I'm not big into confrontations. I don't shy away from them when they happen, but it's not in my nature to go out looking for a fight. I will, however, admit to a higher-than-average amount of puckishness in my nature. I like to shake people up a little, move them out of their comfort zone, see how they handle a little life unexpectedly.
Most people fail. For example, way back in the day, Joy and I went to our friend's church in Weirton, West Virginia. We had never been to this church, didn't know anyone from this church (except for our friend), and unless I looked it up, I don't know that I'd even recall this church's name. I remember it was white on the outside, but most churches are, I suppose.
To the story: a certain man was emceeing the church service (possibly a whole blog post on THAT later), and he announced it was time for everyone to go around and shake hands and greet and "fellowship" with one another. (Isn't that just so churchy, to try and make something holy by giving it a nice little Bible word to go with it? "Fellowship" is a deeper interpersonal connection than walking up to someone and shaking their hand.) (Mental note: another blog post...)
So this over-friendly woman comes up and shakes my hand. As with the previous post about church people, this one rubbed me all wrong. Friendly is one thing; peppering your speech with "religious Tourette," holding on a little too tight, looking a little too interestedly in the face of the nice young man who has your attention...All these made my inner Robin Goodfellow want to act up.
These days, I'm a lot more genteel about such things. I've grown panache, or maybe I've just gotten tired in my old age.
Back then, though...
So immediately after she says her initial wide-eyed and breathless "Praise the Lord Hallelujah good morning it's so good to see you," I respond in kind. Pumping her hand enthusiastically, I trumpeted, "Good morning! Welcome to my church! I'm so glad you came this morning!" Her eyes went a bit wider as she tried to find us in her mental Rolodex and failed. At this point, she had lost all control of the conversation. I had verbally swept her legs out from under her. She should have let go of my hand and just walked away.
Instead, she spewed out some more empty religious rhetoric, mentioned before as "religious Tourette." Anyone who has spent any amount of time in a church knows what I'm talking about: the random "Praise the Lord!" shouted at an inopportune time, a weighty "Amen!" when the pastor sneezes, trumpeting a "Help her, Jesus!" when the soloist bobbles the high note in her special. I can't even recall what she said, it was so generic, mostly about how good it was to see us again (for the first time?), making something up about how she had been meaning to come over and see us last week (when we were in Glen Dale, WV), asking us about how my parents have been (who live in Beaver Falls, PA, have never attended this church, and are not named Robert and Cheryl), or something like this. Finally, I just smiled and said, "I hope you get saved today," and turned back to Joy. Her reply to that remark? "Hallelujah I hope so!"
When the pastor wrested control of the pulpit from his emcee, he asked for a round of applause for "Elder What's-His-Name and his lovely wife." Those of you with any insight of spirit probably guessed that the lady with whom I had been talking? The lovely wife of Elder What's-His-Name.
All that to say, when life gives you something different, do something different, or else you look like a fool.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
31st Confession
Read this first.
At first blush, it seems like a clear-cut case of racist hate speech. A lynching threat against a black kid, the parents get worried and move away, the school district "deals" with it as per their discipline policy, the story makes the news, and pretty soon, everything will go back to normal. It gets chalked up to the increase of bullying in schools, and while it's obviously something to be saddened about, slightly, as there was no crime, it's something that can be safely swept under the rug.
But should it? On a closer look, it took place in Beloit, Ohio. Beloit is a small town, so obviously the term "hicks in the sticks" might be applied. But an even closer look at the area shows that it's right in the middle of Amish country.
Hate crimes. Amish population.
And to top it off, as there's no blood shed or bruises healed, it's not a crime. I remember the bullying from high school and junior high. I remember the ones that got beaten up and the reasons they got it. I also remember that 90% of the time, I thought that it could have been prevented by words in the right ears: whether those ears were of the administration or the right words spoken to the incensed party, that depended on the situation.
Of course, I was never really bullied, either. I either got along with people, or if I didn't, I was at peace with them as much as I could be. I didn't want to go through life brawling senselessly. I made a promise to myself a long time ago, that if I ever fought, it'd be all the way to the death. I figured that way, I'd never have to fight again. But I also understood that there was no way I wanted to be in a situation that the only way out was a person in a body bag.
I suppose that, if I wanted to assign blame, there's so much to go around that it's not any one person's fault. The board is at fault for not stating more strongly their stance on such things, but I also understand that their hands are tied by red tape. The student who was threatened might be at fault for showing weakness or for not standing up for themselves in an appropriate manner; heck, it might not even be race related if he "stole" someone's girlfriend or whatever. I wasn't there; but I'm hard pressed to see how he couldn't have de-escalated this with a few right words in the right places. The threatening teenager is obviously at fault, but his parents are even more so for allowing their teenage son to have grown up without an appreciation for history. I mean, there are just some things that people don't do: insulting a person's race, faith, and social standing are just a few signs of an underdeveloped mind, and it's a parent's job to develop their child.
