The other night I watched West Side Story with my kids. I love the movie and haven't seen it in years (over a decade, at least). My kids really enjoy movies with good music, especially when there's singing and dancing involved. Especially Spencer. He's also getting tired of watching and re-watching his usual flicks. So I saw it as a win-win: Spencer got to see something new, and I got to watch something that wasn't made by Pixar.
Now, let me describe for you what it's like to watch a movie with Spencer. My son is apparently unable to process a thought silently--he verbalizes his stream of consciousness. And there's a lot to process when watching a movie (even after he's seen it three dozen times, he still processes it as though he's never seen it before). He's constantly asking, "What just happened? Why did he do that? Why are they walking? Where are they going? What's going to happen next?" And so on. I usually respond with a steady stream of, "You were watching, you saw what happened. Just wait, and you'll see. Watch and you'll find out." Until I finally resort to, "Just be quiet and watch the movie, Spencer!"
West Side Story started off with the expected questions: "Is that a playground?" Yes, Spencer, it's a playground. "Why are those boys in a playground?" Because they want to be there. "Why are they dancing?" They just are.
And then the questions began to get a little harder. "What are they doing to that other boy?" They're letting him know they don't want him there. "Why not?" Because they don't like him. "Why don't they like him?" And then, before I could come up with a four-year-old appropriate answer to that question, "Who are those boys?" They're that other boy's friends. "Are they fighting? Why are they fighting?" Because those two groups of boys are enemies. "Who are the good boys and who are the bad boys?" Uh, they're all pretty good boys. "Then why are they fighting?" Because they don't like people who are different from them. "Why not?" Because they just don't. "Because they're mean?" They're mean to the people they don't like, and they're nice to the people they do like. "But why aren't they nice to everybody if they're good boys?" Umm, some people are like that. And then, "Why don't they want that girl around?" Because girls aren't allowed. "Why not?"
And this was the first ten minutes of a two and a half hour movie.
As exasperated as I was trying to answer these questions, I loved the fact that they proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that my son doesn't understand prejudice. He doesn't understand how people can decide to be mean or nice to someone based on their skin color or accent. He doesn't understand why someone's gender would make them ineligible to join a certain group. And when I tried to explain it to him, he gave me a look that clearly said, "Mom, that's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, and that's saying something!"
And he's absolutely right. It is stupid. It's pointless. It makes no sense. And it's not a natural part of who we are. Spencer didn't understand prejudice because he's never been taught prejudice. He's never been taught to exclude others for arbitrary reasons, and he's never been excluded for arbitrary reasons himself (though I'm sure that day will come). Children don't hate others until they've been told that they should, and taught how. It may not be done intentionally, but they are very observant, and they will act the way they see the adults around them acting. Too many adults don't think about what they're teaching the children who idolize them.
I wanted to introduce my son to one of my favorite musicals. In doing so, I also began to teach him about the darker side of some human interactions. He liked the music, even when I sang along. He liked the dancing. He thought the girls were pretty (both the Caucasians and the Puerto Ricans). He didn't like that he had to hug me and pat my arm reassuringly at the end and say, "It's OK; everything's going to be all right" when I was crying hysterically because some people died for some really stupid reasons. Why couldn't they all just get along?
I think we'll watch Fiddler on the Roof next. Then I'll get to explain religious persecution to him, as well. And sing along with more of my favorite showtunes.
Showing posts with label Tolerance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tolerance. Show all posts
Monday, October 8, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
10 Rules for Being Politically Obnoxious on Facebook
It’s election season again, and the attacks are in full
swing, both among the political professionals and their devoted followers on
social media. However, I’ve noticed a
few people on Facebook engaging in posts and comments that are simply
unacceptable for the current political and cultural environment. Now, I realize there is a certain freedom in
the online world that’s lacking in real life, however there are rules which must be followed if one is going to
successfully destroy all hope for intelligent debate and informed citizenry.
Rule #1: Ignorance is Power. If you don’t know all the facts, then they
can’t trouble you. You already know
everything you need to know about everything, because you read something
someone posted about it once. As long as
you can loosely paraphrase a soundbite that supports your position, you have
all the information you need. It’s a
waste of time to research actual statistics, read actual reports, or listen to
actual speeches given by the person you don’t want to vote for. As long as you avoid actual facts, no one can
contradict you.
Rule #2: Choose Your Sources Carefully. Obviously not everyone is an expert on
everything (only a few brilliant souls like myself can claim that). Therefore you must sometimes find reliable
information elsewhere. Online is best,
because if it’s on the web then it must
be true (unless it was planted there by the ignorant followers of the other
party). Be sure to seek out bloggers who
share your opinions or paid political organizations that specialize in
masquerading as grass-roots organizations.
Their newsletters can always be trusted to be completely factual and accurate.
After bloggers and hired guns, entertaining talk show hosts are good
sources. Conservatives should go to
Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh for information, and liberals should get their news
from Jon Stewart or Stephen Colbert. If
you must rely on an actual news organization, be sure to choose one with an
obvious bias towards your opinions. Fox
News is best for conservatives, and MSNBC is best for liberals, though liberals
have more choices due to the liberal bias of the entire mainstream media. However the more outside sources you consult
(liberal or conservative), the more different interpretations you’ll be exposed
to. Pick one or two sources and stick
with them exclusively.
Rule #3: Limit the Debate. Only one issue matters: the one you care about. Dismiss any arguments against your preferred
candidate that try to change the subject, and drive home the importance of your
facts by stating your strongest opinions and then using the words, “END OF
DISCUSSION.” (All caps is very important
here—see rule #4.)
Rule #4: USE ALL CAPS WITH ABANDON. A generally accepted understanding of online
etiquette is that using all capital letters is equivalent to yelling. Since we’re trying to drown out all opposing
opinions, we want to be as loud as possible.
Use all caps to ridicule or deride an argument or the individual who
made it (it doesn’t matter which—see rule #5), or to emphasize that you won’t
be swayed from your opinion NO MATTER WHAT!!!
(Extra exclamation points also help to increase the volume of your
online rant, so feel free to use them excessively, as well.)
Rule #5: There is No Difference Between a
Person and Their Position. Since a
person is completely defined by their political beliefs, we are free to judge
people based on their political postings.
If you think someone’s opinion is stupid, then they are stupid,
too. If you think someone’s opinion is immoral,
then clearly they are immoral, as well, and you have a moral responsibility to
inform the entire online community of their depravity. Do not humanize people who think differently
than you; they’re nothing more than faulty opinions that need to be shot down
and made to go away.
Rule #6: Go Negative. Anyone with any common sense at all already
knows why the person you want to vote for is the only reasonable choice. Therefore it’s a waste of time to extol the
positive attributes of your candidate, and you should only focus on what’s
wrong/immoral/evil about the other candidate, his or her entire party, and
everyone who supports them.
Rule #7: Sweeping Generalizations are Always
Accurate and Appropriate. If one
person holds any given position, that person’s entire political party and all
other supporters must hold that same position.
You are free to assign whatever motives you wish to why they hold that
position (the more nefarious the motivation, the easier it is to ridicule it
and the person as well—see Rule #5).
Rule #8: If You’re Losing an Argument, Switch
to Another Topic and Pretend You Didn’t.
Sometimes a really annoying online adversary will somehow be able to
defend his or her (wrong) position while poking very real holes in your
(obviously right) position. When this
happens, change the focus of the debate to something you can win, and pretend
it’s the same debate. This allows you to
completely disregard the minor victory your opponent thinks they may have won,
and also has the added bonus of annoying your opponent so much that frequently they’ll
just shut up and go away. That means
you’ve won.
Rule #9: Disregard All Information From Sources
You Don’t Use Yourself. This is
related to Rule #2, but applies more specifically to any sources cited by
someone you’re debating. Any data or
information they bring up from a source that doesn’t align with your preferred
bias completely factual and unbiased source is irrelevant and can be
dismissed. Unless they can use your own
preferred sources for their information, it’s not worth discussing the matter
with them. (If they can use information from your own sources against you, then you need to
tell them how they’ve twisted and misinterpreted the data, are too stupid to
understand it, or else change the focus of the argument, as detailed in Rule
#8.)
Rule #10: There are No Human Consequences. Issues like war, hunger, poverty, health
care, mental illness, unemployment, and family values are ideologies to be
enforced, and real people aren’t affected by the consequences of these
ideologies. Therefore you should make
light of these issues and the people who claim to be harmed by your view of
them, because mockery strengthens your argument. People who disagree with you aren’t really
human anyway, and should be mocked,
insulted, and demeaned (see Rule #5).
By following these rules, you can help silence those who are seeking intelligent debate. More and more people will become
disillusioned with the political process and simply disengage, leaving the
decisions to be made by the loudest and most obnoxious extremists out there. We’re well on our way down that path already;
please do your part to accomplish this important goal.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
The Biblical Definition of Marriage, Part 1: Introduction
Comments made by Dan Cathy, President of Chick-Fil-A, recently brought the debate over gay marriage back to the forefront. Again. As usual, most people split into one of two camps: those in support of legalizing same-sex marriage, and those in support of "the biblical definition of marriage," including restricting legal marriage to those who fit that definition.
The term "biblical definition of marriage" is bandied about with great authority, but every time I hear it, I also hear the voice of Inigo Montoya saying, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
In popular usage, the "biblical definition of marriage" appears to be shorthand for "marriage between one man and one woman." That's the definition that some want included in a constitutional amendment addressing the issue. However there are some who also include the submission of wives to their husbands, the restriction of women to the traditional roles of homemaker and mother, as well as an absolute prohibition of divorce in the "biblical definition of marriage." In a land of majority two-income households, where more women are graduating from college than men, and where roughly half of all marriages end in divorce, I can't see a whole lot of public support for those aspects of the "biblical definition of marriage."
So what is the actual biblical definition of marriage?
Sadly, when I went to my concordance and looked up "definition of marriage," nothing came up in the entire bible. Of course the answer's not that easy. So this can't be answered in a single post, even one of my marathon-length ones. But it's important. The issue at stake, as Dan Cathy puts it, is whether or not we're "shak[ing] our fist at [God] and say[ing], 'We know better than you what constitutes a marriage.'" The issue, simply put, is whether or not we are redefining marriage in direct opposition to how God has defined it. Therefore, this is the beginning of an ongoing series in which I'm going to explore the bible and see what it really says about marriage. I don't expect these posts to settle the question once and for all, but I do hope that those of you who read them will think about your own assumptions, and be willing to think critically about what you believe and why.
