Last week I wrote a post positing whether Boy Scout units sponsored by the LDS Church would soon be able to have gay scout leaders. I asked the question in light of last week's news that the 77-member BSA executive board would consider dropping the BSA's long held ban on homosexual members at its meeting this week.
The Associated Press now reports that the executive board has backed away from making the decision itself. Rather, the board will prepare a proposal to be voted on at the national council meeting in May. The national council has some 1,400 voting members, including "volunteers who are elected National Officers and Executive Board members, regional presidents, the local council representatives, members at large, and honorary members."
Frankly, the proposal to change the current policy is going to be a hard sell for this broad group. The best chance of changing the policy anytime soon would have been at the executive board meeting, many of whose members operate in social circles where gay rights are accepted and championed. A rapidly organized grass roots movement to get the board to postpone its vote appears to have been effective.
While there will be strong support for changing the current policy among some members of the national council, the size of the voting group ensures that voters will more closely reflect the ideals of the base membership of the BSA. Some councils in more liberal enclaves currently do little to enforce the ban on homosexual members and would like the ban dropped. Other councils in more conservative areas where membership tends to be stronger see maintaining the ban as a matter of principle.
In an organization as large as the BSA, it seems best to allow the greatest input possible on a change of this nature, which many feel would fundamentally alter the organization. So a vote by the national council would seem more appropriate than a vote by the executive board, which makes up only about 5½ percent of the national council membership.
It is difficult for me to see how a proposal to change the current policy could pass a vote of the national council at present. Over the next three months voting members will undoubtedly be lobbied heavily by motivated people from both sides of the issue. But I would be surprised if the national council ended up voting in favor of the change this year.
As I noted in my previous post, the proposal would move decisions about membership from the national level to the local unit level, or more accurately, to the sponsoring organizations. The national BSA organization would discontinue its ban on homosexual members, but it would allow local units to maintain the ban.
This proposal is a compromise that has inherent weaknesses. As the AP notes, neither side felt that the proposal was acceptable. Gay rights activists are unwilling to countenance any ban on homosexual members at any level of the BSA, seeing it as akin to permitting racial discrimination. Traditionalists are unwilling to accept any weakening of the current national policy, seeing it as disloyalty to a moral imperative and forecasting mass defections of rank-and-file members if the policy is changed.
Opponents of dropping the national organization's ban feel that kicking the ban down to the local level is a cop out on centrally vital principles. Dropping the ban after standing so firm for so long would obviously invite pressure to compromise on other foundational principles that do not comport with secularist ideals.
Supporters of the compromise policy suggest that it would allow enough diversity among local units that parents could find a unit suited their ideals for their sons to attend. That argument appears to be insufficiently persuasive to appeal to many.
Blogger Jeff Westover thinks that it would be best for the BSA to stand firm on its principles and for those that disagree with those principles to establish their own competing organizations instead of attempting to overtake existing organizations. "Throw it out into the free marketplace," he writes. "Give people a choice. That would be the only fair way to see how society really feels about this issue."
I like this idea, but I doubt it would in any way satisfy gay activists. The most effective way to accomplish their agenda is to take down organizations that they believe stop them from achieving full social acceptance. Building your own organization is more work, takes much longer, and is unlikely to attract anywhere near the numbers of members that the BSA has.
Maintaining the BSA's ban on homosexual members is already having real financial consequences, as some corporate sponsors have withheld donations. It takes money to run the business side of the BSA. As long as the ban remains in place you can expect gay activists to lobby BSA institutional sponsors to quit donating. Increasing numbers of donors will no doubt oblige as the ban becomes increasingly controversial.
This will provide a good test for supporters of the ban. Will they be able to find ways to make up for lost contributions? If not, the BSA will either necessarily reduce its business footprint or else face financial default.
In the meantime, BSA membership continues its long-term decline. It is difficult for me to believe that dropping the ban would stop this decline, as some activists have suggested, since broader social factors that affect all civic organizations are at play: more technology that allows youth to socially advance without engagement in civic groups, far more options vying for the the discretionary time of youth, declining birth rates, etc.
It is also difficult to know what impact dropping the ban would have on BSA membership. It is possible that ban supporters are correct in forecasting mass defections. Only large institutional sponsors could say, and some of these are staying mum. There are likely enough experienced and dedicated scouters to form competing organizations.
The experience of the American Heritage Girls provides an interesting case study. Religious moms disgusted with the secularization of the Girl Scouts of the USA formed the AHG in 1995, using a lot of old Girl Scout program materials and adding in a healthy dose of evangelical Christian principles. While the organization has grown and has units in 48 states, its total membership is less than 1 percent of that of the GSUSA.
Perhaps the battle about the BSA ban on homosexual members—which many on both sides see as merely a surrogate for a much broader battle over social values—could ultimately create enough of a schism among BSA members that some large institutional sponsors might split off and form their own scouting movement that could immediately have hundreds of thousands of members, but none of the BSA's physical facilities and staff.
Right now it looks like the BSA is in a difficult position, sandwiched between social and financial pressure on one side and the principles of sponsoring organizations and rank-and-file members on the other side. Any move the BSA makes—even making no move at all—could end up leaving it crushed.
Friends of mine have suggested that it would be better for the BSA to die financially while standing on its principles than to sacrifice its principles to sustain financial funding. Those forecasting large membership defections suggest that appeasing donors enough to win the desired funding would end up being a Pyrrhic victory anyway.
Maybe these alternatives are too dire and reality will be far more benign. But that doesn't mean that it will necessarily be pleasant. The BSA might just slowly and quietly dissolve as moral decay advances. In his post, Jeff Westover foresees the day when we will nostalgically look back at scouting the same way we look longingly back at simpler times when men wore hats, people sat in the parlor, and front yards sported white picket fences.
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Monday, February 04, 2013
What's a Parent to do When a Child Struggles?
At age 28 I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis following the onset of a fairly serious episode. (I am grateful that it didn't take years to reach this diagnosis, as is often the case with MS.) As difficult as it was for my wife and me to handle the reality of my condition, I felt at the time that it seemed to be even more difficult for my parents, especially my dad.
