she doesn't know exactly how he comported himself there. While I am grateful to our military service members as a collective, I don't know how each of them behaves as an individual representing me. Though, I think it's fair to say that the vaaaaassst majority of military service members behave honorably, and within codes of conduct, how do I know a random stranger in uniform is the paragon of integrity?
My favorite childhood friend's father was a policeman who died helping people. And I trust that the vast majority of police officers in this country honor their badges and their communities. However, a dear, dear friend of mine was also raped by a cop. He did time and lost his badge, thankfully. But I'm sure there are other crooked cops out there who get away with this crap, frequently. I am terribly thankful to our police force for keeping us safe. Seriously, as much as I hate getting tickets, I am so grateful that there are people who enforce the rule of law. But do we teach our children to say thank you to police officers for their service when we just see them randomly on the street? Maybe some do, but I don't know that it's as broadly accepted a convention as thanking random military service members. And if we do, then when we thank the random cop, are we thanking one like my friend's dad, or are we thanking one like my friend's rapist? We never know a stranger's back story or past deeds. Thanking a stranger, based on his or her profession seems kind of hollow to me. (And again, my annoyance: no stranger has ever thanked my mom for being a teacher, nor my dad for being clergy, and I wouldn't be surprised if no stranger has ever randomly thanked my mother in law for being a nurse.)
I consider myself a patriot: I dutifully pay my taxes, without whining (I'm actually okay with paying for services my government provides - like roads, libraries and the military!) I vote in most elections, I even contact my representatives when an issue moves me enough. But I don't thank random strangers for their military service, just because I see evidence of their service. I feel guilty about lacking that impulse. Like I'm an ungrateful, bad citizen.
Honey served in the military for several years, and occasionally, when someone learns of this, they might thank him. The last time I remember someone thanking him was at a wedding last year. It was a table-mate; someone we didn't know and were just chit-chatting with. I later asked Honey what he thinks when strangers thank him for his service. He always graciously accepts the thanks, but he's ambivalent, too. He told me he's known plenty of people in the service who are assholes, who do the bare minimum, who you wouldn't necessarily be proud to have defending you, if you really knew them, so he kind of sees the random thanks as less meaningful. Along the same lines, a friend of mine who spent the 80s and 90s in the Air Force addressed the thanks he got on Facebook with self-deprecating humor: All I really did was drink a lot and learn to swear in foreign languages. I'm sure he did more than that, but the point I take from that is that not everyone in uniform saw combat and defended in the sense that we like to imagine. More significant to me was the rest of his response: But thanks. It means a lot. I haven't asked him, so I don't know, but I took this to mean that the thanks is meaningful because it comes from a friend. This isn't an apples to apples comparison, but random people on the street have congratulated me on having a new baby. I accept it, but their congratulations means far less to me than that of friends and family.
I should divorce my dislike of thanking random vets for their service from my desire to thank the collective. It's not fair to my friends and family who have served honorably in whatever capacity. I am a "partly cloudy patriot." I'll admit it. (Incidentally, if anyone wants to get me that book - or that other newer one Sarah Vowell wrote - you'd definitely get a huge thanks from me!) Maybe it's my tendency to be contrary, but almost any time the masses wave flags, wax sentimental and hum America the Beautiful, I kind of crinkle up my nose and think, "really?" Unless it's the Fourth of July, because, then, dammit: citizen, soldier, immigrant or fan, America is the best damn country on the planet! But I digress. Though few read this blog (largely because they don't know about it), I'll use this space to thank my friends and family who have served, using initials and pseudonyms, because you know how I am about my anonymity.
Thank you: Honey, Grandfather SM (WWII, Pacific), Honey's grandfather LM (WWII, Europe, Africa), Honey's other grandfather RF (WWII, Europe), Cousin PH, Cousin MG (OEF), Uncle TM, Uncle RAM, Uncle CR, Uncle BP, SB, SW, JM** (VietNam), AB (Afghanistan), PB, JP, RGR ... and probably lots of other friends I'm having difficulty recalling in the twilight of dawn after a mostly sleepless nights. You're all awesome and I'm relieved to have had you, specifically, guarding us.
** and thanks for coaching my tee-ball team when I was five and fathering my friends. They miss you.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Religious Literacy
Lookee here! It hasn't been six months, only two! I told you I'd write more often. Who knows? Maybe there will even be another before we see the end of 2010!