My intention is not to attack or ridicule those who are earnestly trying to live according to biblical principles. I myself am a faithful Christian trying to live according to biblical principles. I'm doing this primarily because I believe there is a lack of knowledge and understanding about the bible, especially among those who use it to justify their own political positions. Perhaps I'm about to join those ranks, but I'm tired of having a vocal minority define for the world what my faith is. If we're going to use the bible to defend our positions, let's take a look and see what the bible actually says about those positions.
I welcome you to join the discussion in the comments section. As always, please keep it civil.
The term "biblical definition of marriage" is bandied about with great authority, but every time I hear it, I also hear the voice of Inigo Montoya saying, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
In popular usage, the "biblical definition of marriage" appears to be shorthand for "marriage between one man and one woman." That's the definition that some want included in a constitutional amendment addressing the issue. However there are some who also include the submission of wives to their husbands, the restriction of women to the traditional roles of homemaker and mother, as well as an absolute prohibition of divorce in the "biblical definition of marriage." In a land of majority two-income households, where more women are graduating from college than men, and where roughly half of all marriages end in divorce, I can't see a whole lot of public support for those aspects of the "biblical definition of marriage."
So what is the actual biblical definition of marriage?
Sadly, when I went to my concordance and looked up "definition of marriage," nothing came up in the entire bible. Of course the answer's not that easy. So this can't be answered in a single post, even one of my marathon-length ones. But it's important. The issue at stake, as Dan Cathy puts it, is whether or not we're "shak[ing] our fist at [God] and say[ing], 'We know better than you what constitutes a marriage.'" The issue, simply put, is whether or not we are redefining marriage in direct opposition to how God has defined it. Therefore, this is the beginning of an ongoing series in which I'm going to explore the bible and see what it really says about marriage. I don't expect these posts to settle the question once and for all, but I do hope that those of you who read them will think about your own assumptions, and be willing to think critically about what you believe and why.
My intention is not to attack or ridicule those who are earnestly trying to live according to biblical principles. I myself am a faithful Christian trying to live according to biblical principles. I'm doing this primarily because I believe there is a lack of knowledge and understanding about the bible, especially among those who use it to justify their own political positions. Perhaps I'm about to join those ranks, but I'm tired of having a vocal minority define for the world what my faith is. If we're going to use the bible to defend our positions, let's take a look and see what the bible actually says about those positions.
I welcome you to join the discussion in the comments section. As always, please keep it civil.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Good vs. Evil
I really didn't want to go here. I really didn't want to get into the whole Chick-Fil-A thing. I really wanted to just join Jen Hatmaker in her wonderful-sounding basement, and wait for this whole thing to blow over.
But I can't. Because I'm tired of all the vitriol and venomous accusations. And I'm particularly tired of one side (pick whichever one you want--both are equally guilty) assigning motives to the actions of the other.
Chick-Fil-A uses some of its profits to support organizations that oppose the legalization of same-sex marriage. Personally, I disagree with the aims of those organizations; given the fact that we do not live in a theocracy (nor do I want to, even as a faithful Christian), I cannot see any legitimate reason to deny same-sex couples that right. The Jim Henson Company also disagrees with the aims of those organizations, and they decided to end their partnership with Chick-Fil-A and donate the proceeds they'd enjoyed from that partnership to GLAAD (Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation).
All of that is fine. Chick-Fil-A can use their profits as they see fit, and so can the Jim Henson Company. And both can choose to partner with whomever they want for whatever reasons they want. Or not to partner. They have that right.
But the owners of Chick-Fil-A have been described as hateful, evil bigots who only want to deny rights to those who don't believe as they do, and are trying to use their money to establish theocratic rule in this country. I don't think that's fair, and it certainly isn't supported by facts.
Yes, they hold to a 'biblical' definition of marriage (though that claim itself is dubious, given the fact that there are many definitions of marriage in the bible, many of which are not considered acceptable in this day and age. But that's a whole other post.) Yes, they support organizations that work to make their accepted definition of marriage the only legal definition of marriage. But that's not all they support.
Let's look first at the partnership with the Jim Henson Company. The Jim Henson Company has never masqueraded as a biblically conservative company. As they proudly stated on their Facebook page, "The Jim Henson Company has celebrated and embraced diversity and inclusiveness for over fifty years." Their commitment to diversity and inclusiveness was not hidden from Chick-Fil-A, yet Chick-Fil-A still chose to enter into a business partnership with them. Yes, they stood to benefit financially, but if they were willing to compromise their principles for the sake of profits, then they'd be open on Sundays, so I dismiss that as their primary motivation. Basically, despite the difference in politics, Chick-Fil-A wanted to be affiliated with the values that the Jim Henson Company stood for. How does that fit in with their image as hateful, evil bigots out to mold the world into their own narrow conservative image?
I also know that they donate a sizable amount of money to the Public Broadcasting Service. How do I know this? Because between the shows my kids watch on PBS they are subjected to a few non-commercial commercials for Chick-Fil-A (as well as Earth's Best Baby Food--since when are there commercials on PBS??!!). If you haven't watched the children's programming on PBS recently, let me assure you that it's not advocating conservative Christian values to the sippy-cup set. Those shows advocate the same diversity, inclusiveness, and tolerance that the Jim Henson Company does. Yet Chick-Fil-A believes enough in their mission to give them lots of money, despite their different politics.
Chick-Fil-A also funds college scholarships, foster homes, summer camp programs, youth leadership programs domestically and abroad, as well as marriage preparation, enrichment, and crisis intervention programs.
I don't agree with everything they choose to do with their profits, but they're clearly not the hate-mongering bigots they're accused of being.
Neither the right nor the left are all good or all evil. Can we please stop assigning motives that make it easier to dehumanize each other? If you don't like how Chick-Fil-A spends their money, they by all means exercise your right to boycott. But don't demonize them, or the people who support them. They don't deserve it, any more than you do.
But I can't. Because I'm tired of all the vitriol and venomous accusations. And I'm particularly tired of one side (pick whichever one you want--both are equally guilty) assigning motives to the actions of the other.
Chick-Fil-A uses some of its profits to support organizations that oppose the legalization of same-sex marriage. Personally, I disagree with the aims of those organizations; given the fact that we do not live in a theocracy (nor do I want to, even as a faithful Christian), I cannot see any legitimate reason to deny same-sex couples that right. The Jim Henson Company also disagrees with the aims of those organizations, and they decided to end their partnership with Chick-Fil-A and donate the proceeds they'd enjoyed from that partnership to GLAAD (Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation).
All of that is fine. Chick-Fil-A can use their profits as they see fit, and so can the Jim Henson Company. And both can choose to partner with whomever they want for whatever reasons they want. Or not to partner. They have that right.
But the owners of Chick-Fil-A have been described as hateful, evil bigots who only want to deny rights to those who don't believe as they do, and are trying to use their money to establish theocratic rule in this country. I don't think that's fair, and it certainly isn't supported by facts.
Yes, they hold to a 'biblical' definition of marriage (though that claim itself is dubious, given the fact that there are many definitions of marriage in the bible, many of which are not considered acceptable in this day and age. But that's a whole other post.) Yes, they support organizations that work to make their accepted definition of marriage the only legal definition of marriage. But that's not all they support.
Let's look first at the partnership with the Jim Henson Company. The Jim Henson Company has never masqueraded as a biblically conservative company. As they proudly stated on their Facebook page, "The Jim Henson Company has celebrated and embraced diversity and inclusiveness for over fifty years." Their commitment to diversity and inclusiveness was not hidden from Chick-Fil-A, yet Chick-Fil-A still chose to enter into a business partnership with them. Yes, they stood to benefit financially, but if they were willing to compromise their principles for the sake of profits, then they'd be open on Sundays, so I dismiss that as their primary motivation. Basically, despite the difference in politics, Chick-Fil-A wanted to be affiliated with the values that the Jim Henson Company stood for. How does that fit in with their image as hateful, evil bigots out to mold the world into their own narrow conservative image?
I also know that they donate a sizable amount of money to the Public Broadcasting Service. How do I know this? Because between the shows my kids watch on PBS they are subjected to a few non-commercial commercials for Chick-Fil-A (as well as Earth's Best Baby Food--since when are there commercials on PBS??!!). If you haven't watched the children's programming on PBS recently, let me assure you that it's not advocating conservative Christian values to the sippy-cup set. Those shows advocate the same diversity, inclusiveness, and tolerance that the Jim Henson Company does. Yet Chick-Fil-A believes enough in their mission to give them lots of money, despite their different politics.
Chick-Fil-A also funds college scholarships, foster homes, summer camp programs, youth leadership programs domestically and abroad, as well as marriage preparation, enrichment, and crisis intervention programs.
I don't agree with everything they choose to do with their profits, but they're clearly not the hate-mongering bigots they're accused of being.
Neither the right nor the left are all good or all evil. Can we please stop assigning motives that make it easier to dehumanize each other? If you don't like how Chick-Fil-A spends their money, they by all means exercise your right to boycott. But don't demonize them, or the people who support them. They don't deserve it, any more than you do.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Are We Really a Colorblind Society?
My husband has always said that if I ever came home from preaching and announced that my children's sermon went really well, he'd want to know who I was and what I'd done with his wife. I'm horrible at children's sermons. Really. Really. Horrible.
But I came home from preaching this past Sunday, and announced that my children's sermon went really well. As promised, he demanded to know who I was and what I'd done with Karen.
I was using the day's passage from Ephesians as my inspiration: Ephesians 2:11-22, to be exact. It's basically talking about how those who were outside the covenant have been brought in because of Christ, and that all who have been brought together in Christ are now one, with all former hostilities replaced by peace and reconciliation. A nice passage on unity and equality before God.
I called the kids up to the chancel area where they took their usual seats on the step I fell off of a few weeks ago (yes, it was embarrassing), and then I stood facing them. I called the assisting minister over to stand next to me, and I asked the kids to name everything they noticed that was different between Gary and me. They had a bit of an advantage because in deference to the high heat and humidity--and lack of air conditioning--I'd used my pastoral authority to place a temporary ban on albs, so the only 'uniform' in sight was my tabbed clerical blouse. They noticed that I was wearing a black shirt and his was blue, and they noticed that I was a girl and he was a boy. They noticed our different shoes, different hair, and even though we both wore glasses, they noticed that our glasses were different styles (that's some pretty decent observation!).