I am now getting a taste of what my parents experienced back then as I watch my own kids grapple with problems. The past couple of years have brought some serious challenges as one son has experienced a number of behavioral issues. As I explained in this post, our son has now been diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome and we are working through the process of understanding his condition and how best to help him. Thankfully, there is help available. But this process has taken, is taking, and will take its toll on our family for a long time to come.
In November I wrote about two of my sons leaving to serve as full-time LDS missionaries. One of these young men has grappled with a mystifying chronic pain condition for about five years, but he is serving valiantly.
My other missionary son embarked on his mission after his chronic dizziness problems cleared up enough for doctors, church leaders, and the missionary department to feel that he could handle the rigors of missionary life. Alas, it was not to be. After beginning his service, our son experienced debilitating episodes of dizziness and nausea.
Our son's earlier dizziness problems had been thought to be directly related to a longstanding ear and throat problem. However, a specialist in this field certified that those problems had cleared up. Feeling that the issue appeared to be of a neurological nature, he advised that our son come home to address the matter with neurology specialists.
The succeeding weeks have brought many medical tests and meetings with various doctors, the first of whom basically told us he was uninterested in our son's case. A more competent doctor arrived at a diagnosis of a permanent neurological anomaly that causes many negative physical manifestations.
We have been told that there is no satisfactory medical treatment for our son's condition. Therapists can work to help him 'rewire' his brain, but this takes time. And it's not necessarily a linear process. Until our son achieves some level of stability he finds himself unable to be very productive. He can't work, serve a mission, or go to school. He feels physically and mentally awful most days.
Even before a child is born, parents tend to start taking responsibility for resolving problems related to the child. This continues in various forms throughout childhood, adolescence, and even into adulthood. Sometimes a parent can intervene to solve a problem. Sometimes parents hold back because they feel that a problem will resolve itself in time. But it is particularly difficult for a parent when they feel powerless to do much in the face of a child's challenge.
I suppose that pretty much all parents that remain involved in the lives of their children eventually watch their children face challenges that the parent is incapable of resolving. Some boo-boos will never go away, no matter how many band-aids and kisses are applied. This realization requires an adjustment to the parent's standard operational pattern. That can be hard, especially when the parent yearns to do more.
This needed parental adjustment usually can't happen in rapid fashion. We have no way, for example, to develop much of a long-term plan for either of our sons dealing with disabilities. We simply don't know what tomorrow, or next year, or the next decade will bring. We are constantly trying to figure out what we need to do and how much assistance is appropriate. How do you know for sure when your efforts are going to end up being inadequate or when they go so far as to create detrimental dependency?
The fact is that we signed up for this when we decided to have children. Despite the challenges, I don't regret even the tiniest bit having any of our children in our family. I love each one dearly. I fully anticipate a bright future for our family, regardless of the challenges our children face.
I am now getting a taste of what my parents experienced back then as I watch my own kids grapple with problems. The past couple of years have brought some serious challenges as one son has experienced a number of behavioral issues. As I explained in this post, our son has now been diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome and we are working through the process of understanding his condition and how best to help him. Thankfully, there is help available. But this process has taken, is taking, and will take its toll on our family for a long time to come.
In November I wrote about two of my sons leaving to serve as full-time LDS missionaries. One of these young men has grappled with a mystifying chronic pain condition for about five years, but he is serving valiantly.
My other missionary son embarked on his mission after his chronic dizziness problems cleared up enough for doctors, church leaders, and the missionary department to feel that he could handle the rigors of missionary life. Alas, it was not to be. After beginning his service, our son experienced debilitating episodes of dizziness and nausea.
Our son's earlier dizziness problems had been thought to be directly related to a longstanding ear and throat problem. However, a specialist in this field certified that those problems had cleared up. Feeling that the issue appeared to be of a neurological nature, he advised that our son come home to address the matter with neurology specialists.
The succeeding weeks have brought many medical tests and meetings with various doctors, the first of whom basically told us he was uninterested in our son's case. A more competent doctor arrived at a diagnosis of a permanent neurological anomaly that causes many negative physical manifestations.
We have been told that there is no satisfactory medical treatment for our son's condition. Therapists can work to help him 'rewire' his brain, but this takes time. And it's not necessarily a linear process. Until our son achieves some level of stability he finds himself unable to be very productive. He can't work, serve a mission, or go to school. He feels physically and mentally awful most days.
Even before a child is born, parents tend to start taking responsibility for resolving problems related to the child. This continues in various forms throughout childhood, adolescence, and even into adulthood. Sometimes a parent can intervene to solve a problem. Sometimes parents hold back because they feel that a problem will resolve itself in time. But it is particularly difficult for a parent when they feel powerless to do much in the face of a child's challenge.
I suppose that pretty much all parents that remain involved in the lives of their children eventually watch their children face challenges that the parent is incapable of resolving. Some boo-boos will never go away, no matter how many band-aids and kisses are applied. This realization requires an adjustment to the parent's standard operational pattern. That can be hard, especially when the parent yearns to do more.
This needed parental adjustment usually can't happen in rapid fashion. We have no way, for example, to develop much of a long-term plan for either of our sons dealing with disabilities. We simply don't know what tomorrow, or next year, or the next decade will bring. We are constantly trying to figure out what we need to do and how much assistance is appropriate. How do you know for sure when your efforts are going to end up being inadequate or when they go so far as to create detrimental dependency?
The fact is that we signed up for this when we decided to have children. Despite the challenges, I don't regret even the tiniest bit having any of our children in our family. I love each one dearly. I fully anticipate a bright future for our family, regardless of the challenges our children face.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Will LDS Scout Units Soon Be Able to Have Gay Scoutmasters?
In very interesting news, the Boy Scouts of America has announced that it is considering dropping its long held policy against the admission of homosexuals to its ranks (see AP article). The policy change could come as early as next week when the BSA's national board meets on February 6.