I haven't gotten over the hurt written about in the previous post. Not sure I ever will. But I'm working on forgiving. Secret Agent Woman left a very true comment after my last post. Honestly, I don't think I'm ready forgive one of the members of the offending party. The other member (party of 2, you see) apologized and asked for my forgiveness up front, and I granted it. In the meantime, I'm following my therapist's advice and trying to reach out to person 1. I've deduced from the little response received, and prior conversations, that that person is relatively insecure. Which is sad. And which may be why person 1 cornered person 2 into deliberately hurting me. So, now I'm feeling sorry for Offending Person 1, and hoping that I can move to forgiving him/her through pity.
Besides, if so many in South Africa can forgive their vicious, violent oppressors (and yes, I know that's debatable en masse) then I can learn to forgive an insecure, immature offender who probably has no idea how much his/her action hurts me and those around him/her. That's all I'll write on that.
Onto more interesting things. (And I apologize for the lengthy vanity trip above.) This week, a study by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life was floating around on Facebook. It looked at elementary religious literacy of Americans, and their general knowledge of public expressions and public religious figures. I'll be honest, I didn't read the full story; I jumped straight to the 15-question quiz to see how I compared to most Americans. The average American falls around 50%; I got 100%. I took the full 32 question survey, and only missed one. (To the Learnin' Mobile, PK!) The thrust of the study, however, was that atheists and agnostics scored higher on the quiz, on average than those who self-identified any faith.
Online, my atheist friends - who also took the quiz - crowed a little bit (okay, so did I) and one of my clergy friends used it as a call for the church to do a better job with religious education. Perhaps not surprisingly, when I glanced at the results question for question in the study, most of the wrong answers on content were delivered by people outside their own religion. Atheists didn't know who Job was, for example, and Christian Evangelicals weren't sure what Ramadan was, etc. Those not identifying as anything - not atheist, not believers, not agnostics - seemed to do as well as anyone else, though again, weak on the content questions.
I don't really want to explore here what it means that there was a knowledge gap between non-believers and belivers. But it's worth noting that not all the questions were about Bible stories or Christian dogma, but about elementary aspects of many religions - including mythology and doctrine - as well as religious history in America and public expressions of religion. What I find interesting is that few people, regardless of how they identified, did well with the questions about religious history or public expression. Specifically, school prayer, Bible reading in school and spot the preacher from the First Great Awakening. Everyone basically got the last one wrong. I can understand why someone may get a doctrine question wrong in someone else's religion (heck, even in their own), but why the generic religion-in-society questions?
I suspect we don't really know how to talk about religion, religious heritage or items of faith or spiritual nourishment and exercise in our society. It makes us uneasy. What are generally regarded as the two taboo topics of conversation whenever you meet someone or are at a party? Religion and politics. Is there any wonder than that we're culturally ignorant? It's like religion (maybe politics, too) is the sex of the modern age. Because it's so personal, it's volatile and we don't discuss it. Or when we do, we just sneer at each other and reduce the other to withering stereotypes.
Despite this, I'm very grateful to the education I received growing up. Not just my religious education about my own religion's sacred stories and doctrine. But that my father and schoolteachers taught us about religious influence in public life.
For instance, when I was in high school, English Lit classes in Texas followed a certain path: 9th grade was focused on English (as in British) lit; 10th grade was general lit with heavier emphasis on poetry; 11th grade focused on American literary genres and movements - with heavier emphasis on the novel, I think; 12th grade ... I don't remember. (Who remembers their senior year?) In 11th grade, we covered the major movements from early colonial days up through WW2, I think. Maybe just the Harlem Renaissance. Included among those early colony movements were the essay, pamphlets and ... the sermon. I remember we learned about Cotton Mather and Jonathan Edwards. We read "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," not as prosetylization, but as an artifact of the period. We discussed how that sermon influenced the general thought of the day. Just like we read "Thanatopsis" and discussed the spiritualism trend in literature during the period. Just like we read Twain and discussed how his writing affected the public. Just because we were being exposed to writings of a religious nature, didn't mean that we were being "preached to."