Next I called our two acolytes to come and stand in front of the kids, and asked them what differences they saw between those two, or between any of the four of us. I was the only girl, the acolytes were younger than me and Gary, they had different hair, and I was the shortest one standing (yes, both acolytes were taller than me). But none of the kids called out the biggest difference between the two acolytes, the whole reason I'd dragged them (without warning them first) into this demonstration.
No one observed that one had black skin and one had white skin.
I finally named that difference once the kids had run out of observations, then asked what all four of us had in common. When they couldn't come up with anything, that's when I launched into my lesson about how we're all beloved children of God and all those differences they'd observed don't matter, and that we're all one family in Christ. Then I prayed a little prayer thanking God for the diversity he'd created, asking for help in seeing everyone as our brothers and sisters, then I sent then back to their seats and went on with my 'real' sermon.
But I was troubled by the fact that no one called out skin color as a difference. Was it that they truly didn't recognize it as a difference? Or was it that none of them dared say it, because such a recognition is politically incorrect and socially unacceptable these days?
As much as there's a part of me that wants to believe the former, I can't quite convince myself of that. In the context of the conversation, there were no value judgments being made. They were observant enough to notice that the frames of Gary's glasses were metal wire, and mine were black plastic. Every other conceivable difference was observed. I just don't believe that the fact that one had the white skin of his northern European ancestors and the other had the black skin of his African birth (yes, he and his family just came to the US about two years ago) escaped those powers of observation.
So that leaves me with the belief that they noticed, but didn't want to say it. And it wasn't just a bunch of white kids not wanting to point out the sole black kid in their midst; one of the things I really like about this church is that it is fairly diverse. On that particular morning both acolytes had younger siblings who had come up for the children's sermon, plus there were a couple of other black kids not related to the acolyte, and a few of Asian and Latino heritage. Caucasian was still the majority, but barely.
Why wouldn't these kids acknowledge racial differences, even in a nonjudgmental, strictly observational way?
I understand that prejudice is taught, and that young children don't respond to racial differences any more than they respond to differences in eye color unless (until) they see others responding differently. But they do notice. One woman in my congregation was telling me about her son--when he was much younger--playing in the sandbox with an African American neighbor. He saw that the boy's skin was much darker than his own, and examined his own feet and legs to see if the sand was turning his skin brown, too. He wasn't concerned; just curious. I also understand that frequently when people talk about racial differences, it isn't in a strictly nonjudgmental, observational way.
But is it a good idea to make the subject entirely taboo?
I have trouble believing that pretending something doesn't exist is the way to honor the diversity God created. Hair, eyes, and skin come in all colors. People have different experiences and cultural traditions, and sometimes skin color plays a part in those experiences and traditions. Pretending those differences don't exist and pretending we're all the same dilutes the richness of this creation, and robs us of the opportunity to better understand one another. Because if we can't ask questions, we're left to make up our own answers, and that can lead to worse prejudices, or at least awkward misunderstandings.
I was never a big fan of Seinfeld, but there was one episode in which Elaine spent the entire show trying to figure out if her new boyfriend was black. It wasn't that she didn't want to date a black guy; she just wanted to know this part of his story. She examined every possible 'clue' she could find, and talked about it with all her friends, with one of them (usually George) looking very uncomfortable and declaring, "I don't think we should be talking about this." The one thing she didn't do was ask her boyfriend. Here's how it ended.
I would like to live in a society in which race doesn't matter, and I think we can get there (though I also think we still have a long way to go). But right now we're living in a society in which we pretend race doesn't exist, and I don't think that's a good idea at all.
I'd be very interested to know your thoughts on this. All opinions are welcome, but as always, please keep it civil.
But I came home from preaching this past Sunday, and announced that my children's sermon went really well. As promised, he demanded to know who I was and what I'd done with Karen.
I was using the day's passage from Ephesians as my inspiration: Ephesians 2:11-22, to be exact. It's basically talking about how those who were outside the covenant have been brought in because of Christ, and that all who have been brought together in Christ are now one, with all former hostilities replaced by peace and reconciliation. A nice passage on unity and equality before God.
I called the kids up to the chancel area where they took their usual seats on the step I fell off of a few weeks ago (yes, it was embarrassing), and then I stood facing them. I called the assisting minister over to stand next to me, and I asked the kids to name everything they noticed that was different between Gary and me. They had a bit of an advantage because in deference to the high heat and humidity--and lack of air conditioning--I'd used my pastoral authority to place a temporary ban on albs, so the only 'uniform' in sight was my tabbed clerical blouse. They noticed that I was wearing a black shirt and his was blue, and they noticed that I was a girl and he was a boy. They noticed our different shoes, different hair, and even though we both wore glasses, they noticed that our glasses were different styles (that's some pretty decent observation!).
Next I called our two acolytes to come and stand in front of the kids, and asked them what differences they saw between those two, or between any of the four of us. I was the only girl, the acolytes were younger than me and Gary, they had different hair, and I was the shortest one standing (yes, both acolytes were taller than me). But none of the kids called out the biggest difference between the two acolytes, the whole reason I'd dragged them (without warning them first) into this demonstration.
No one observed that one had black skin and one had white skin.
I finally named that difference once the kids had run out of observations, then asked what all four of us had in common. When they couldn't come up with anything, that's when I launched into my lesson about how we're all beloved children of God and all those differences they'd observed don't matter, and that we're all one family in Christ. Then I prayed a little prayer thanking God for the diversity he'd created, asking for help in seeing everyone as our brothers and sisters, then I sent then back to their seats and went on with my 'real' sermon.
But I was troubled by the fact that no one called out skin color as a difference. Was it that they truly didn't recognize it as a difference? Or was it that none of them dared say it, because such a recognition is politically incorrect and socially unacceptable these days?
As much as there's a part of me that wants to believe the former, I can't quite convince myself of that. In the context of the conversation, there were no value judgments being made. They were observant enough to notice that the frames of Gary's glasses were metal wire, and mine were black plastic. Every other conceivable difference was observed. I just don't believe that the fact that one had the white skin of his northern European ancestors and the other had the black skin of his African birth (yes, he and his family just came to the US about two years ago) escaped those powers of observation.
So that leaves me with the belief that they noticed, but didn't want to say it. And it wasn't just a bunch of white kids not wanting to point out the sole black kid in their midst; one of the things I really like about this church is that it is fairly diverse. On that particular morning both acolytes had younger siblings who had come up for the children's sermon, plus there were a couple of other black kids not related to the acolyte, and a few of Asian and Latino heritage. Caucasian was still the majority, but barely.
Why wouldn't these kids acknowledge racial differences, even in a nonjudgmental, strictly observational way?
I understand that prejudice is taught, and that young children don't respond to racial differences any more than they respond to differences in eye color unless (until) they see others responding differently. But they do notice. One woman in my congregation was telling me about her son--when he was much younger--playing in the sandbox with an African American neighbor. He saw that the boy's skin was much darker than his own, and examined his own feet and legs to see if the sand was turning his skin brown, too. He wasn't concerned; just curious. I also understand that frequently when people talk about racial differences, it isn't in a strictly nonjudgmental, observational way.
But is it a good idea to make the subject entirely taboo?
I have trouble believing that pretending something doesn't exist is the way to honor the diversity God created. Hair, eyes, and skin come in all colors. People have different experiences and cultural traditions, and sometimes skin color plays a part in those experiences and traditions. Pretending those differences don't exist and pretending we're all the same dilutes the richness of this creation, and robs us of the opportunity to better understand one another. Because if we can't ask questions, we're left to make up our own answers, and that can lead to worse prejudices, or at least awkward misunderstandings.
I was never a big fan of Seinfeld, but there was one episode in which Elaine spent the entire show trying to figure out if her new boyfriend was black. It wasn't that she didn't want to date a black guy; she just wanted to know this part of his story. She examined every possible 'clue' she could find, and talked about it with all her friends, with one of them (usually George) looking very uncomfortable and declaring, "I don't think we should be talking about this." The one thing she didn't do was ask her boyfriend. Here's how it ended.
I would like to live in a society in which race doesn't matter, and I think we can get there (though I also think we still have a long way to go). But right now we're living in a society in which we pretend race doesn't exist, and I don't think that's a good idea at all.
I'd be very interested to know your thoughts on this. All opinions are welcome, but as always, please keep it civil.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Do College Students Have Justification for Joining the 'Occupy' Movement?
I've seen a lot of comments about the 'spoiled trust fund kids' who 'expect to be handed everything on a silver platter' and 'don't want to work for the things they have.' And other such statements. These are usually posted by people who proudly brag about the fact that they worked their way through college and now have a good job and a nice house that they earned through their own hard work with no handouts from anyone.
Good for you.
Times have changed.
I too worked my way through college. I vividly remember the days of working 60 to 70 hours per week between two jobs (one full-time dead-end job and one nights-and-weekends retail job), supporting myself in a should-have-been-condemned apartment in a pretty scary neighborhood, taking one night course at a time because it's all I could afford and all I had time for. I was destroying my health by eating nothing but Ramen noodles and instant oatmeal, because it's all I could afford. I handwashed my laundry in the bathtub because I couldn't afford to go to the laundrymat. I even counted the squares of toilet paper I used, in an effort to reduce how often I had to buy more. Eventually things got better when I was hired at a job with a future, one that would help me achieve that future by paying for the rest of my bachelor's degree. Of course, I was hired with an education waiver, so they could fire me if I didn't actively pursue my degree, and they emphasized that 'slow and steady' would not win the race. I had to finish that degree as soon as possible. So yes it was paid for, but I finished it by working full-time during the day and going to school full-time at night. It took me eight years of working my ass off to finally get my four-year bachelor's degree.
I know that luck was just as big a part of it as my own hard work was. And college students today aren't as lucky.
I've been appalled by some of the reactions to the pepper-spray incident at UC Davis last week. In many cases, the protesters were characterized as I listed in my introductory paragraph, and also lumped in with all the Occupy protesters everywhere, particularly those few bad apples who are causing trouble in some of the larger gatherings. (Apparently since there are a small handful of true trouble-makers giving the protesters a bad name in New York, the police were justified in pepper-spraying a group of students peacefully sitting on a pedestrian-only walkway on a college campus in California. Or so the argument goes.) The UC Davis crowd were trying to be clear that while they shared much in common with the other Occupy movements, some of their grievances were particular to them, specifically the issue of more tuition increases.
To those of you who proudly talk about how you worked your way through college, please consider the following numbers from the UC Davis website for an in-state undergraduate student who began her studies as a freshman in 2008.