Looking at it from a broader spectrum, though, what is bullying? It's an attempt to impose a social order on another individual. What does that look like? It seems to me that it's any sort of intolerance - whether it be based on race, religion, money, or whatever other boundary what we people use to define "ourselves" and "whoever else is out there." While these intolerances may have served a useful function in the past, when food was scarce and mating options were limited, what purpose do they serve now?
Next up: viva la difference?
At first blush, it seems like a clear-cut case of racist hate speech. A lynching threat against a black kid, the parents get worried and move away, the school district "deals" with it as per their discipline policy, the story makes the news, and pretty soon, everything will go back to normal. It gets chalked up to the increase of bullying in schools, and while it's obviously something to be saddened about, slightly, as there was no crime, it's something that can be safely swept under the rug.
But should it? On a closer look, it took place in Beloit, Ohio. Beloit is a small town, so obviously the term "hicks in the sticks" might be applied. But an even closer look at the area shows that it's right in the middle of Amish country.
Hate crimes. Amish population.
And to top it off, as there's no blood shed or bruises healed, it's not a crime. I remember the bullying from high school and junior high. I remember the ones that got beaten up and the reasons they got it. I also remember that 90% of the time, I thought that it could have been prevented by words in the right ears: whether those ears were of the administration or the right words spoken to the incensed party, that depended on the situation.
Of course, I was never really bullied, either. I either got along with people, or if I didn't, I was at peace with them as much as I could be. I didn't want to go through life brawling senselessly. I made a promise to myself a long time ago, that if I ever fought, it'd be all the way to the death. I figured that way, I'd never have to fight again. But I also understood that there was no way I wanted to be in a situation that the only way out was a person in a body bag.
I suppose that, if I wanted to assign blame, there's so much to go around that it's not any one person's fault. The board is at fault for not stating more strongly their stance on such things, but I also understand that their hands are tied by red tape. The student who was threatened might be at fault for showing weakness or for not standing up for themselves in an appropriate manner; heck, it might not even be race related if he "stole" someone's girlfriend or whatever. I wasn't there; but I'm hard pressed to see how he couldn't have de-escalated this with a few right words in the right places. The threatening teenager is obviously at fault, but his parents are even more so for allowing their teenage son to have grown up without an appreciation for history. I mean, there are just some things that people don't do: insulting a person's race, faith, and social standing are just a few signs of an underdeveloped mind, and it's a parent's job to develop their child.
Looking at it from a broader spectrum, though, what is bullying? It's an attempt to impose a social order on another individual. What does that look like? It seems to me that it's any sort of intolerance - whether it be based on race, religion, money, or whatever other boundary what we people use to define "ourselves" and "whoever else is out there." While these intolerances may have served a useful function in the past, when food was scarce and mating options were limited, what purpose do they serve now?
Next up: viva la difference?
Monday, November 8, 2010
30th Confession
I try to be a thankful person, but sometimes, even I miss it. I suppose it's fair to say that most people are thankful for the good things in their life; however, some people miss the good things by looking for better things.
For example, most parents love most of their kids most of the time. I think it's natural, in most cases. I also know how aggravating it can be to raise a child: Edan has driven me to greater depths of patience than I ever thought were possible. But I have never, ever ever wanted to give my boy away. That thought is completely alien to me; why would I want to give away the sweetest, most precious child I know? There are times when I have to rein in my temper, there are times I hold my hand back from slapping three kinds of white off of him, there are even times I'm tempted to lock myself away from him for his preservation; however, there is NEVER a time when I want him out of my life.
In that vein, I completely detest parents who, even jokingly, offer up their child for adoption. Hear my heart clearly on this: there are times and circumstances where it is the only possible solution. Maybe the parent can't afford a child because of their circumstances; I appreciate and applaud that. I came from such a background, and I can only hope that it was an agonizing choice for my mother and father to deliver me into the great unknown. I know that for every principle, there are at least thirty to fifty extenuating circumstances, exceptions, contradictions, and all kinds of cases to not hold to the principle: fine fine fine, whatever. But...
I've seen cases where the parent doesn't seem to care about where their child goes. I've seen times where the parent can't wait to get away from their child, and desperately pawns them off onto whoever happens to be available. I've seen parents who joke about sending their child to military school at age four. I've listened to parent bitch and moan about how their child is abusive or disrespectful, while they model abusive or disrespectful behaviors in public. I've observed the most out of control children, and their parents, and come to the conclusion that the apple doesn't fall from the tree.