I can think of only three possible reasons that the BSA would venture to make a pre-meeting announcement of the potential policy change: 1) they are certain that the policy will change and they want to get people used to the idea, 2) to pressure some of the undecided board members to scrap the controversial policy, or 3) some of both 1 and 2. At any rate, it seems that maintaining the current policy after announcing that it might be changed would produce a much worse result than just keeping mum on the topic.
To be clear, the new policy would not automatically allow homosexuals admission to any BSA unit. Rather, membership acceptance criteria would be determined at the unit level (except for those the BSA considers potential child abuse risks). This would allow parents to place their sons in BSA units that fit the parents' ideals.
While the change will certainly please many homosexual rights advocates, it is unlikely that these advocates will see the change as sufficient, given that the BSA will not prohibit units from excluding homosexuals. Rather, sponsoring institutions will be permitted to establish BSA membership policies "consistent with each organization’s mission, principles, or religious beliefs." If the BSA is seen as bowing to the pressures of secular society, you can be certain that the policy change will only invite more pressure to adopt more secularist values in the future.
An interesting question is how the various religious groups that sponsor the bulk of BSA membership will respond to the policy change.
The LDS Church, which is the largest sponsor of BSA units (47%) and membership (23%), has said that it is aware of the potential policy change, but that "it would be inappropriate for the church to comment" on the matter until it is formally notified that the BSA has changed the policy.
The article omits any mention of United Methodist Church, the second largest institutional sponsor of the BSA (14% of units and 20% of members). But a statement from the General Commission on United Methodist Men comes across as very supportive of the policy change.
The BSA's third largest institutional sponsor, the Catholic Church (which sponsors 11% of units and 15% of members) also refused to comment on the matter for now. The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops merely said that it hopes that the BSA "will continue to work under the Judeo-Christian principles upon which they were founded." That could either mean that it opposes or welcomes the change, depending on what is meant by the broad term, "Judeo-Christian principles."
Other religious groups not mentioned in the article include the Presbyterians (BSA's #5 sponsor behind the PTA), and Lutherans (BSA's #6 sponsor). But the article makes it clear that at least some Baptists (BSA's #8 sponsor with 5% of units and 6% of members) are definitely unhappy with the proposed change. Some Southern Baptist leaders have said that they might encourage congregations to consider switching from the BSA to other youth groups if the change is adopted.
Presumably the BSA has sounded out the feelings of sponsoring organizations regarding the proposed policy change. At least some of the statements made by religious groups seem to bear this out. If so, it would seem that the largest sponsors are comfortable with the change and that the BSA is willing to risk the loss of some smaller sponsors.
Some LDS Church members have opined that the church designed its Duty to God program to replace scouting when BSA becomes too secular. As discussed in this LDS Scouter blog post, however, church leaders have repeatedly affirmed the church's intention to continue to strongly sponsor scouting.
I can't help but wonder if the LDS Church is not only prepared to accept the BSA's proposed policy change, but is advocating for it. In light of the church's recent affirmations that it is completely acceptable for church members to have same-sex attraction (see church's mormonsandgays.org website) as long as they are chaste, and LDS apostle Elder Dallin H. Oaks' recent general conference statement that it is wrong to ostracize those dealing with same-sex attraction, it seems that the church is now interested in including homosexuals in all of its programs, including scouting.
After all, how does a bishop say to a worthy young man with same-sex attraction that it is acceptable for him to join his peers in an Aaronic Priesthood quorum on Sunday, but not to join them in scouting—"the activity arm of the Aaronic Priesthood"—during the week? Is a faithful LDS husband and father that happens also to be gay to be excluded from ever serving as a cubmaster, a scouting advancement chair, or a Varsity coach?
I discussed this matter with a friend at a meeting last night. My friend saw my point on the inappropriateness of excluding youth dealing with same-sex attraction. But he could not imagine that the LDS Church would countenance self identified gay men serving as scouting leaders. While this will seem bigoted according to secular principles, in my friend's mind, same-sex attraction is a disability of sorts. He opined that same-sex attraction ought to prevent men from serving as scouting leaders just as some other men are unable to serve in such positions due to physical or mental impairment.
It seems certain that the BSA will soon be announcing the policy change. It will be interesting to see how the BSA's major religious sponsors respond. Being Mormon, I am particularly interested to see how the LDS Church responds to the policy change.
Unlike some, I can definitely see the potential for a lot of good to come out of the BSA's policy change. However, I can also see the potential for secularists to see the change as a green light for them to pressure the BSA to make greater concessions that I doubt would be welcomed by the BSA's largest religious sponsors.
I can think of only three possible reasons that the BSA would venture to make a pre-meeting announcement of the potential policy change: 1) they are certain that the policy will change and they want to get people used to the idea, 2) to pressure some of the undecided board members to scrap the controversial policy, or 3) some of both 1 and 2. At any rate, it seems that maintaining the current policy after announcing that it might be changed would produce a much worse result than just keeping mum on the topic.
To be clear, the new policy would not automatically allow homosexuals admission to any BSA unit. Rather, membership acceptance criteria would be determined at the unit level (except for those the BSA considers potential child abuse risks). This would allow parents to place their sons in BSA units that fit the parents' ideals.
While the change will certainly please many homosexual rights advocates, it is unlikely that these advocates will see the change as sufficient, given that the BSA will not prohibit units from excluding homosexuals. Rather, sponsoring institutions will be permitted to establish BSA membership policies "consistent with each organization’s mission, principles, or religious beliefs." If the BSA is seen as bowing to the pressures of secular society, you can be certain that the policy change will only invite more pressure to adopt more secularist values in the future.
An interesting question is how the various religious groups that sponsor the bulk of BSA membership will respond to the policy change.
The LDS Church, which is the largest sponsor of BSA units (47%) and membership (23%), has said that it is aware of the potential policy change, but that "it would be inappropriate for the church to comment" on the matter until it is formally notified that the BSA has changed the policy.