Tuition and fees (excluding books, room, board, and other incidentals) per academic year:
2008/2009 - $9,496.60
2009/2010 - $10,989.95
2010/2011 - $13,079.91
2011/2012 - $15,123.36
You who so proudly worked your way through school, did you have to deal with a 59% increase in tuition between your freshman and senior years? I can tell you, no, you didn't. UC Davis was kind enough to provide historical information on their website going back as far as 1994. So let's assume that's when you started working your way through college.
1994/1995 - $4,099.00
1995/1996 - $4,554.00
1996/1997 - $4,262.00
1997/1998 - $4,331.50
If you started working your way through college before 1994, then your costs were even lower.
Now let's assume that you worked at California's minimum wage forty hours per week for twelve weeks during the summer, and twenty hours per week for thirty-six weeks during the school year, leaving four weeks of unpaid sick and vacation time each year (because let's face it, if you're working for minimum wage, you don't get paid time off). You would have earned (before taxes):
1994/1995 - $5,100 ($1,001 more than your tuition)
1995/1996 - $5,700 ($1,146 more than your tuition)
1996/1997 - $6,180 ($1,918 more than your tuition)
1997/1998 - $6,900 ($2,568.50 more than your tuition)
Today's senior who's worked the same number of hours at today's minimum wage in California (which has remained steady at $8.00 per hour since 2008) has earned (before taxes) $9,600 per year. That is:
2008/2009 - $103.40 more than her tuition
2009/2010 - $1,389.95 less than her tuition
2010/2011 - $3,479.91 less than her tuition
2011/2012 - $5,523.36 less than her tuition
So where you would have had $6,633.50 in the bank upon graduation, today's senior will be $10,289.82 in debt for doing exactly what you did.
And let's not even talk about what it cost you to buy your house in 1998 compared to today.
Starting school in 2008, that student probably figured that she could mostly work her way through school. It would be tight, and she might have to take on a little debt, but nothing too difficult to pay off with the increase in wages she's sure to see upon graduation. But each year her costs went up astronomically, forcing her to either take on more and more debt, or else cut her losses with nothing to show for it, and no hope of getting the higher-paying job that would enable her to pay off the debt she'd already incurred. What exactly is she supposed to do? What did you do when you were faced with that situation? Oh wait, that's right. You were never faced with that situation.
So before you start waxing eloquent about how hard you worked for the things you have, and how these lazy kids should do the same, consider that the world they live in is very different from the one you did. Let go of your self-righteousness, and consider that they might actually have something legitimate to protest.
Good for you.
Times have changed.
I too worked my way through college. I vividly remember the days of working 60 to 70 hours per week between two jobs (one full-time dead-end job and one nights-and-weekends retail job), supporting myself in a should-have-been-condemned apartment in a pretty scary neighborhood, taking one night course at a time because it's all I could afford and all I had time for. I was destroying my health by eating nothing but Ramen noodles and instant oatmeal, because it's all I could afford. I handwashed my laundry in the bathtub because I couldn't afford to go to the laundrymat. I even counted the squares of toilet paper I used, in an effort to reduce how often I had to buy more. Eventually things got better when I was hired at a job with a future, one that would help me achieve that future by paying for the rest of my bachelor's degree. Of course, I was hired with an education waiver, so they could fire me if I didn't actively pursue my degree, and they emphasized that 'slow and steady' would not win the race. I had to finish that degree as soon as possible. So yes it was paid for, but I finished it by working full-time during the day and going to school full-time at night. It took me eight years of working my ass off to finally get my four-year bachelor's degree.
I know that luck was just as big a part of it as my own hard work was. And college students today aren't as lucky.
I've been appalled by some of the reactions to the pepper-spray incident at UC Davis last week. In many cases, the protesters were characterized as I listed in my introductory paragraph, and also lumped in with all the Occupy protesters everywhere, particularly those few bad apples who are causing trouble in some of the larger gatherings. (Apparently since there are a small handful of true trouble-makers giving the protesters a bad name in New York, the police were justified in pepper-spraying a group of students peacefully sitting on a pedestrian-only walkway on a college campus in California. Or so the argument goes.) The UC Davis crowd were trying to be clear that while they shared much in common with the other Occupy movements, some of their grievances were particular to them, specifically the issue of more tuition increases.
To those of you who proudly talk about how you worked your way through college, please consider the following numbers from the UC Davis website for an in-state undergraduate student who began her studies as a freshman in 2008.
Tuition and fees (excluding books, room, board, and other incidentals) per academic year:
2008/2009 - $9,496.60
2009/2010 - $10,989.95
2010/2011 - $13,079.91
2011/2012 - $15,123.36
You who so proudly worked your way through school, did you have to deal with a 59% increase in tuition between your freshman and senior years? I can tell you, no, you didn't. UC Davis was kind enough to provide historical information on their website going back as far as 1994. So let's assume that's when you started working your way through college.
1994/1995 - $4,099.00
1995/1996 - $4,554.00
1996/1997 - $4,262.00
1997/1998 - $4,331.50
If you started working your way through college before 1994, then your costs were even lower.
Now let's assume that you worked at California's minimum wage forty hours per week for twelve weeks during the summer, and twenty hours per week for thirty-six weeks during the school year, leaving four weeks of unpaid sick and vacation time each year (because let's face it, if you're working for minimum wage, you don't get paid time off). You would have earned (before taxes):
1994/1995 - $5,100 ($1,001 more than your tuition)
1995/1996 - $5,700 ($1,146 more than your tuition)
1996/1997 - $6,180 ($1,918 more than your tuition)
1997/1998 - $6,900 ($2,568.50 more than your tuition)
Today's senior who's worked the same number of hours at today's minimum wage in California (which has remained steady at $8.00 per hour since 2008) has earned (before taxes) $9,600 per year. That is:
2008/2009 - $103.40 more than her tuition
2009/2010 - $1,389.95 less than her tuition
2010/2011 - $3,479.91 less than her tuition
2011/2012 - $5,523.36 less than her tuition
So where you would have had $6,633.50 in the bank upon graduation, today's senior will be $10,289.82 in debt for doing exactly what you did.
And let's not even talk about what it cost you to buy your house in 1998 compared to today.
Starting school in 2008, that student probably figured that she could mostly work her way through school. It would be tight, and she might have to take on a little debt, but nothing too difficult to pay off with the increase in wages she's sure to see upon graduation. But each year her costs went up astronomically, forcing her to either take on more and more debt, or else cut her losses with nothing to show for it, and no hope of getting the higher-paying job that would enable her to pay off the debt she'd already incurred. What exactly is she supposed to do? What did you do when you were faced with that situation? Oh wait, that's right. You were never faced with that situation.
So before you start waxing eloquent about how hard you worked for the things you have, and how these lazy kids should do the same, consider that the world they live in is very different from the one you did. Let go of your self-righteousness, and consider that they might actually have something legitimate to protest.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Proud to be an Authoritative Parent
Motherhood, like everything else, has its ups and downs. There are days when my kids make me happier than I ever thought I could be, and there are days when I have to fight the temptation to just leave them at the first Safe Haven I can find.
But there is one downside to motherhood that caught me by surprise, and it's probably the aspect of being a mother that I despise more than any other: having to deal with other mothers.
Mothers are the most judgmental, arrogant, and vicious people I've ever met (and that's saying something when you remember I'm a former pastor!). Not all of them are like that, but enough of them are that I'm dreading the day my kids start to make friends, and I'm going to have to start dealing with those friends' mothers.
Most mothers (myself included) are convinced that their method of parenting is the best. That's obvious; why would anyone choose a parenting method they felt was substandard to another method they were aware of? The trouble comes when they encounter a mother who shares that level of conviction, but subscribes to a different method than the first mother. Rather than recognize that different people have different philosophies, mothers tend to view any difference in parenting approach as a judgement on their own method, and, by extension, on their own abilities as a mother. Therefore anyone with a different approach must be exposed as a bad mother before she can expose you as one.
From what I've seen and read, the parenting philosophy most in vogue right now is "attachment parenting." I find not only the philosophy problematic, but the terminology as well. Since I'm not an attachment parent, does that make me a detachment parent? Someone who is actively trying to separate from my very small children, rather than enjoy a close relationship with them? I don't think so. I don't think attachment parenting is necessarily bad; I just don't think it would work for my family, and I don't believe that it's the only way to raise "secure, joyful, empathic children." I don't believe that not following the attachment parenting strategies will harm the connection and trust between me and my children, the way attachment parents claim it will. Can attachment parenting work? I'm sure it can, and I'm not going to condemn anyone for subscribing to that particular philosophy, especially since the social pressures to do so right now are huge. But I don't.
Especially with how I've observed it being used in practice. Attachment parenting is very child-centered, but according to Attachment Parenting International's website, it's not 'permissive' parenting. However, from what I've seen from other moms who appear to subscribe to the attachment parenting philosophy, they very much engage in permissive parenting, and it's become just as much a social norm as attachment parenting. (The fact that Attachment Parenting International felt the need to draw the distinction on their website indicates to me how much the two have become conflated.)
Generally speaking, there are three primary parenting styles: permissive, authoritarian, and authoritative. Permissive parents show lots of love and affection, accept their children as they are, and make very few demands on them. Children of permissive parents are often spoiled with little or no self control, expect to be spoon-fed physically and emotionally throughout their lives, and are less likely to grow into independent, socially successful adults. Authoritarian parents set rules and standards without any flexibility, emphasize obedience, rarely (if ever) show warmth or affection, and feel it's important to exert power over their children. Children of authoritarian parents usually either rebel and escape their homes at a relatively early age (whether they're ready or not), or else remain dependent on their parents throughout their adulthood. Authoritative parents set rules and guidelines that they expect their children to follow, but can be flexible when such flexibility is appropriate. They exercise control over their children without being controlling, and often show love and affection to their children without fear that such expressions will diminish their ability to discipline. Children of authoritative parents usually grow up to be independent, socially successful, and respectful of authority.
I strive to be an authoritative parent.
Attachment parenting, when done exactly as Attachment Parenting International lays it out, is also authoritative. However, as I mentioned before, I've usually seen adherents to the attachment parenting model unable to exercise appropriate discipline and/or set boundaries. Because attachment parenting places such an emphasis on not doing anything to damage the trust and connection between child and parent, many parents fear doing exactly that if they tell a child 'no' and refuse to accept inappropriate behavior. This makes permissive parenting the social norm and expected default.
And woe to anyone who deviates from the norm.