Most of the parents who joke about sending their children away have never lost a child. I can tell this, because losing a child punches a hole in your reality that never goes away. There's this void there, where your child is supposed to be, and there's an ache in your bones -- an unsettling "not right"-ness -- that casts a pallor over everything in your life. The pain never fades completely. Your eyes never adjust to where your child is supposed to be. You become keenly aware of how short life is, and how unfair it is that everyone else that you know has healthy kids. No amount of tears ever cleanses your eyes from seeing their corpse; there is no moan or scream of anguish that can be sounded deep enough from your soul to express your loss.
And I wonder: how many of these same parents, who don't have time to listen to their child, who get frustrated by their child's persistence, who regularly wish their child away - what if that wish came true? What if Johnny no longer spoke to you about Toy Story or Iron Man in excited, fragmented tones? What if Sonia's incessant singing were hushed, permanently?
I have a theory about people: the ones who have a "good" life, one seemingly without care or worry, are also the ones that couldn't handle half of the muck that I've slogged through in my life. The ones that curse their job haven't really been ever unemployed. The ones who can't stand their children haven't been hurt by the loss of one. The ones that can't eat anything except "like what mother made" have never been truly hungry. And may God bless and keep them that way, because the alternative is painful.
So if you're reading this, take a minute and hug your kids. Listen to them, despite their inability to speak clearly and at your level. Love them with all that remains of your broken, world-weary heart, because they sure as hellfire love you with all of theirs.
Don't curse what has been given to you as a blessing.
For example, most parents love most of their kids most of the time. I think it's natural, in most cases. I also know how aggravating it can be to raise a child: Edan has driven me to greater depths of patience than I ever thought were possible. But I have never, ever ever wanted to give my boy away. That thought is completely alien to me; why would I want to give away the sweetest, most precious child I know? There are times when I have to rein in my temper, there are times I hold my hand back from slapping three kinds of white off of him, there are even times I'm tempted to lock myself away from him for his preservation; however, there is NEVER a time when I want him out of my life.
In that vein, I completely detest parents who, even jokingly, offer up their child for adoption. Hear my heart clearly on this: there are times and circumstances where it is the only possible solution. Maybe the parent can't afford a child because of their circumstances; I appreciate and applaud that. I came from such a background, and I can only hope that it was an agonizing choice for my mother and father to deliver me into the great unknown. I know that for every principle, there are at least thirty to fifty extenuating circumstances, exceptions, contradictions, and all kinds of cases to not hold to the principle: fine fine fine, whatever. But...
I've seen cases where the parent doesn't seem to care about where their child goes. I've seen times where the parent can't wait to get away from their child, and desperately pawns them off onto whoever happens to be available. I've seen parents who joke about sending their child to military school at age four. I've listened to parent bitch and moan about how their child is abusive or disrespectful, while they model abusive or disrespectful behaviors in public. I've observed the most out of control children, and their parents, and come to the conclusion that the apple doesn't fall from the tree.
Most of the parents who joke about sending their children away have never lost a child. I can tell this, because losing a child punches a hole in your reality that never goes away. There's this void there, where your child is supposed to be, and there's an ache in your bones -- an unsettling "not right"-ness -- that casts a pallor over everything in your life. The pain never fades completely. Your eyes never adjust to where your child is supposed to be. You become keenly aware of how short life is, and how unfair it is that everyone else that you know has healthy kids. No amount of tears ever cleanses your eyes from seeing their corpse; there is no moan or scream of anguish that can be sounded deep enough from your soul to express your loss.
And I wonder: how many of these same parents, who don't have time to listen to their child, who get frustrated by their child's persistence, who regularly wish their child away - what if that wish came true? What if Johnny no longer spoke to you about Toy Story or Iron Man in excited, fragmented tones? What if Sonia's incessant singing were hushed, permanently?
I have a theory about people: the ones who have a "good" life, one seemingly without care or worry, are also the ones that couldn't handle half of the muck that I've slogged through in my life. The ones that curse their job haven't really been ever unemployed. The ones who can't stand their children haven't been hurt by the loss of one. The ones that can't eat anything except "like what mother made" have never been truly hungry. And may God bless and keep them that way, because the alternative is painful.
So if you're reading this, take a minute and hug your kids. Listen to them, despite their inability to speak clearly and at your level. Love them with all that remains of your broken, world-weary heart, because they sure as hellfire love you with all of theirs.