Likewise, in 10th grade world history class, we had a section about world religions. I don't remember how long we spent on the world's 5 most popular religions, but I do remember that we learned about the Vedas, the Bagavad Ghita and different big movements in Buddhism. For the quiz about the world religion segment, we had to list 5 of the 10 commandments, 4 of the 8 noble truths, maybe all 5 tenets of Islam, or maybe 3 (I can't recall). I think we had to list some of the books of the Torah, too. That sounds familiar. And I don't remember what core principles we were supposed to know about Christianity and Hinduism. Maybe the resurrection for Christianity and the cycle of life and death for Hinduism? Sure. We'll say that. None of this was delivered with any hint of favoritism or bias, even though I'd put money on it that every one of the students in the classroom, and the teacher too, were either Christian in practice or personal history. I don't know how that compares to the general American public high school education. However, my husband, who attended a much larger, much wealthier school that produces plenty of white collar, college-bound grads (as opposed to my school which produces a lot of blue collar workers and straight-to-military), doesn't recall any such exposure in school.
Because of Dad's great admiration for the First Amendment as well as for free expression of religion, I got what I think is a clearer picture of religious freedom rights in America. I was grateful that teacher-led school prayer had been struck down, but not fearful of my teacher ever uttering the word "god" in any context other than a swear word.
Theologian Elaine Pagels believes we should teach religion in America's public schools. Not as proselytization, but as academic study. She may be right. We don't do it now, and how has it helped us? So many Americans are ignorant about other religions. (Hell, their own, as well.) I thank God and my forebears for our secular government; the separation of church and state is probably my favorite amendment. But would talking about religion violate the establishment clause? I don't know that teaching religion would ever occur in the U.S. There is a lot of mistrust that floats around. Who decides on how each religion is represented?
I guess my big question is this: Who does it benefit for us to be ignorant of others' religions, our own religions and the influence of those religions? The current tsunami of Islamophobia clearly benefits no one. It weakens our country in so many ways. The apparently misguided notion that a public school teacher is legally disallowed to read from the Bible as a piece of literature serves to strengthen those who believe that Christianity is under attack. If you don't know Martin Luther from Martin Luther King, then you miss massive catalysts for revolution in western history.
Religion matters. Just like sex matters. If we can learn to talk more openly about sex, while still respecting the personal importance it carries, why can't we learn to do the same about religious matters?
I haven't gotten over the hurt written about in the previous post. Not sure I ever will. But I'm working on forgiving. Secret Agent Woman left a very true comment after my last post. Honestly, I don't think I'm ready forgive one of the members of the offending party. The other member (party of 2, you see) apologized and asked for my forgiveness up front, and I granted it. In the meantime, I'm following my therapist's advice and trying to reach out to person 1. I've deduced from the little response received, and prior conversations, that that person is relatively insecure. Which is sad. And which may be why person 1 cornered person 2 into deliberately hurting me. So, now I'm feeling sorry for Offending Person 1, and hoping that I can move to forgiving him/her through pity.
Besides, if so many in South Africa can forgive their vicious, violent oppressors (and yes, I know that's debatable en masse) then I can learn to forgive an insecure, immature offender who probably has no idea how much his/her action hurts me and those around him/her. That's all I'll write on that.
Onto more interesting things. (And I apologize for the lengthy vanity trip above.) This week, a study by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life was floating around on Facebook. It looked at elementary religious literacy of Americans, and their general knowledge of public expressions and public religious figures. I'll be honest, I didn't read the full story; I jumped straight to the 15-question quiz to see how I compared to most Americans. The average American falls around 50%; I got 100%. I took the full 32 question survey, and only missed one. (To the Learnin' Mobile, PK!) The thrust of the study, however, was that atheists and agnostics scored higher on the quiz, on average than those who self-identified any faith.
Online, my atheist friends - who also took the quiz - crowed a little bit (okay, so did I) and one of my clergy friends used it as a call for the church to do a better job with religious education. Perhaps not surprisingly, when I glanced at the results question for question in the study, most of the wrong answers on content were delivered by people outside their own religion. Atheists didn't know who Job was, for example, and Christian Evangelicals weren't sure what Ramadan was, etc. Those not identifying as anything - not atheist, not believers, not agnostics - seemed to do as well as anyone else, though again, weak on the content questions.