The article omits any mention of United Methodist Church, the second largest institutional sponsor of the BSA (14% of units and 20% of members). But a statement from the General Commission on United Methodist Men comes across as very supportive of the policy change.
Other religious groups not mentioned in the article include the Presbyterians (BSA's #5 sponsor behind the PTA), and Lutherans (BSA's #6 sponsor). But the article makes it clear that at least some Baptists (BSA's #8 sponsor with 5% of units and 6% of members) are definitely unhappy with the proposed change. Some Southern Baptist leaders have said that they might encourage congregations to consider switching from the BSA to other youth groups if the change is adopted.
Presumably the BSA has sounded out the feelings of sponsoring organizations regarding the proposed policy change. At least some of the statements made by religious groups seem to bear this out. If so, it would seem that the largest sponsors are comfortable with the change and that the BSA is willing to risk the loss of some smaller sponsors.
Some LDS Church members have opined that the church designed its Duty to God program to replace scouting when BSA becomes too secular. As discussed in this LDS Scouter blog post, however, church leaders have repeatedly affirmed the church's intention to continue to strongly sponsor scouting.
I can't help but wonder if the LDS Church is not only prepared to accept the BSA's proposed policy change, but is advocating for it. In light of the church's recent affirmations that it is completely acceptable for church members to have same-sex attraction (see church's mormonsandgays.org website) as long as they are chaste, and LDS apostle Elder Dallin H. Oaks' recent general conference statement that it is wrong to ostracize those dealing with same-sex attraction, it seems that the church is now interested in including homosexuals in all of its programs, including scouting.
After all, how does a bishop say to a worthy young man with same-sex attraction that it is acceptable for him to join his peers in an Aaronic Priesthood quorum on Sunday, but not to join them in scouting—"the activity arm of the Aaronic Priesthood"—during the week? Is a faithful LDS husband and father that happens also to be gay to be excluded from ever serving as a cubmaster, a scouting advancement chair, or a Varsity coach?
I discussed this matter with a friend at a meeting last night. My friend saw my point on the inappropriateness of excluding youth dealing with same-sex attraction. But he could not imagine that the LDS Church would countenance self identified gay men serving as scouting leaders. While this will seem bigoted according to secular principles, in my friend's mind, same-sex attraction is a disability of sorts. He opined that same-sex attraction ought to prevent men from serving as scouting leaders just as some other men are unable to serve in such positions due to physical or mental impairment.
It seems certain that the BSA will soon be announcing the policy change. It will be interesting to see how the BSA's major religious sponsors respond. Being Mormon, I am particularly interested to see how the LDS Church responds to the policy change.
Unlike some, I can definitely see the potential for a lot of good to come out of the BSA's policy change. However, I can also see the potential for secularists to see the change as a green light for them to pressure the BSA to make greater concessions that I doubt would be welcomed by the BSA's largest religious sponsors.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
And We Sing As We Go
My sons sometimes aren't sure what to make of their little sister. Our daughter brought up the tail end of our brood following four boys. She inherited all of the toy weapons, hero action figures, cars, and balls that any child could want.
And she actually did like playing with those things. But dolls and princess clothing were new to my sons. And to me. Having had no sisters, I had to learn about girl toys, clothes, likes and dislikes. How was I to know that some blouses button up in the back? Although I must admit it did look like it fit a little odd when I buttoned it up in the front.
Music has always played a significant role in our household. My wife demands that each child take piano lessons long enough to learn how to read music and play rudimentary hymns. Two sons have become quite excellent pianists. Two have found talents in other areas. Our daughter is learning piano. She seems quite capable, but sometimes I think she could apply herself better. (I'm sure my mom said the same thing about me when I was a kid.)
One son has always loved to make noise. He likes to sing. It is not uncommon for his baritone voice to burst out in a loud operatic solo. Or to grunt out some metalcore vocals. Or jazz riffs. Etc.
Our daughter likes to sing too. Ever since she was very young she has been found singing around the house under almost any condition. Her singing is decidedly different than that of her various brothers. It's usually sweet and lilting and is carried on almost absentmindedly, as if it is just a part of her. She particularly seems to enjoy singing LDS children's songs.
Our sons regularly complain about their sister's incessant singing. But honestly, it's like she sometimes doesn't even realize she's doing it. As stated above, she will sing under just about any condition. That includes when using the ... ahem ... necessity facility.
One day we could hear our daughter's lovely voicing ringing from the privy. The tones of When We're Helping We're Happy clearly echoed from behind the closed door. Most of the rest of us were gathered in the nearby family room. I turned to my wife and flatly said, "And we sing as we go."
That brought gales of laughter from the family. I may never again be able to hear or sing that song with a straight face.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Three Summers That Changed My Life
The summers that followed my junior and senior years of high school and my freshman year of college forever changed my life. I learned to do things I had never done before. As I learned how to work and to deal with being a long way from home, I developed many characteristics and relationships that have served me well throughout my life.
The summer after my ninth grade year my two older brothers went away to Hawaii to work in the pineapple fields. The tales of their exploits made me want to follow in their footsteps. By the following summer my oldest brother was serving as a missionary. I wanted to accompany my next older brother to Hawaii, but I didn't turn 16 until a month after the summer ended.
I finally got my wish to work in the pineapple fields of Hawaii following my junior year of high school. As I explained in this 2009 post, it turned out to be a difficult but memorable summer for me. I continually struggled to meet the 6,000 plant-per-day standard required of each pineapple planter. I grappled with homesickness and depression. I lost weight while gaining character and bleach blonde hair. One of the many valuable things I learned was that, unlike my brothers, there was no way I was going to spend more than one summer working in the pineapple fields.
I was approached by a scout executive the following spring with an offer to spend summer working at a Boy Scout camp in the remote wilderness between the Tetons and Yellowstone. The pay would be meager and I would have little free time. But I accepted the offer after some encouragement from friends that had worked on scout camp staffs.