From the perspective of a permissive parent, someone who is using authoritative methods appears to be authoritarian or even abusive. Authoritative parents set clear boundaries and high - but reachable - expectations for their children. Violating those boundaries or not meeting those expectations has consequences. Most of the time it's pretty non-dramatic. For example, my husband and I are very polite in our conversations with each other and with our children. "Please" and "thank you" are regularly spoken by us. My three and a half year old son (and my almost-two year old daughter, for that matter) has been hearing this his whole life. When we ask him to do something we include the 'please' and follow it up with 'thank you.' He knows what's expected. When he wants something and he demands it ("Push me in!"), we ignore him. Most of the time he'll adjust his tone and his words on his own ("Excuse me, Mama?" "Yes?" "Will you push me in, please?" "Of course.") If he doesn't do this on his own, after ignoring a second demand or sitting too long in silence, we'll prompt him ("How do you ask?" "Please." "Please what?" "Will you push me in, please?" "That's better.") It's very simple, and it's pretty non-confrontational. If he wants something, he needs to ask politely, or he doesn't get it. We don't expect as much from our daughter, who is just beginning to use one or two word sentences, but we're still setting high but reachable expectations. ("More!" "How do you ask?" "Please!") More often than not her initial request is "More please!" We started this at different times with our kids, depending on where they were developmentally; we don't expect more from them than they can do, but compared to so many children of the same age whose parents expect nothing from them, we seem harsh and demanding.
Often the expectations and consequences are negotiated between me and my son (my daughter needs to get a little more verbal before she can enjoy this experience). If he puts all his toys away after lunch, I'll read him his favorite story. "But I want to go to the mall playground." "You would rather go to the mall playground than hear your favorite story?" "Yes." "We can do that, but you have to eat your lunch quickly. If you take too long, we won't have time to go. So if you eat your lunch quickly, and put all your toys away quickly, then we can go to the mall playground." "OK!" He's never not eaten and put his toys away quickly enough for me to not take him.
Such interactions require both of us to be calm and rational. While very small children are more capable of this than many parents believe, they are also prone to temper tantrums, which is a clear violation of the established boundaries and expectations of this authoritative parent. Simply put, I don't negotiate with terrorists, especially pint-sized ones who call me 'Mama.' When my kids throw a temper tantrum, not only do they absolutely not get what they want, they are given to the count of five to shut down the tantrum or they go in time-out. Both my son and my daughter do standing time-outs facing the corner (for different lengths of time, accounting for the differences in their ages and temperaments), and have been for quite a while. Once the time-out is over, I tell them why they went in time-out, and how to avoid that in the future. By this time they're more calm and rational, and they understand that the punishment is over now, and they're more willing to interact in an appropriate manner. They still don't get whatever it was they were demanding; that ship sailed once the temper tantrum started. My son rarely has to do a time-out in public anymore, because he's already learned from experience that Mama can find a time-out corner anywhere. He's also pretty philosophical about his time-outs. Once he's in there, the only way out is to be quiet, because he knows the clock doesn't start ticking until the screaming and crying end. My daughter is still learning both these truths, so I'm still faced with the miserable experience of giving her time-outs in public.
My daughter is almost two. I realize that many parents don't even try to discipline children this young, so the fact that I do is shocking and horrifying to them. She is also extremely stubborn (she gets it from both her parents) and has a pretty vile temper. So when she throws a temper tantrum in public, permissive parents who would probably deal with her by hugging her, kissing her, and giving her a sippy of juice and a cookie to calm her down see me instead tell her to "shut it down" and then count to five in my sternest 'Mommy-voice.' If she doesn't shut it down (she has been more often lately, but she still usually doesn't), I then pick her up under the arms, carry her without holding her close (partly because I don't want her to think she's being cuddled and partly because I'm trying to stay out of range of her wildly kicking feet) and plop her down in the nearest boring corner I can find, facing the wall. Permissive parents who can't stand to hear a baby cry see me forcing her to stand in time-out while she's screaming bloody murder. Since their default is to assume every cry or scream is a sign of genuine distress and must be stopped by hugs, kisses, and affirmation, they don't see discipline; they see child abuse.
The way I see it, there are only three possible ways to deal with temper tantrums: appease them, ignore them, or punish them. I will not reward such behavior, even if appeasement usually is the most expedient way of getting them to stop, because it also guarantees many more of the same once the child figures out that throwing a tantrum will get her what she wants. For a while I tried ignoring them, but that's not really an option in public, and at home they can last a very long time if merely ignored. I also want to be consistent, and have the same response at home as I do in public. Punishing them sends the message much more effectively that this behavior is not acceptable and will not be tolerated. I use time-outs because I don't believe in hitting, I don't see much point in a screaming contest, and making her tell it to an empty corner is the best way I can think of to get her to understand that no one wants to hear it. If my kids have a complaint they can tell me about it, using words. My three and a half year old son is not shy about telling me "I don't like that" or "I don't want to." I don't put him in time-out for that. If it's reasonable to change whatever it is to something he does like or is more willing to do, then I change it. If such a change is not reasonable, I tell him something along the lines of "I'm sorry, you don't have to like it, but you do have to do it" and I tell him why. And he accepts that and does it and moves on. He doesn't usually throw temper tantrums to protest something anymore because he knows it's only going to get him put in time-out, and he has a much better chance of changing something if he talks to me about it instead. My daughter is still learning this.
I'm not looking for the approval of other moms. But I don't think it's appropriate to let toddlers call the shots. Personally, I think giving children too many choices or too much control is abusive, because life is stressful, and that's too much responsibility for a two or three year old (or four, or eight, or twelve--you get my point). Some choice and control is appropriate--my son chooses his breakfast every morning: Cheerios or Kashi. He picks out his shirt after I tell him whether he has to pick from the long-sleeve or the short-sleeve side of the drawer, and then he picks from two or three pairs of pants or shorts I've selected that more or less match the shirt he's chosen. My kids have choices that are appropriate to their age, and they're learning that they have some say in the world in which they live, but they don't have total control. Vegetables are a part of supper whether they like them or not, ice cream is a nice surprise every once in a while but never an earned reward, and temper tantrums get you put in time-out. As they get older, they'll learn more of life's lessons, but this is a good start for now.
So if you're a permissive parent who doesn't believe that toddlers are capable of self-control, understand that while that may be true of your toddler, it's not true of mine (though if you've never expected it of your toddler, how would you even know?). Please learn the difference between authoritative parenting and authoritarian parenting (and abusive parenting). Also consider what you're teaching your child about how the world works, and whether or not they're in for a really rude awakening at some point.
And know that when you threaten to call Child Protective Services on a mother who's enforcing a time-out for her almost-two year old in a corner of the mall playground, you're coming across as a judgmental, arrogant, vicious ignoramus who doesn't know how to handle her own children. (Yes, that really happened to me last week, which is why this rant is so long. My apologies to everyone who does recognize that different parents have different philosophies, and thank you for your tolerance.)
But there is one downside to motherhood that caught me by surprise, and it's probably the aspect of being a mother that I despise more than any other: having to deal with other mothers.
Mothers are the most judgmental, arrogant, and vicious people I've ever met (and that's saying something when you remember I'm a former pastor!). Not all of them are like that, but enough of them are that I'm dreading the day my kids start to make friends, and I'm going to have to start dealing with those friends' mothers.
Most mothers (myself included) are convinced that their method of parenting is the best. That's obvious; why would anyone choose a parenting method they felt was substandard to another method they were aware of? The trouble comes when they encounter a mother who shares that level of conviction, but subscribes to a different method than the first mother. Rather than recognize that different people have different philosophies, mothers tend to view any difference in parenting approach as a judgement on their own method, and, by extension, on their own abilities as a mother. Therefore anyone with a different approach must be exposed as a bad mother before she can expose you as one.
From what I've seen and read, the parenting philosophy most in vogue right now is "attachment parenting." I find not only the philosophy problematic, but the terminology as well. Since I'm not an attachment parent, does that make me a detachment parent? Someone who is actively trying to separate from my very small children, rather than enjoy a close relationship with them? I don't think so. I don't think attachment parenting is necessarily bad; I just don't think it would work for my family, and I don't believe that it's the only way to raise "secure, joyful, empathic children." I don't believe that not following the attachment parenting strategies will harm the connection and trust between me and my children, the way attachment parents claim it will. Can attachment parenting work? I'm sure it can, and I'm not going to condemn anyone for subscribing to that particular philosophy, especially since the social pressures to do so right now are huge. But I don't.
Especially with how I've observed it being used in practice. Attachment parenting is very child-centered, but according to Attachment Parenting International's website, it's not 'permissive' parenting. However, from what I've seen from other moms who appear to subscribe to the attachment parenting philosophy, they very much engage in permissive parenting, and it's become just as much a social norm as attachment parenting. (The fact that Attachment Parenting International felt the need to draw the distinction on their website indicates to me how much the two have become conflated.)
Generally speaking, there are three primary parenting styles: permissive, authoritarian, and authoritative. Permissive parents show lots of love and affection, accept their children as they are, and make very few demands on them. Children of permissive parents are often spoiled with little or no self control, expect to be spoon-fed physically and emotionally throughout their lives, and are less likely to grow into independent, socially successful adults. Authoritarian parents set rules and standards without any flexibility, emphasize obedience, rarely (if ever) show warmth or affection, and feel it's important to exert power over their children. Children of authoritarian parents usually either rebel and escape their homes at a relatively early age (whether they're ready or not), or else remain dependent on their parents throughout their adulthood. Authoritative parents set rules and guidelines that they expect their children to follow, but can be flexible when such flexibility is appropriate. They exercise control over their children without being controlling, and often show love and affection to their children without fear that such expressions will diminish their ability to discipline. Children of authoritative parents usually grow up to be independent, socially successful, and respectful of authority.
I strive to be an authoritative parent.
Attachment parenting, when done exactly as Attachment Parenting International lays it out, is also authoritative. However, as I mentioned before, I've usually seen adherents to the attachment parenting model unable to exercise appropriate discipline and/or set boundaries. Because attachment parenting places such an emphasis on not doing anything to damage the trust and connection between child and parent, many parents fear doing exactly that if they tell a child 'no' and refuse to accept inappropriate behavior. This makes permissive parenting the social norm and expected default.
And woe to anyone who deviates from the norm.