I don't really want to explore here what it means that there was a knowledge gap between non-believers and belivers. But it's worth noting that not all the questions were about Bible stories or Christian dogma, but about elementary aspects of many religions - including mythology and doctrine - as well as religious history in America and public expressions of religion. What I find interesting is that few people, regardless of how they identified, did well with the questions about religious history or public expression. Specifically, school prayer, Bible reading in school and spot the preacher from the First Great Awakening. Everyone basically got the last one wrong. I can understand why someone may get a doctrine question wrong in someone else's religion (heck, even in their own), but why the generic religion-in-society questions?
I suspect we don't really know how to talk about religion, religious heritage or items of faith or spiritual nourishment and exercise in our society. It makes us uneasy. What are generally regarded as the two taboo topics of conversation whenever you meet someone or are at a party? Religion and politics. Is there any wonder than that we're culturally ignorant? It's like religion (maybe politics, too) is the sex of the modern age. Because it's so personal, it's volatile and we don't discuss it. Or when we do, we just sneer at each other and reduce the other to withering stereotypes.
Despite this, I'm very grateful to the education I received growing up. Not just my religious education about my own religion's sacred stories and doctrine. But that my father and schoolteachers taught us about religious influence in public life.
For instance, when I was in high school, English Lit classes in Texas followed a certain path: 9th grade was focused on English (as in British) lit; 10th grade was general lit with heavier emphasis on poetry; 11th grade focused on American literary genres and movements - with heavier emphasis on the novel, I think; 12th grade ... I don't remember. (Who remembers their senior year?) In 11th grade, we covered the major movements from early colonial days up through WW2, I think. Maybe just the Harlem Renaissance. Included among those early colony movements were the essay, pamphlets and ... the sermon. I remember we learned about Cotton Mather and Jonathan Edwards. We read "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," not as prosetylization, but as an artifact of the period. We discussed how that sermon influenced the general thought of the day. Just like we read "Thanatopsis" and discussed the spiritualism trend in literature during the period. Just like we read Twain and discussed how his writing affected the public. Just because we were being exposed to writings of a religious nature, didn't mean that we were being "preached to."
Likewise, in 10th grade world history class, we had a section about world religions. I don't remember how long we spent on the world's 5 most popular religions, but I do remember that we learned about the Vedas, the Bagavad Ghita and different big movements in Buddhism. For the quiz about the world religion segment, we had to list 5 of the 10 commandments, 4 of the 8 noble truths, maybe all 5 tenets of Islam, or maybe 3 (I can't recall). I think we had to list some of the books of the Torah, too. That sounds familiar. And I don't remember what core principles we were supposed to know about Christianity and Hinduism. Maybe the resurrection for Christianity and the cycle of life and death for Hinduism? Sure. We'll say that. None of this was delivered with any hint of favoritism or bias, even though I'd put money on it that every one of the students in the classroom, and the teacher too, were either Christian in practice or personal history. I don't know how that compares to the general American public high school education. However, my husband, who attended a much larger, much wealthier school that produces plenty of white collar, college-bound grads (as opposed to my school which produces a lot of blue collar workers and straight-to-military), doesn't recall any such exposure in school.
Because of Dad's great admiration for the First Amendment as well as for free expression of religion, I got what I think is a clearer picture of religious freedom rights in America. I was grateful that teacher-led school prayer had been struck down, but not fearful of my teacher ever uttering the word "god" in any context other than a swear word.
Theologian Elaine Pagels believes we should teach religion in America's public schools. Not as proselytization, but as academic study. She may be right. We don't do it now, and how has it helped us? So many Americans are ignorant about other religions. (Hell, their own, as well.) I thank God and my forebears for our secular government; the separation of church and state is probably my favorite amendment. But would talking about religion violate the establishment clause? I don't know that teaching religion would ever occur in the U.S. There is a lot of mistrust that floats around. Who decides on how each religion is represented?
I guess my big question is this: Who does it benefit for us to be ignorant of others' religions, our own religions and the influence of those religions? The current tsunami of Islamophobia clearly benefits no one. It weakens our country in so many ways. The apparently misguided notion that a public school teacher is legally disallowed to read from the Bible as a piece of literature serves to strengthen those who believe that Christianity is under attack. If you don't know Martin Luther from Martin Luther King, then you miss massive catalysts for revolution in western history.