Don't curse what has been given to you as a blessing.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
29th Confession
I'm not a sports nut. I know, shocker to anyone who knows me, right? I used to be athletic and enjoy the physical exertion, but that all died at about age 14. All through late elementary school, I was into the intramural sports things: soccer, field hockey, lacrosse, basketball - I did them all. About that age, though, the music started. I reverted back to my first love of instruments and gave up the other.
It's been somewhat of an alienating factor for me with other guys, much to my annoyance. I mean, everyone loves football, right? OSU mania is all around me here in Columbus, I lived in "da 'burgh" for a while with their beloved "Stillers," as well as attending a high school where Fridays were always "pump up the team" day: so what's wrong with Ryan that he hates sports?
Maybe it was too many cold nights in a wet, woolen band uniform. Maybe it was disillusionment with the establishment. Maybe it was too many overpaid people doing too little work and living too loosely. Maybe it was just the fact that I haven't been exposed to it enough. Maybe a season following a team religiously would knock it out of my system, and I'd become a "real man."
I always hated stereotypes, wherever they were. Real men watch football and baseball and know the roster of their teams. Good wives are brilliant in the kitchen. Once a son, always a daughter. White guys don't dance. Nerds are socially inadept. Sports figures are to be emulated, like actors and singers and anyone else who crosses the national consciousness for more than thirty seconds.
Who told you that? Who fed us this? It's the same garbage that separates the "secular" and the "sacred". "Good" people don't drink; "bad" people go to bars. "Good" people attend church on Sundays; "bad" people sleep in or golf. "Secular" music is bad for your soul; "CCM" is uplifting and positive.
Is this always true? I've known good people - some of the best, in fact - with whom I'm honored to have knocked back a couple of tequizas. I've known bad people who have been teetotalers. Some of the most selfish, arrogant, deceitful people go to church every Sunday. Some of the nicest pre-Christians that I know shun the religious establishment because of their wounds inflicted by the house. I once spent a week ingesting the salient points of a message from my Abba while obsessing over "Take a Chance on Me." I listen to the local CCM station and feel completely anesthetized, not to mention nauseous, after about ten minutes. Sidebar to that: one of the local CCM DJ's is now at an all-80's station. Does that mean he's lost his way, spiritually?
Sports is a worthy endeavor: there is something to be said about entertaining the masses, being physically fit, and for the national unity during the Super Bowl or the Final Four. But as with everything, there must be moderation and balance: I watch enough to know the rules and enjoy the athletic prowess of the individuals, but I can't watch an entire season.
It's been somewhat of an alienating factor for me with other guys, much to my annoyance. I mean, everyone loves football, right? OSU mania is all around me here in Columbus, I lived in "da 'burgh" for a while with their beloved "Stillers," as well as attending a high school where Fridays were always "pump up the team" day: so what's wrong with Ryan that he hates sports?
Maybe it was too many cold nights in a wet, woolen band uniform. Maybe it was disillusionment with the establishment. Maybe it was too many overpaid people doing too little work and living too loosely. Maybe it was just the fact that I haven't been exposed to it enough. Maybe a season following a team religiously would knock it out of my system, and I'd become a "real man."
I always hated stereotypes, wherever they were. Real men watch football and baseball and know the roster of their teams. Good wives are brilliant in the kitchen. Once a son, always a daughter. White guys don't dance. Nerds are socially inadept. Sports figures are to be emulated, like actors and singers and anyone else who crosses the national consciousness for more than thirty seconds.
Who told you that? Who fed us this? It's the same garbage that separates the "secular" and the "sacred". "Good" people don't drink; "bad" people go to bars. "Good" people attend church on Sundays; "bad" people sleep in or golf. "Secular" music is bad for your soul; "CCM" is uplifting and positive.
Is this always true? I've known good people - some of the best, in fact - with whom I'm honored to have knocked back a couple of tequizas. I've known bad people who have been teetotalers. Some of the most selfish, arrogant, deceitful people go to church every Sunday. Some of the nicest pre-Christians that I know shun the religious establishment because of their wounds inflicted by the house. I once spent a week ingesting the salient points of a message from my Abba while obsessing over "Take a Chance on Me." I listen to the local CCM station and feel completely anesthetized, not to mention nauseous, after about ten minutes. Sidebar to that: one of the local CCM DJ's is now at an all-80's station. Does that mean he's lost his way, spiritually?
Sports is a worthy endeavor: there is something to be said about entertaining the masses, being physically fit, and for the national unity during the Super Bowl or the Final Four. But as with everything, there must be moderation and balance: I watch enough to know the rules and enjoy the athletic prowess of the individuals, but I can't watch an entire season.
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