It took me awhile to agree to work at scout camp because I remembered the three summers I had attended scout camp. Overall, each of these weeks had been a good and memorable experience. But I remembered being a lousy hiker, being one of the less popular kids in the troop, struggling with scoutcraft and camping skills, and being homesick. I also thought of the guys that worked on staff in heroic terms. I felt inadequate and wasn't sure that I was camp staff caliber.
Living in a tent deep in the woods many miles from civilization for a whole summer was a new experience for me. Learning to be a proper staffer was somewhat challenging. For example, I was tasked with teaching the Pioneering merit badge. Knots and lashings I could do. But splices completely befuddled me. When some scouts came to me for help with splices I sent them to another staffer that had previously taught the badge. He soon sought me out and patiently taught me splicing techniques. I was intrigued. I soon found myself trying out my newfound skill whenever I could. To this day I am still quite proficient at splicing rope.
Despite the low pay, endless hours of work with very little free time, vicious mosquitoes and horseflies, nasty weather with little shelter, cold nights, and being away from civilization, I grew to love working at camp. The camaraderie with other staffers and the joy of serving scouts and their leaders far outstripped the negatives.
I returned to camp as a staffer the following summer as well. Some of my scouting buddies (including my younger brother) came along and ended up becoming great camp staffers that served for a number of years. My second summer on staff was even better than my first. I still occasionally run into people that remember me from when they came to camp as scouts all those years ago.
It is difficult to describe the qualities gained from working on a Boy Scout camp staff. I gained a great deal of self confidence from being entrusted with many duties. Even today I am amazed at the duties that can easily be turned over to boys that have worked on scout camp staffs. They are better at many things than even trained adults. You give them a job to do and they do it, usually very well, and often with an innovative flair.
Since those days of working on camp staff I have been to scout camp many times as an adult leader. I have interacted with many young camp staffers, including my own sons. I can see why camp staffers seem heroic to the boys that they serve. Heck, they seem heroic to the adult leaders. Over the years I have often worked on service projects at scout camps, partially in gratitude for all that I have gained from my experiences attending and working at camps.
I have been to many wonderful scout camps. But Camp Loll, where I served on staff, occupies a special place in my soul. The camp is situated on the shore of an icy cold lake called Lake of the Woods. A few years ago I penned a poem about my staff experience that I titled, 'Round the Lake of the Woods.
Those glorious days 'round the lake of the Woods
We frolicked, we toiled, and sang.
The woods nearby heard the loon's cry
And with the echo of young voices rang.
The clear summer night and the thunderstorm
Are things of beauty that I've loved,
With the deer's casual canter, the chipmunk's fierce banter
And the eagle's flight above.
Ah, the games that we played, the songs that we sang,
And the service with steadfast friend
Will glow in my soul as the campfire's last coal
When we joined hands and sang at the end.
But summer's now past; I'm back in the city,
And life goes on as it should.
Yet my heart often wanders to those glorious days
'Round the Lake of the Woods.
Taken together, the experiences I had during the summers I was 16, 17, and 18 formed a sturdy framework that has strongly influenced the rest of my life for the better. I wish for today's youth similar strong foundational experiences that will guide them into a purposeful and happy future.
Since those days of working on camp staff I have been to scout camp many times as an adult leader. I have interacted with many young camp staffers, including my own sons. I can see why camp staffers seem heroic to the boys that they serve. Heck, they seem heroic to the adult leaders. Over the years I have often worked on service projects at scout camps, partially in gratitude for all that I have gained from my experiences attending and working at camps.
I have been to many wonderful scout camps. But Camp Loll, where I served on staff, occupies a special place in my soul. The camp is situated on the shore of an icy cold lake called Lake of the Woods. A few years ago I penned a poem about my staff experience that I titled, 'Round the Lake of the Woods.
Those glorious days 'round the lake of the Woods
We frolicked, we toiled, and sang.
The woods nearby heard the loon's cry
And with the echo of young voices rang.
The clear summer night and the thunderstorm
Are things of beauty that I've loved,
With the deer's casual canter, the chipmunk's fierce banter
And the eagle's flight above.
Ah, the games that we played, the songs that we sang,
And the service with steadfast friend
Will glow in my soul as the campfire's last coal
When we joined hands and sang at the end.
But summer's now past; I'm back in the city,
And life goes on as it should.
Yet my heart often wanders to those glorious days
'Round the Lake of the Woods.
Taken together, the experiences I had during the summers I was 16, 17, and 18 formed a sturdy framework that has strongly influenced the rest of my life for the better. I wish for today's youth similar strong foundational experiences that will guide them into a purposeful and happy future.
Friday, January 18, 2013
It's Asperger's Not Bipolar
Several months ago I wrote about my son's suicidal thoughts. Specialists thought he probably had bipolar disorder. Over the intervening months my son has received intensive treatment at a center that specializes in behavioral problems and related conditions.
While it was obvious that our son had issues, specialists at the center were not comfortable with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. It turns out that his regular psychologist and psychiatrist weren't either. Their documentation said merely that he exhibited some symptoms consistent with such a diagnosis.
Our son's case was referred to a group known as the leading experts in the state on behavioral issues. They gathered a huge amount of data from us as parents, our son's teachers, and the various specialists that have been involved in our son's treatment. They conducted an intensive parental interview. And finally they spent an entire day putting our son through a variety of tests and exercises.
We recently met with the specialist in charge of our son's case after they had taken time to consider all of the information. He explained to us that our son has Asperger Syndrome (which will soon be classified as an Autism Spectrum Disorder rather than being classed s a separate condition). While it is not uncommon for people with AS to have other coexisting conditions, it was felt that our son's anxiety, depression, and mood swings fit best within the context of AS. Diagnosing problems of this nature is rather complex and is not as straightforward as some might think.
At first we were a little surprised by the diagnosis. We know people with AS and we had developed a stereotypical idea of what people with AS are like. But as the specialist went through the findings in some detail, my wife and I frequently found ourselves looking at each other and nodding our heads.
It turns out that cases of AS can vary quite a bit. A common symptom of AS is difficulty developing and engaging in normal human relations. But such challenges are not always present in AS or may be rather mild. Our son, for example, seems to do generally well in this arena. He has always demonstrated a high degree of compassion and empathy for others.