Religion matters. Just like sex matters. If we can learn to talk more openly about sex, while still respecting the personal importance it carries, why can't we learn to do the same about religious matters?
Monday, July 26, 2010
How do I Shake This?
If anyone is reading this, I'm astounded. Not just because I've not posted in 6 months (holy cow, has it been that long?), but because I've fallen so far behind in my reading of others' blogs that I can't imagine anyone knows I'm still around. (Also, I feel bad for not reading your blogs.) Nevertheless, I'm blogging tonight, largely because I just want to post something. Anything.
In the last 6 months, there have been many topics that have drifted past my purview and I've thought, "Oh! I want to blog on that, this week!" And then it doesn't happen. Baby. Other work. Exhaustion. Vacation. You name it. But one item has really kind of stuck in my craw in the last 6 months and I don't know how to blog about it, much less get over it. It's hard to blog about this "it" because of personal sensitivities ... though I blog mostly anonymously, I make it a personal policy not to write anything here that I wouldn't feel comfortable addressing with the subject of my post, in person. It's hard to get over this "it" because I'm very deeply hurt. Crushed, really. And angry.
I'll just say this: the phenomenon I described in this post, about feeling left out of my broader family, is beginning to feel amplified. And it is not accidental; it is somewhat by design. And that is generally not part of my personality, to deliberately alienate someone - particularly family. Heck, sometimes I find myself being cold to someone because they irritate or upset me for whatever reason and I try very, very hard to be more congenial and kind. (I don't know how evident that is, but I do try.) And deliberate punishment is really not part of my family's behavior either, so I find the whole activity rather confusing, and galling.
This tacit tiff - it's very passive-agressive behavior - that I was a part of and didn't know I was a part of until much later, is beginning to cool. Once I learned of my offense, I immediately moved to making amends. And, to my family member's credit, he/she is moving to making amends with me, too. But it's on his/her terms, not mine. Not that it has to be on mine, but we've each offended, and it would be nice if some reconciliation was on some of my terms, too. What hurts most is that I wasn't even aware I had offended, and instead of addressing the situation with me, this family member decided to spite me. To deliberately hurt me - punish me - without giving me the benefit of knowing what I had done so I could address it, first. He/She decided to let me twist in pain wondering why I was made to suffer. It's just so little and juvenile.
And I want to get over it. I really do. Really. Truly. I do. Because I love my family - all of them. I want to have good times. I'm just not sure how, right now. I think the fact that we're making healing movements toward eachother is a good sign. I just really wish I knew how to stop hurting. I don't know that it will come in any way other than a specific apology from this person. I'm thinking I might apologize for the accidental gaffe on my part that inspired the hurtful behavior. At least that way, it's on the table. And I can have a fully clean conscience. And just hope that the other person decides to apologize for the hurt he/she caused. I think that's what I'll do. I won't count on a reciprocal apology. In my experience, if someone is going to deliberately hurt you, they probably think they've got the moral authority to do so, and apology is not a priority. But I never want to be the person who does the selfish thing. I always want to be the peacemaker; the one who does the right thing. A stubborn pride doesn't keep you warm at night. A clean conscience does.
In the last 6 months, there have been many topics that have drifted past my purview and I've thought, "Oh! I want to blog on that, this week!" And then it doesn't happen. Baby. Other work. Exhaustion. Vacation. You name it. But one item has really kind of stuck in my craw in the last 6 months and I don't know how to blog about it, much less get over it. It's hard to blog about this "it" because of personal sensitivities ... though I blog mostly anonymously, I make it a personal policy not to write anything here that I wouldn't feel comfortable addressing with the subject of my post, in person. It's hard to get over this "it" because I'm very deeply hurt. Crushed, really. And angry.
I'll just say this: the phenomenon I described in this post, about feeling left out of my broader family, is beginning to feel amplified. And it is not accidental; it is somewhat by design. And that is generally not part of my personality, to deliberately alienate someone - particularly family. Heck, sometimes I find myself being cold to someone because they irritate or upset me for whatever reason and I try very, very hard to be more congenial and kind. (I don't know how evident that is, but I do try.) And deliberate punishment is really not part of my family's behavior either, so I find the whole activity rather confusing, and galling.