From the perspective of a permissive parent, someone who is using authoritative methods appears to be authoritarian or even abusive. Authoritative parents set clear boundaries and high - but reachable - expectations for their children. Violating those boundaries or not meeting those expectations has consequences. Most of the time it's pretty non-dramatic. For example, my husband and I are very polite in our conversations with each other and with our children. "Please" and "thank you" are regularly spoken by us. My three and a half year old son (and my almost-two year old daughter, for that matter) has been hearing this his whole life. When we ask him to do something we include the 'please' and follow it up with 'thank you.' He knows what's expected. When he wants something and he demands it ("Push me in!"), we ignore him. Most of the time he'll adjust his tone and his words on his own ("Excuse me, Mama?" "Yes?" "Will you push me in, please?" "Of course.") If he doesn't do this on his own, after ignoring a second demand or sitting too long in silence, we'll prompt him ("How do you ask?" "Please." "Please what?" "Will you push me in, please?" "That's better.") It's very simple, and it's pretty non-confrontational. If he wants something, he needs to ask politely, or he doesn't get it. We don't expect as much from our daughter, who is just beginning to use one or two word sentences, but we're still setting high but reachable expectations. ("More!" "How do you ask?" "Please!") More often than not her initial request is "More please!" We started this at different times with our kids, depending on where they were developmentally; we don't expect more from them than they can do, but compared to so many children of the same age whose parents expect nothing from them, we seem harsh and demanding.
Often the expectations and consequences are negotiated between me and my son (my daughter needs to get a little more verbal before she can enjoy this experience). If he puts all his toys away after lunch, I'll read him his favorite story. "But I want to go to the mall playground." "You would rather go to the mall playground than hear your favorite story?" "Yes." "We can do that, but you have to eat your lunch quickly. If you take too long, we won't have time to go. So if you eat your lunch quickly, and put all your toys away quickly, then we can go to the mall playground." "OK!" He's never not eaten and put his toys away quickly enough for me to not take him.
Such interactions require both of us to be calm and rational. While very small children are more capable of this than many parents believe, they are also prone to temper tantrums, which is a clear violation of the established boundaries and expectations of this authoritative parent. Simply put, I don't negotiate with terrorists, especially pint-sized ones who call me 'Mama.' When my kids throw a temper tantrum, not only do they absolutely not get what they want, they are given to the count of five to shut down the tantrum or they go in time-out. Both my son and my daughter do standing time-outs facing the corner (for different lengths of time, accounting for the differences in their ages and temperaments), and have been for quite a while. Once the time-out is over, I tell them why they went in time-out, and how to avoid that in the future. By this time they're more calm and rational, and they understand that the punishment is over now, and they're more willing to interact in an appropriate manner. They still don't get whatever it was they were demanding; that ship sailed once the temper tantrum started. My son rarely has to do a time-out in public anymore, because he's already learned from experience that Mama can find a time-out corner anywhere. He's also pretty philosophical about his time-outs. Once he's in there, the only way out is to be quiet, because he knows the clock doesn't start ticking until the screaming and crying end. My daughter is still learning both these truths, so I'm still faced with the miserable experience of giving her time-outs in public.
My daughter is almost two. I realize that many parents don't even try to discipline children this young, so the fact that I do is shocking and horrifying to them. She is also extremely stubborn (she gets it from both her parents) and has a pretty vile temper. So when she throws a temper tantrum in public, permissive parents who would probably deal with her by hugging her, kissing her, and giving her a sippy of juice and a cookie to calm her down see me instead tell her to "shut it down" and then count to five in my sternest 'Mommy-voice.' If she doesn't shut it down (she has been more often lately, but she still usually doesn't), I then pick her up under the arms, carry her without holding her close (partly because I don't want her to think she's being cuddled and partly because I'm trying to stay out of range of her wildly kicking feet) and plop her down in the nearest boring corner I can find, facing the wall. Permissive parents who can't stand to hear a baby cry see me forcing her to stand in time-out while she's screaming bloody murder. Since their default is to assume every cry or scream is a sign of genuine distress and must be stopped by hugs, kisses, and affirmation, they don't see discipline; they see child abuse.
The way I see it, there are only three possible ways to deal with temper tantrums: appease them, ignore them, or punish them. I will not reward such behavior, even if appeasement usually is the most expedient way of getting them to stop, because it also guarantees many more of the same once the child figures out that throwing a tantrum will get her what she wants. For a while I tried ignoring them, but that's not really an option in public, and at home they can last a very long time if merely ignored. I also want to be consistent, and have the same response at home as I do in public. Punishing them sends the message much more effectively that this behavior is not acceptable and will not be tolerated. I use time-outs because I don't believe in hitting, I don't see much point in a screaming contest, and making her tell it to an empty corner is the best way I can think of to get her to understand that no one wants to hear it. If my kids have a complaint they can tell me about it, using words. My three and a half year old son is not shy about telling me "I don't like that" or "I don't want to." I don't put him in time-out for that. If it's reasonable to change whatever it is to something he does like or is more willing to do, then I change it. If such a change is not reasonable, I tell him something along the lines of "I'm sorry, you don't have to like it, but you do have to do it" and I tell him why. And he accepts that and does it and moves on. He doesn't usually throw temper tantrums to protest something anymore because he knows it's only going to get him put in time-out, and he has a much better chance of changing something if he talks to me about it instead. My daughter is still learning this.
I'm not looking for the approval of other moms. But I don't think it's appropriate to let toddlers call the shots. Personally, I think giving children too many choices or too much control is abusive, because life is stressful, and that's too much responsibility for a two or three year old (or four, or eight, or twelve--you get my point). Some choice and control is appropriate--my son chooses his breakfast every morning: Cheerios or Kashi. He picks out his shirt after I tell him whether he has to pick from the long-sleeve or the short-sleeve side of the drawer, and then he picks from two or three pairs of pants or shorts I've selected that more or less match the shirt he's chosen. My kids have choices that are appropriate to their age, and they're learning that they have some say in the world in which they live, but they don't have total control. Vegetables are a part of supper whether they like them or not, ice cream is a nice surprise every once in a while but never an earned reward, and temper tantrums get you put in time-out. As they get older, they'll learn more of life's lessons, but this is a good start for now.
So if you're a permissive parent who doesn't believe that toddlers are capable of self-control, understand that while that may be true of your toddler, it's not true of mine (though if you've never expected it of your toddler, how would you even know?). Please learn the difference between authoritative parenting and authoritarian parenting (and abusive parenting). Also consider what you're teaching your child about how the world works, and whether or not they're in for a really rude awakening at some point.
And know that when you threaten to call Child Protective Services on a mother who's enforcing a time-out for her almost-two year old in a corner of the mall playground, you're coming across as a judgmental, arrogant, vicious ignoramus who doesn't know how to handle her own children. (Yes, that really happened to me last week, which is why this rant is so long. My apologies to everyone who does recognize that different parents have different philosophies, and thank you for your tolerance.)
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Michael Moore and American Values
Last week the Guardian published an excerpt of Michael Moore's new book, Here Comes Trouble.
Full disclosure: I have not read this book. I have not seen any of Michael Moore's movies. I'm not boycotting them or purposely avoiding them; I simply haven't gotten around to it, and they're not high enough on my to-do list to put much effort into seeking them out. If any of them happen to cross my path at a time that's convenient for me, I'll be happy to watch them.
I do know who Michael Moore is, I'm familiar with most of his projects of the last ten years, and I know he has a reputation for being somewhat one-sided. Good for him.
All that said, I was absolutely appalled and sickened when I read the excerpt of his book in the Guardian, in which he detailed the threats and attempts on his life after his 2003 Oscar speech, and later the release of his movie Fahrenheit 9/11.
In case you didn't click on the link and read the account for yourself, here are some highlights:
Is this who we are as a country? Let's put aside for the moment that the charges he made against then-President George W. Bush in his Oscar speech were dead-on correct. We did invade Iraq for fictitious reasons. But that's not the point. Let's pretend for a moment that Moore was wrong about everything. Let's pretend there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Bush's presidency was achieved legitimately. Let's pretend that Saddam Hussein masterminded the events of September 11, 2001 and had stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction hiding in Iraq. Let's pretend all that is true, and Moore still said what he said at the Oscars, and still made Fahrenheit 9/11. As an American, he has that right.
I'm disgusted that people who claim to support our troops "fighting for freedom and democracy" in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan will so violently reject freedom and democracy when it's practiced in their own country. Americans have the right to have their own opinions and express them publicly, even when those opinions question the motives, methods, and abilities of their leaders. Americans do not have the right to vandalize someone else's private property, trespass on someone else's private property, or threaten the life, health or safety of another person. If these are the democratic values we're trying to spread around the world, then the world is right to mock and reject us. This is not how civilized people treat each other.
I like the ideals that my country is based on, but I don't like the reality we live in. I don't like the tyranny of the majority, the groupthink ignorance of our history, or the increasing class wars between the "educated elite" and "real Americans" (as if education and a nuanced understanding of the shades of grey that make up the world are somehow antithetical to America). I don't like that our government follows the version of the Golden Rule that reads, "He who has the gold makes the rules." And I don't like that, in practice, we consider discipline and self-restraint as weaknesses, and emotionally-charged recklessness and instant gratification evidence of strength and commitment.
And based on reputation alone, I don't particularly like Michael Moore. But I respect his right to his opinion, I respect his right to express it publicly, and I appreciate his attempts to make people think critically about what's going on. If you don't want to hear what he has to say, don't watch his movies (you can suck it up and deal with it if he takes 30 seconds of a 3 hour and 30 minute awards show to spring his opinion on you). And as an American citizen, I wish to apologize to him. I can't speak on behalf of all Americans, but on my own behalf, I apologize. I never sent you hate mail, I never threatened you in person or over the telephone, I never accosted you, and I certainly never threatened your life or safety, but I'm sorry you had to experience all those things. You should never have had to go through that for the sin of expressing your opinion. I'm sure if I ever get around to watching your movies, I'll find plenty I disagree with you about, but the most I would ever do would be to publish a blog post highlighting what I disagreed with and why. I'm sure you won't begrudge me my right to publicly express my opinion, just as I don't begrudge you your right to publicly express yours.
As for the rest of America, please try to understand that freedom and democracy means accepting that people have a right to question their government's leaders and actions without risk of harm or retribution, and that doing so is not un-American, as many of you claim, but rather is a very important aspect of being an American.
Full disclosure: I have not read this book. I have not seen any of Michael Moore's movies. I'm not boycotting them or purposely avoiding them; I simply haven't gotten around to it, and they're not high enough on my to-do list to put much effort into seeking them out. If any of them happen to cross my path at a time that's convenient for me, I'll be happy to watch them.