Among our son's challenges are significant diminished abilities to plan and to contextualize (which means fitting details into the bigger picture). It's not that he hasn't had enough training in these areas. Despite his level of intelligence, he will never be able to do these things naturally. He can, however, learn coping skills that may allow him to somewhat compensate for these deficiencies.
Since our son can't engage in normal levels of internal planning and has difficulty fitting details into context, he tends to use external planning methods and to focus intently on details. I have long criticized him for refusing to consider alternatives. If his Plan A doesn't work out, he will melt down or lash out rather than consider Plan B. I now understand that this is because, for him, there is only Plan A. Plans B, C, etc simply do not exist. He can talk about alternatives academically. But he can't really consider or manage them in the regular flow of daily life.
Our son's diminished ability to fit details into context means that if a detail (even a minor detail) of his Plan A doesn't work out as he has anticipated, the whole plan is ruined. His anxiety levels skyrocket because he feels that he has run out of options, leading him to engage in antisocial behavior.
This explains our son's suicidal thoughts. The diagnosing specialist explained to us that a common misconception is that suicidal people are ultra-sad. Rather, people that are suicidal feel as if they are have no other remaining options. Thus, it is important to deal with our son's planning and context deficiencies rapidly and as well as possible. He has learned some hard and fast rules for what to do when he has a suicidal thought. Having sure-fire instructions to follow reduces the need for developing new plans on the fly.
Our son's focus on details frequently leads him to engage in long-winded, extremely detailed monologues on subjects that are of interest to him. He can go on and on (enthusiastically) without making any particular point. I'm not sure whether he doesn't perceive others' social cues telling him to curtail his speech or if he grasps these but still feels compelled to complete what he has to say anyway.
Depression and low self esteem are pretty serious issues for our son right now. This is fairly common for kids with behavioral issues because they tend to get an overwhelming number of negative (or corrective) messages from those around them, mainly based on others' unrealistic expectations. Right now our son feels as if he can't do anything right. He wants more than anything just to be normal.
Fortunately many resources now exist for helping people with AS. Many people with AS live rich and fulfilling lives. Successful technologist, businessman, and author John Elder Robison, who has AS, provides a lot of hope for kids with AS in this recent blog post about developing compensating skills. Our son's diagnosis provides us direction in getting him the help he needs.
While it was obvious that our son had issues, specialists at the center were not comfortable with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. It turns out that his regular psychologist and psychiatrist weren't either. Their documentation said merely that he exhibited some symptoms consistent with such a diagnosis.
Our son's case was referred to a group known as the leading experts in the state on behavioral issues. They gathered a huge amount of data from us as parents, our son's teachers, and the various specialists that have been involved in our son's treatment. They conducted an intensive parental interview. And finally they spent an entire day putting our son through a variety of tests and exercises.
We recently met with the specialist in charge of our son's case after they had taken time to consider all of the information. He explained to us that our son has Asperger Syndrome (which will soon be classified as an Autism Spectrum Disorder rather than being classed s a separate condition). While it is not uncommon for people with AS to have other coexisting conditions, it was felt that our son's anxiety, depression, and mood swings fit best within the context of AS. Diagnosing problems of this nature is rather complex and is not as straightforward as some might think.
At first we were a little surprised by the diagnosis. We know people with AS and we had developed a stereotypical idea of what people with AS are like. But as the specialist went through the findings in some detail, my wife and I frequently found ourselves looking at each other and nodding our heads.
It turns out that cases of AS can vary quite a bit. A common symptom of AS is difficulty developing and engaging in normal human relations. But such challenges are not always present in AS or may be rather mild. Our son, for example, seems to do generally well in this arena. He has always demonstrated a high degree of compassion and empathy for others.
Among our son's challenges are significant diminished abilities to plan and to contextualize (which means fitting details into the bigger picture). It's not that he hasn't had enough training in these areas. Despite his level of intelligence, he will never be able to do these things naturally. He can, however, learn coping skills that may allow him to somewhat compensate for these deficiencies.
Since our son can't engage in normal levels of internal planning and has difficulty fitting details into context, he tends to use external planning methods and to focus intently on details. I have long criticized him for refusing to consider alternatives. If his Plan A doesn't work out, he will melt down or lash out rather than consider Plan B. I now understand that this is because, for him, there is only Plan A. Plans B, C, etc simply do not exist. He can talk about alternatives academically. But he can't really consider or manage them in the regular flow of daily life.
Our son's diminished ability to fit details into context means that if a detail (even a minor detail) of his Plan A doesn't work out as he has anticipated, the whole plan is ruined. His anxiety levels skyrocket because he feels that he has run out of options, leading him to engage in antisocial behavior.
This explains our son's suicidal thoughts. The diagnosing specialist explained to us that a common misconception is that suicidal people are ultra-sad. Rather, people that are suicidal feel as if they are have no other remaining options. Thus, it is important to deal with our son's planning and context deficiencies rapidly and as well as possible. He has learned some hard and fast rules for what to do when he has a suicidal thought. Having sure-fire instructions to follow reduces the need for developing new plans on the fly.
Our son's focus on details frequently leads him to engage in long-winded, extremely detailed monologues on subjects that are of interest to him. He can go on and on (enthusiastically) without making any particular point. I'm not sure whether he doesn't perceive others' social cues telling him to curtail his speech or if he grasps these but still feels compelled to complete what he has to say anyway.
Depression and low self esteem are pretty serious issues for our son right now. This is fairly common for kids with behavioral issues because they tend to get an overwhelming number of negative (or corrective) messages from those around them, mainly based on others' unrealistic expectations. Right now our son feels as if he can't do anything right. He wants more than anything just to be normal.
Fortunately many resources now exist for helping people with AS. Many people with AS live rich and fulfilling lives. Successful technologist, businessman, and author John Elder Robison, who has AS, provides a lot of hope for kids with AS in this recent blog post about developing compensating skills. Our son's diagnosis provides us direction in getting him the help he needs.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Sleeping With a Tennis Ball Hooked to Your Back Could be Helpful?