This tacit tiff - it's very passive-agressive behavior - that I was a part of and didn't know I was a part of until much later, is beginning to cool. Once I learned of my offense, I immediately moved to making amends. And, to my family member's credit, he/she is moving to making amends with me, too. But it's on his/her terms, not mine. Not that it has to be on mine, but we've each offended, and it would be nice if some reconciliation was on some of my terms, too. What hurts most is that I wasn't even aware I had offended, and instead of addressing the situation with me, this family member decided to spite me. To deliberately hurt me - punish me - without giving me the benefit of knowing what I had done so I could address it, first. He/She decided to let me twist in pain wondering why I was made to suffer. It's just so little and juvenile.
And I want to get over it. I really do. Really. Truly. I do. Because I love my family - all of them. I want to have good times. I'm just not sure how, right now. I think the fact that we're making healing movements toward eachother is a good sign. I just really wish I knew how to stop hurting. I don't know that it will come in any way other than a specific apology from this person. I'm thinking I might apologize for the accidental gaffe on my part that inspired the hurtful behavior. At least that way, it's on the table. And I can have a fully clean conscience. And just hope that the other person decides to apologize for the hurt he/she caused. I think that's what I'll do. I won't count on a reciprocal apology. In my experience, if someone is going to deliberately hurt you, they probably think they've got the moral authority to do so, and apology is not a priority. But I never want to be the person who does the selfish thing. I always want to be the peacemaker; the one who does the right thing. A stubborn pride doesn't keep you warm at night. A clean conscience does.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Surfacing, Crowning, or what have you
I've been meaning to write for several weeks, now. And I've been meaning to catch up on your blogs for a couple of months, now.
Here's the update: despite three individual complications - only one of which was relatively benign and could be more reasonably called an annoyance more than a complication - I delivered a healthy baby girl 6 weeks before her due date. Due to the complications, I was scheduled to deliver her at 35 weeks, but life being what it is, after yet another "oh shit" incident, we had to have an emergency C-section 5 days before her scheduled one. Though I think the final incident that preceded her birth could've been ridden out, as had other similar incidents that month, my doctor and the amazing staff at the hospital decided 4 "prep the gurney" incidents in a month was enough and to not take any more chances. I'm glad they didn't.
Honey and I are now the amazed parents of a little strawberry-blonde wiggly worm I will henceforth call Shortcake (like Strawberry Shortcake, get it?) on this blog. If she wasn't swaddled 90% of the time, she'd like to sleep with one arm over her head, just like her father. And like her mother, her hair changes color in different lights ... and she has my forehead. Luckily, she heard enough of Babydog's barking in utero not to be affected by it on the outside. Likewise, because she spent the first two weeks of life in the NICU, surrounded by lights, alarms, radios, screaming babies and jocular nurses, she's pretty unbothered by any sudden sounds or lights or what have you. For the most part, she's a pretty easy baby.
I return briefly to the "amazed" adjective. Honey and I are most certainly proud parents, but I like to think we're also really amazed. Amazed that we've been entrusted with the care of another human being from birth to the threshold of adulthood, amazed at how much our perspectives on life and about ourselves have shifted virtually overnight, and amazed that we have her at all.
There are several reasons to be amazed that we have her at all, and almost all of them have to do with chance. I could go into the tiny turns of fate that led to her getting here - we're all the results of chance, really - but sometimes I look at her and thank God she was born when and where she was. You see, of the two not-benign complications I had, one would've been fatal for her, and possibly me, as early as 50 years ago. We both certainly would've died 100 or more years ago. But the wide availability of C-section and ultrasound have made that complication easily and usually survivable these days. The other not-benign complication is one that would've been fatal for her, possibly as recently as 10 years ago. That complication, to this day, is often diagnosed after delivery, as in: "oh, that's why the baby died." And it's rare. Rare enough that most of my nurses in the high risk pregnancy ward had to look it up when I or my doctor told them what I had. And they always returned slightly ashen-faced and treated me with more kid-like kid gloves than they were prepared to. (I finally looked up the mortality rates, after Shortcake was safely with us. Those statistics are entirely against the favor of the baby.) Thankfully, advances in ultrasound technology have made that complication easier to spot at all, but not every ultrasound lab has the technology available still. So I'm thrilled that my choice of OBGYN gave me the chance to go to the lab I went to; my previous OBGYN would've directed me to another lab, which is good, but not as equipped. Had that happened, I may have carried to term and lost my daughter in delivery or sooner. So, yup. I'm an amazed parent, not just proud.