I do know who Michael Moore is, I'm familiar with most of his projects of the last ten years, and I know he has a reputation for being somewhat one-sided. Good for him.
All that said, I was absolutely appalled and sickened when I read the excerpt of his book in the Guardian, in which he detailed the threats and attempts on his life after his 2003 Oscar speech, and later the release of his movie Fahrenheit 9/11.
In case you didn't click on the link and read the account for yourself, here are some highlights:
- Upon returning home from the Oscars, he found a waist-high pile of manure (about three truckloads worth) in his driveway blocking access to his house, as well as signs nailed to the trees on his property threatening his safety and well-being if he didn't move.
- Not only did he receive mountains of hate-mail expressing people's desire for his death and/or poor health, but he also had people leaving threatening messages on his answering machine.
- So many people came to his house to threaten him that he had to hire a private security company, because the local police were overwhelmed.
- An assassination attempt with a knife was made when he was an invited speaker at an event (thwarted by his private security).
- A cup of scalding coffee was thrown in his face by a random man walking past him on the street (thwarted by his private security--his private security agent took it in the face instead).
- Another random person passing by lunged at him with a sharpened pencil, stabbing the hand of the private security agent.
Is this who we are as a country? Let's put aside for the moment that the charges he made against then-President George W. Bush in his Oscar speech were dead-on correct. We did invade Iraq for fictitious reasons. But that's not the point. Let's pretend for a moment that Moore was wrong about everything. Let's pretend there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Bush's presidency was achieved legitimately. Let's pretend that Saddam Hussein masterminded the events of September 11, 2001 and had stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction hiding in Iraq. Let's pretend all that is true, and Moore still said what he said at the Oscars, and still made Fahrenheit 9/11. As an American, he has that right.
I'm disgusted that people who claim to support our troops "fighting for freedom and democracy" in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan will so violently reject freedom and democracy when it's practiced in their own country. Americans have the right to have their own opinions and express them publicly, even when those opinions question the motives, methods, and abilities of their leaders. Americans do not have the right to vandalize someone else's private property, trespass on someone else's private property, or threaten the life, health or safety of another person. If these are the democratic values we're trying to spread around the world, then the world is right to mock and reject us. This is not how civilized people treat each other.
I like the ideals that my country is based on, but I don't like the reality we live in. I don't like the tyranny of the majority, the groupthink ignorance of our history, or the increasing class wars between the "educated elite" and "real Americans" (as if education and a nuanced understanding of the shades of grey that make up the world are somehow antithetical to America). I don't like that our government follows the version of the Golden Rule that reads, "He who has the gold makes the rules." And I don't like that, in practice, we consider discipline and self-restraint as weaknesses, and emotionally-charged recklessness and instant gratification evidence of strength and commitment.
And based on reputation alone, I don't particularly like Michael Moore. But I respect his right to his opinion, I respect his right to express it publicly, and I appreciate his attempts to make people think critically about what's going on. If you don't want to hear what he has to say, don't watch his movies (you can suck it up and deal with it if he takes 30 seconds of a 3 hour and 30 minute awards show to spring his opinion on you). And as an American citizen, I wish to apologize to him. I can't speak on behalf of all Americans, but on my own behalf, I apologize. I never sent you hate mail, I never threatened you in person or over the telephone, I never accosted you, and I certainly never threatened your life or safety, but I'm sorry you had to experience all those things. You should never have had to go through that for the sin of expressing your opinion. I'm sure if I ever get around to watching your movies, I'll find plenty I disagree with you about, but the most I would ever do would be to publish a blog post highlighting what I disagreed with and why. I'm sure you won't begrudge me my right to publicly express my opinion, just as I don't begrudge you your right to publicly express yours.
As for the rest of America, please try to understand that freedom and democracy means accepting that people have a right to question their government's leaders and actions without risk of harm or retribution, and that doing so is not un-American, as many of you claim, but rather is a very important aspect of being an American.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Context, Costume, and Identity
Under the best of circumstances, my children's sermons suck. This past Sunday was no exception. And it was not the best of circumstances.
I'd just invited the children to come forward, and they'd all come up (all four of them--not bad, actually, for the middle of summer) and assembled themselves in a line, sitting on the stair leading up to the chancel area. I took a breath and opened my mouth, about to launch into my vain attempt to be interesting and informative to the average six year old, when one of them spoke up and demanded, "Where's the pastor?"
I was the only adult standing, I'd led the liturgy up to this point (with the assisting minister and reader--great lay leadership and participation in this congregation!), my clerical collar peeked out the top of my alb, and my stole matched (more or less) the paraments on the pulpit and altar. Several people in the congregation snickered in their amusement as I said to the child, "I'm the pastor." He looked at me in stark disbelief, and I heard more snickering as I found myself having to explain, "I know I'm not your regular pastor, but he's on vacation, and I'm filling in while he's away." The kid seemed to accept that, and I was finally able to launch into my poorly crafted children's sermon, which flopped as usual, and then they were free to go back to their seats and I was free to go back to my comfort zone in the pulpit. But that child's question, and the fact that he hadn't recognized me as pastor even while I was in full costume and doing all the things a pastor does during worship stuck with me.
Anyone can wear the costume and say they're a pastor, but that doesn't mean they are one. Even someone wearing all the appropriate clothes and doing all the appropriate things in a worship setting can just as easily be an imposter.
That innocent question from a confused child had exposed me for what I'd been feeling like all along. When I don the uniform and stand up there on Sunday mornings, I feel like an imposter. Even though I'm technically in good standing with my roster status listed as "On Leave From Call - Family Leave," I also can't forget that some have labeled me (and I've labeled myself, if I'm going to be honest about it) as a "failed pastor." My last call went horribly wrong for a variety of reasons, and I enjoyed no coverage or support from my bishop or his staff. It's unclear if I could get another call now even if I wanted to (which, right now, I most certainly do not want). I've done nothing pastoral for a solid year (no preaching, no worship planning or leadership, no teaching, no visiting, nothing). The moment I returned to Massachusetts and made myself known to a few pastors in the New England Synod, I was immediately sucked back into the vortex of pulpit supply. But despite the three weeks I've already served as substitute pastor, with two more to go (and still counting), I've not felt like a pastor. At all.
An hour and a half after that six year old asked me that question, I showed up for the last day's programming of Readercon 22.
Readercon is an annual convention of science fiction and fantasy writers and fans. Unlike other science fiction conventions, Readercon focuses almost exclusively on the craft of writing. I learned about it from my husband, who is an avid reader of the genre. I have nothing against science fiction myself, but it's never particularly grabbed me, either. However, because Readercon focuses so heavily on the craft of writing, most of the panels are of interest to a nonfiction writer and aspiring writer of literary (opposed to speculative) fiction, like me.
I'd attended the previous two days of programming as well, and I'd pretty much blended into the scenery. On Sunday, however, I'd come straight from worship, and even though I'd left my stole, alb, and pectoral cross in the car, I was still wearing my tabbed black clergy shirt and black skirt. This time, I was noticed.
Why didn't I de-tab before going in? I could have. But I think I was rebelling against an anti-religious sentiment that had been pervading the entire convention. Earlier in the weekend, at different panels, I'd heard religion (particularly Christianity) referred to as -- at best -- a "silly superstition" and -- at worst -- a "dangerous colonial imperialism" that "oppressed" people. The context was inappropriate for a debate on the merits of my particular theology, but I was in no mood to hide my beliefs, either. I had a legitimate reason to be wearing that collar; I wasn't about to 'camouflage' my uniform because many of the people there didn't think much of what it represented.
The reaction to me was mixed. Some people asked me, politely and (I interpreted) out of genuine curiosity, what brought me to Readercon. I recognize that some of the anti-religious sentiment was triggered by some Christians' very vocal opposition to the science fiction and fantasy genres as a whole. All of it has been categorically dismissed as 'pagan' or 'devil-inspired.' My presence was a curiosity, and my uniform combined with my bearing and manner (i.e. I was engaging with the panels the way everyone else was, rather than pounding a bible and threatening hell and damnation on everyone who wouldn't repent and be saved) made me an approachable representative of Christianity. Some talked to me about religion. Others disregarded my attire and talked to me as a human being (how refreshing!). Others gave me a very wide berth when I walked down the hallway. But no one attacked me.
And through it all, it felt right to me. I knew I was wearing 'distinctive' clothing, but it felt more like a uniform than a costume. I felt like the clerical collar represented who I was and what I believed. As I talked with people, I was even able to bring legitimacy to my claims of being a writer because of the writing I've done in the course of my ministry. I'm a writer who ministers. I'm a minister who writes. I can't do one without the other.
Officially, I'm in a period of discernment as I focus on raising my kids. (At least that's my justification for staying on the roster, rather than just dropping off.) I think what I need to discern is why I feel more like a pastor at a gathering of non-religious science fiction writers and fans, but I feel like an imposter at church. What is my calling, anyway?
I'd just invited the children to come forward, and they'd all come up (all four of them--not bad, actually, for the middle of summer) and assembled themselves in a line, sitting on the stair leading up to the chancel area. I took a breath and opened my mouth, about to launch into my vain attempt to be interesting and informative to the average six year old, when one of them spoke up and demanded, "Where's the pastor?"
I was the only adult standing, I'd led the liturgy up to this point (with the assisting minister and reader--great lay leadership and participation in this congregation!), my clerical collar peeked out the top of my alb, and my stole matched (more or less) the paraments on the pulpit and altar. Several people in the congregation snickered in their amusement as I said to the child, "I'm the pastor." He looked at me in stark disbelief, and I heard more snickering as I found myself having to explain, "I know I'm not your regular pastor, but he's on vacation, and I'm filling in while he's away." The kid seemed to accept that, and I was finally able to launch into my poorly crafted children's sermon, which flopped as usual, and then they were free to go back to their seats and I was free to go back to my comfort zone in the pulpit. But that child's question, and the fact that he hadn't recognized me as pastor even while I was in full costume and doing all the things a pastor does during worship stuck with me.
Anyone can wear the costume and say they're a pastor, but that doesn't mean they are one. Even someone wearing all the appropriate clothes and doing all the appropriate things in a worship setting can just as easily be an imposter.