Did you know that sewing a tennis ball onto the back of your pajama top can help alleviate certain sleep problems? Neither did I. But according to this WSJ article, the tennis ball technique is a low tech way to help some people with sleep apnea and/or snoring problems. (Also see the related graphic, which is pretty good.)
I was relieved to read that "there is no one right way to sleep." Why was I relieved? Because it seems like every time I read any article or am exposed to any broadcast about health, it turns out that I am doing something (everything?) wrong. If there's no one right way to sleep, maybe my unusual method of sleeping isn't unhealthy.
The article reveals that sleeping mostly on your back is fairly unusual. Only 17% of people do so. Like most people, I tend to occasionally change positions during the night. I sometimes spend some of the night on my side (which causes me to lose circulation in the down arm). But my main and preferred sleeping position is flat on my back.
Well, flat on my back with my head to one side or the other. And therein lies a problem. A couple of years ago when I went in for my annual physical exam, I asked the doctor about a small patch of scaly skin on the outer rim of one ear. He thought it looked like skin cancer or its precursor, so I soon visited a dermatologist.
The skin doctor excised patches of skin from the outer rim of each ear. (She found a second patch on the other ear.) The biopsy results revealed Chondrodermatitis Nodularis Helicis (CNH) rather than skin cancer. They figure that the condition is caused by compression of the tissue. This can occur due to consistently sleeping on the ear, a pattern of wearing headphones, or other similar pressure on the outer ear.
The dermatologist advised me to find a way to avoid putting pressure on my ear. I had gotten used to sleeping on a rather deep pillow, so that piece of bedding had to go. I soon found a product called the CNH Pillow, which has a depression that prevents pressure on the ear without sacrificing overall support. It took me a couple of weeks to get used to sleeping on it, but I have had no CNH symptoms since that time.
While there is no perfect way to sleep, the article describes how changing sleep positions can help alleviate acid reflux, shoulder pain, back pain, and neck pain, in addition to the sleep apnea and snoring issues discussed above.
I think that perhaps a bigger problem than sleep position is that the mattress my wife and I currently use. We started out with a waterbed when we first got married. Some years later as the waterbed craze waned, so did our enjoyment of the giant water filled plastic bag that we called our mattress. So we bought a pillow top bed.
After a few years we cut the pillow top from the mattress because the pillow padding had pretty much lost its redeeming qualities. Neither my wife nor I are heavy people. But over time our mattress has dilapidated into two depressions with a ridge in the middle. I can sleep on almost anything. But this is not the best situation for my wife. Or for cuddling, for that matter.
We have known for some time that we need a new bed, or at least a new mattress. But it just isn't in the budget at the moment. We have been undergoing a period of relatively significant expenses in recent years to deal with school, missions, and a confounding array of medical issues experienced by various family members. We hope to someday be able to replace our mattress and one of our aging cars. But when that might happen is anybody's guess.
While the sleep article was interesting and informative, I doubt it will lead me to change my sleep habits in the near future. After all, I rather like sleeping on my back. I might implement a few of the article's tips, but you won't see me sewing a tennis ball onto the back of my pajama top anytime soon.
I was relieved to read that "there is no one right way to sleep." Why was I relieved? Because it seems like every time I read any article or am exposed to any broadcast about health, it turns out that I am doing something (everything?) wrong. If there's no one right way to sleep, maybe my unusual method of sleeping isn't unhealthy.
The article reveals that sleeping mostly on your back is fairly unusual. Only 17% of people do so. Like most people, I tend to occasionally change positions during the night. I sometimes spend some of the night on my side (which causes me to lose circulation in the down arm). But my main and preferred sleeping position is flat on my back.
Well, flat on my back with my head to one side or the other. And therein lies a problem. A couple of years ago when I went in for my annual physical exam, I asked the doctor about a small patch of scaly skin on the outer rim of one ear. He thought it looked like skin cancer or its precursor, so I soon visited a dermatologist.
The skin doctor excised patches of skin from the outer rim of each ear. (She found a second patch on the other ear.) The biopsy results revealed Chondrodermatitis Nodularis Helicis (CNH) rather than skin cancer. They figure that the condition is caused by compression of the tissue. This can occur due to consistently sleeping on the ear, a pattern of wearing headphones, or other similar pressure on the outer ear.
The dermatologist advised me to find a way to avoid putting pressure on my ear. I had gotten used to sleeping on a rather deep pillow, so that piece of bedding had to go. I soon found a product called the CNH Pillow, which has a depression that prevents pressure on the ear without sacrificing overall support. It took me a couple of weeks to get used to sleeping on it, but I have had no CNH symptoms since that time.
While there is no perfect way to sleep, the article describes how changing sleep positions can help alleviate acid reflux, shoulder pain, back pain, and neck pain, in addition to the sleep apnea and snoring issues discussed above.
I think that perhaps a bigger problem than sleep position is that the mattress my wife and I currently use. We started out with a waterbed when we first got married. Some years later as the waterbed craze waned, so did our enjoyment of the giant water filled plastic bag that we called our mattress. So we bought a pillow top bed.
After a few years we cut the pillow top from the mattress because the pillow padding had pretty much lost its redeeming qualities. Neither my wife nor I are heavy people. But over time our mattress has dilapidated into two depressions with a ridge in the middle. I can sleep on almost anything. But this is not the best situation for my wife. Or for cuddling, for that matter.
We have known for some time that we need a new bed, or at least a new mattress. But it just isn't in the budget at the moment. We have been undergoing a period of relatively significant expenses in recent years to deal with school, missions, and a confounding array of medical issues experienced by various family members. We hope to someday be able to replace our mattress and one of our aging cars. But when that might happen is anybody's guess.
While the sleep article was interesting and informative, I doubt it will lead me to change my sleep habits in the near future. After all, I rather like sleeping on my back. I might implement a few of the article's tips, but you won't see me sewing a tennis ball onto the back of my pajama top anytime soon.