For those interested, below is a photo of Shortcake's precious right ear. This ear is resting in the crook of my elbow right now. This ear hears me sing into it and will hear sweet nothings whispered into it in the future. How I hope to never be the source of any vitriol or anger to pour into that sweet little ear. If I could, I would protect that ear forever from such rage. But as I can't, I hope I can shepherd this child such that she can hear that and filter it; to listen for the opportunities to deliver comfort to the pain behind the rage or to stand up against the evil in the rage.
I'll try to post more than just once a month! And best yet, I'll try to catch up on all your blogs, soon. In the meantime, I've got a dirty diaper to change!
Here's the update: despite three individual complications - only one of which was relatively benign and could be more reasonably called an annoyance more than a complication - I delivered a healthy baby girl 6 weeks before her due date. Due to the complications, I was scheduled to deliver her at 35 weeks, but life being what it is, after yet another "oh shit" incident, we had to have an emergency C-section 5 days before her scheduled one. Though I think the final incident that preceded her birth could've been ridden out, as had other similar incidents that month, my doctor and the amazing staff at the hospital decided 4 "prep the gurney" incidents in a month was enough and to not take any more chances. I'm glad they didn't.
Honey and I are now the amazed parents of a little strawberry-blonde wiggly worm I will henceforth call Shortcake (like Strawberry Shortcake, get it?) on this blog. If she wasn't swaddled 90% of the time, she'd like to sleep with one arm over her head, just like her father. And like her mother, her hair changes color in different lights ... and she has my forehead. Luckily, she heard enough of Babydog's barking in utero not to be affected by it on the outside. Likewise, because she spent the first two weeks of life in the NICU, surrounded by lights, alarms, radios, screaming babies and jocular nurses, she's pretty unbothered by any sudden sounds or lights or what have you. For the most part, she's a pretty easy baby.
I return briefly to the "amazed" adjective. Honey and I are most certainly proud parents, but I like to think we're also really amazed. Amazed that we've been entrusted with the care of another human being from birth to the threshold of adulthood, amazed at how much our perspectives on life and about ourselves have shifted virtually overnight, and amazed that we have her at all.
There are several reasons to be amazed that we have her at all, and almost all of them have to do with chance. I could go into the tiny turns of fate that led to her getting here - we're all the results of chance, really - but sometimes I look at her and thank God she was born when and where she was. You see, of the two not-benign complications I had, one would've been fatal for her, and possibly me, as early as 50 years ago. We both certainly would've died 100 or more years ago. But the wide availability of C-section and ultrasound have made that complication easily and usually survivable these days. The other not-benign complication is one that would've been fatal for her, possibly as recently as 10 years ago. That complication, to this day, is often diagnosed after delivery, as in: "oh, that's why the baby died." And it's rare. Rare enough that most of my nurses in the high risk pregnancy ward had to look it up when I or my doctor told them what I had. And they always returned slightly ashen-faced and treated me with more kid-like kid gloves than they were prepared to. (I finally looked up the mortality rates, after Shortcake was safely with us. Those statistics are entirely against the favor of the baby.) Thankfully, advances in ultrasound technology have made that complication easier to spot at all, but not every ultrasound lab has the technology available still. So I'm thrilled that my choice of OBGYN gave me the chance to go to the lab I went to; my previous OBGYN would've directed me to another lab, which is good, but not as equipped. Had that happened, I may have carried to term and lost my daughter in delivery or sooner. So, yup. I'm an amazed parent, not just proud.
For those interested, below is a photo of Shortcake's precious right ear. This ear is resting in the crook of my elbow right now. This ear hears me sing into it and will hear sweet nothings whispered into it in the future. How I hope to never be the source of any vitriol or anger to pour into that sweet little ear. If I could, I would protect that ear forever from such rage. But as I can't, I hope I can shepherd this child such that she can hear that and filter it; to listen for the opportunities to deliver comfort to the pain behind the rage or to stand up against the evil in the rage.
I'll try to post more than just once a month! And best yet, I'll try to catch up on all your blogs, soon. In the meantime, I've got a dirty diaper to change!
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