That innocent question from a confused child had exposed me for what I'd been feeling like all along. When I don the uniform and stand up there on Sunday mornings, I feel like an imposter. Even though I'm technically in good standing with my roster status listed as "On Leave From Call - Family Leave," I also can't forget that some have labeled me (and I've labeled myself, if I'm going to be honest about it) as a "failed pastor." My last call went horribly wrong for a variety of reasons, and I enjoyed no coverage or support from my bishop or his staff. It's unclear if I could get another call now even if I wanted to (which, right now, I most certainly do not want). I've done nothing pastoral for a solid year (no preaching, no worship planning or leadership, no teaching, no visiting, nothing). The moment I returned to Massachusetts and made myself known to a few pastors in the New England Synod, I was immediately sucked back into the vortex of pulpit supply. But despite the three weeks I've already served as substitute pastor, with two more to go (and still counting), I've not felt like a pastor. At all.
An hour and a half after that six year old asked me that question, I showed up for the last day's programming of Readercon 22.
Readercon is an annual convention of science fiction and fantasy writers and fans. Unlike other science fiction conventions, Readercon focuses almost exclusively on the craft of writing. I learned about it from my husband, who is an avid reader of the genre. I have nothing against science fiction myself, but it's never particularly grabbed me, either. However, because Readercon focuses so heavily on the craft of writing, most of the panels are of interest to a nonfiction writer and aspiring writer of literary (opposed to speculative) fiction, like me.
I'd attended the previous two days of programming as well, and I'd pretty much blended into the scenery. On Sunday, however, I'd come straight from worship, and even though I'd left my stole, alb, and pectoral cross in the car, I was still wearing my tabbed black clergy shirt and black skirt. This time, I was noticed.
Why didn't I de-tab before going in? I could have. But I think I was rebelling against an anti-religious sentiment that had been pervading the entire convention. Earlier in the weekend, at different panels, I'd heard religion (particularly Christianity) referred to as -- at best -- a "silly superstition" and -- at worst -- a "dangerous colonial imperialism" that "oppressed" people. The context was inappropriate for a debate on the merits of my particular theology, but I was in no mood to hide my beliefs, either. I had a legitimate reason to be wearing that collar; I wasn't about to 'camouflage' my uniform because many of the people there didn't think much of what it represented.
The reaction to me was mixed. Some people asked me, politely and (I interpreted) out of genuine curiosity, what brought me to Readercon. I recognize that some of the anti-religious sentiment was triggered by some Christians' very vocal opposition to the science fiction and fantasy genres as a whole. All of it has been categorically dismissed as 'pagan' or 'devil-inspired.' My presence was a curiosity, and my uniform combined with my bearing and manner (i.e. I was engaging with the panels the way everyone else was, rather than pounding a bible and threatening hell and damnation on everyone who wouldn't repent and be saved) made me an approachable representative of Christianity. Some talked to me about religion. Others disregarded my attire and talked to me as a human being (how refreshing!). Others gave me a very wide berth when I walked down the hallway. But no one attacked me.
And through it all, it felt right to me. I knew I was wearing 'distinctive' clothing, but it felt more like a uniform than a costume. I felt like the clerical collar represented who I was and what I believed. As I talked with people, I was even able to bring legitimacy to my claims of being a writer because of the writing I've done in the course of my ministry. I'm a writer who ministers. I'm a minister who writes. I can't do one without the other.
Officially, I'm in a period of discernment as I focus on raising my kids. (At least that's my justification for staying on the roster, rather than just dropping off.) I think what I need to discern is why I feel more like a pastor at a gathering of non-religious science fiction writers and fans, but I feel like an imposter at church. What is my calling, anyway?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Too Offensive? Or Too Easily Offended?
I am way behind in my reading. I've got a stack of periodicals that are getting increasingly outdated that I'm working my way through (except for the ones that I eventually throw away without reading, because they're just to irrelevant now).
Right now I'm working my way through the May 17th issue of the Christian Century, which also happens to be the last issue of my subscription. I like the magazine, and I get a lot out of the articles despite the somewhat liberal Calvinist perspective (I'd always thought 'liberal Calvinist' was an oxymoron, but apparently not!), but I simply can't keep up with a biweekly publication right now.
A regular feature of the Christian Century is the section "Living By The Word," in which a guest contributor writes up a reflection on the upcoming two weeks' worth of lectionary readings. Quinn G. Caldwell, who is listed as being the associate minister of Old South Church (UCC) in Boston wrote the reflections in this issue. In his reflection for May 22 he wrote about interfaith dialogue and worship, and he described two ways of going about it. The first way waters down everyone's faith to the lowest common denominator, so that everyone agrees to only say things that everyone else in the room can agree with. The other way, which he identifies as his preferred way, allows and encourages everyone to be unafraid about who they are and what they believe. He writes, "Rather than agreeing not to risk being offensive, we agree not to be easily offended."
I like this approach, and not just for interfaith dialogue. What would happen if, in general, people worked harder at not being offended rather than not being offensive? Your personal faith claim of ultimate truth isn't an attack on mine. My preferred parenting method isn't a critique of yours. Her strong preference for the culture of a coastal city isn't a slam against his strong preference for the community of a midwestern farming town. The way one person chooses to live his or her life isn't a judgment on how someone else chooses to live theirs.
I know that in truth, many people would rather be offended, and expect the world to fully agree with and affirm their choices or preferences. It would be much easier and nicer to live where we never felt like an outsider, or in any way different. And I acknowledge that sometimes people really are being attacked for their differences, and that is wrong. But not everything is an attack or a judgment. Sometimes two people just see things differently, and agreeing to disagree is the only way to fully respect both parties, rather than asking one or both to play down who they are or what they believe. As Caldwell writes in his May 22 reflection, "[T]he great challenge of our day is not to learn to live with watered-down versions of other faiths, but to live with them in all their fullness. What could I possibly learn about Islam from a Muslim who's pretending not to be one?"
I'm sure that every time I speak to someone, either publicly or privately, my words could be interpreted as offensive by someone. Increasingly people who do speak publicly are having to be more and more careful what they say, because someone somewhere is sure to be offended. As a result, we are saying less and less. We are not dialoguing with each other about anything important; we are monologuing at each other about nothing at all. We are not learning from each other, because we're too afraid to say anything. So we're all retreating to our own safe little enclaves of like-minded people and becoming more and more isolated from each other, and entrenched in our own positions and beliefs, and stagnant in our growth as people, and ignorant in our knowledge of the world.
Back in seminary I was asked to lead a devotional for the Wartburg Association of Students. I'd found a poem inspired by a verse from John's Gospel, written about a hundred years ago. The poem used masculine pronouns for God, which was contrary to Wartburg's gender-neutral language policy, but I didn't want to rewrite the poem in the name of political correctness. So before I read the poem I explained the age of the piece, and that it did include these pronouns, and that I hoped everyone would be able to look past that and hear what the poem was saying. As far as I could tell, everyone did, and it was clear that despite the presence of the pronouns that some in the room found offensive, by choosing not to be offended by them they were able to hear the beauty of the sentiment that the poet was trying to express.
We can do it. Something else seminary taught (drilled into) me was this: it's not about you. Next time you hear someone saying something you don't agree with, don't assume it's an attack or a judgment on you. Instead, try to hear what they're saying, and understand what it means for them. Don't demand that everyone else be inoffensive; work a little harder at not being so easily offended yourself.
Right now I'm working my way through the May 17th issue of the Christian Century, which also happens to be the last issue of my subscription. I like the magazine, and I get a lot out of the articles despite the somewhat liberal Calvinist perspective (I'd always thought 'liberal Calvinist' was an oxymoron, but apparently not!), but I simply can't keep up with a biweekly publication right now.
A regular feature of the Christian Century is the section "Living By The Word," in which a guest contributor writes up a reflection on the upcoming two weeks' worth of lectionary readings. Quinn G. Caldwell, who is listed as being the associate minister of Old South Church (UCC) in Boston wrote the reflections in this issue. In his reflection for May 22 he wrote about interfaith dialogue and worship, and he described two ways of going about it. The first way waters down everyone's faith to the lowest common denominator, so that everyone agrees to only say things that everyone else in the room can agree with. The other way, which he identifies as his preferred way, allows and encourages everyone to be unafraid about who they are and what they believe. He writes, "Rather than agreeing not to risk being offensive, we agree not to be easily offended."
I like this approach, and not just for interfaith dialogue. What would happen if, in general, people worked harder at not being offended rather than not being offensive? Your personal faith claim of ultimate truth isn't an attack on mine. My preferred parenting method isn't a critique of yours. Her strong preference for the culture of a coastal city isn't a slam against his strong preference for the community of a midwestern farming town. The way one person chooses to live his or her life isn't a judgment on how someone else chooses to live theirs.
I know that in truth, many people would rather be offended, and expect the world to fully agree with and affirm their choices or preferences. It would be much easier and nicer to live where we never felt like an outsider, or in any way different. And I acknowledge that sometimes people really are being attacked for their differences, and that is wrong. But not everything is an attack or a judgment. Sometimes two people just see things differently, and agreeing to disagree is the only way to fully respect both parties, rather than asking one or both to play down who they are or what they believe. As Caldwell writes in his May 22 reflection, "[T]he great challenge of our day is not to learn to live with watered-down versions of other faiths, but to live with them in all their fullness. What could I possibly learn about Islam from a Muslim who's pretending not to be one?"
I'm sure that every time I speak to someone, either publicly or privately, my words could be interpreted as offensive by someone. Increasingly people who do speak publicly are having to be more and more careful what they say, because someone somewhere is sure to be offended. As a result, we are saying less and less. We are not dialoguing with each other about anything important; we are monologuing at each other about nothing at all. We are not learning from each other, because we're too afraid to say anything. So we're all retreating to our own safe little enclaves of like-minded people and becoming more and more isolated from each other, and entrenched in our own positions and beliefs, and stagnant in our growth as people, and ignorant in our knowledge of the world.
Back in seminary I was asked to lead a devotional for the Wartburg Association of Students. I'd found a poem inspired by a verse from John's Gospel, written about a hundred years ago. The poem used masculine pronouns for God, which was contrary to Wartburg's gender-neutral language policy, but I didn't want to rewrite the poem in the name of political correctness. So before I read the poem I explained the age of the piece, and that it did include these pronouns, and that I hoped everyone would be able to look past that and hear what the poem was saying. As far as I could tell, everyone did, and it was clear that despite the presence of the pronouns that some in the room found offensive, by choosing not to be offended by them they were able to hear the beauty of the sentiment that the poet was trying to express.
We can do it. Something else seminary taught (drilled into) me was this: it's not about you. Next time you hear someone saying something you don't agree with, don't assume it's an attack or a judgment on you. Instead, try to hear what they're saying, and understand what it means for them. Don't demand that everyone else be inoffensive; work a little harder at not being so easily offended yourself.
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