Monday, January 14, 2013
My Order of the Arrow Chapter Conundrum
I spent this past weekend at our Order of the Arrow lodge's largest annual event, known as Founders Festival. More than 200 people participated. There was a lot of energy and excitement. Most of our lodge's 19 chapters were represented. Some traveled great distances in dicey weather to attend. Our chapter managed to bring three adults and two boys.
At the concluding award banquet I heartily applauded the accomplishments of several chapters. I reflected on the glory days of the first two times I served as chapter adviser some years ago. We were consistently the top chapter in the lodge. Our membership included a number of highly accomplished boys that went on to become medical doctors, educators, businessmen, engineers, military officers, craftsmen, and even professional scouters.
Two degrees, diagnoses of Multiple Sclerosis and hypothyroidism, a career change, five jobs, and five kids later, I again find myself serving as adviser of the same Order of the Arrow chapter. But instead of working with a vibrant cadre of enthused youth, I find myself struggling to just keep the chapter alive.
My chapter chief is the only youth on whom I can consistently depend, and that is because he is my faithful son. He is a genuinely good person who easily makes friends and he has a strong interest in the O.A. But organization and recruiting are not among his strong suits.
On Saturday my chapter chief son confided in me his concern about chapter leadership once he graduates high school and moves on. He has no idea how often I have thought about the same thing. Nor does he know how much I worry that I may be unfairly placing responsibilities on his shoulders that he might prefer to avoid. It's a conundrum.
Membership in the O.A. is controlled by scout units, not by current O.A. members. Units can hold an election each year to nominate boys that meet certain criteria (including attaining at least First Class rank and having 15 days and nights of outdoor scout camping). Candidates must then go through a challenging induction known as the ordeal to become members. The ordeal is filled with hard things: self denial, sleeping alone under the sky, silence, and sacrificing to do service projects.
When I was a young scout I desperately wanted to join the O.A. I was more than willing to endure the hardships of the ordeal to join my friends that were already members. I was elated when my troop nominated me to do so.
The first two times I served as chapter adviser I had little problem doing O.A. elections or getting candidates to attend the ordeal. Troops clamored for us to come and hold elections. My chapter chiefs assigned boys to handle these appointments. Newly elected boys showed up in droves to endure the ordeal, although, they knew it would be challenging.
After again putting on the chapter adviser hat a couple of years ago, I was stunned to discover how much had changed. We have to beg troops to let us hold elections. Only a few scout leaders will even let us come. Excuses include having no boys that meet the camping requirements, having no boys that are interested, and having no boys that the scout leader thinks are worthy of the honor.
When we finally do get to hold a unit election, the vast majority of candidates never attend an ordeal. They are busy. Their parents complain that they are already involved in too many other worthwhile activities. Nor are many boys much interested in doing the hard things required during the induction. With dwindling numbers of candidates joining, few candidates sense any peer pressure to join because they have no friends involved.
Another factor is my own waning enthusiasm. I greatly admire and appreciate the O.A. The organization made a major difference in my life as a youth. During my first two stints as chapter adviser I had a great time helping other boys gain some of the same kinds of benefits I garnered as a youth.
It's different this time around. I have significantly greater job and family responsibilities, several health challenges, and less energy. I constantly face dilemmas when it comes to committing time and effort to my O.A. position. My inability/unwillingness to put forward the kind of effort I did in years past bothers me. But I am not sure that the outcome would be much better even if I did so, due to social and cultural change.
As I glanced around the room at the closing banquet of Founders Festival I could see that the reported registration numbers were right. Just slightly more than half of those present were youth. The O.A. is supposed to be run by the youth. The adults are supposed to be there for support and safety, not to run the organization.
Like the rest of the BSA, the O.A. has seen its membership demographic change. The percentage of youth members is declining as the percentage of adult members increases. The BSA anticipates having more registered adults than youth in a few years. Multiple factors are at play here. One is that more of those that enjoyed the program as youth are choosing to remain or become involved as adults than in past generations. (I am among these.) But another is declining interest in the program among youth.
The result of this shift is an organizational push for the O.A. to do more to serve the interests of its expanding adult membership, which is antithetical to the organization's stated goal of primarily serving youth interests. The flip side of this is that adults that see little in the organization for them tend to stop showing up and helping the youth.
I'm not going to solve major social issues. I can only address what I can do. Right now I feel guilty that I am not doing more to improve the flagging chapter that I advise. But I also feel guilty if I try to do more, because it takes time away from my family. My district scouting chairman assures me that having me serve with my limitations is better than what they would otherwise have, which is no adult leader currently willing to step up and serve. But I would be dishonest if I didn't say that I am not happy with the results.
At the concluding award banquet I heartily applauded the accomplishments of several chapters. I reflected on the glory days of the first two times I served as chapter adviser some years ago. We were consistently the top chapter in the lodge. Our membership included a number of highly accomplished boys that went on to become medical doctors, educators, businessmen, engineers, military officers, craftsmen, and even professional scouters.
Two degrees, diagnoses of Multiple Sclerosis and hypothyroidism, a career change, five jobs, and five kids later, I again find myself serving as adviser of the same Order of the Arrow chapter. But instead of working with a vibrant cadre of enthused youth, I find myself struggling to just keep the chapter alive.
My chapter chief is the only youth on whom I can consistently depend, and that is because he is my faithful son. He is a genuinely good person who easily makes friends and he has a strong interest in the O.A. But organization and recruiting are not among his strong suits.
On Saturday my chapter chief son confided in me his concern about chapter leadership once he graduates high school and moves on. He has no idea how often I have thought about the same thing. Nor does he know how much I worry that I may be unfairly placing responsibilities on his shoulders that he might prefer to avoid. It's a conundrum.
Membership in the O.A. is controlled by scout units, not by current O.A. members. Units can hold an election each year to nominate boys that meet certain criteria (including attaining at least First Class rank and having 15 days and nights of outdoor scout camping). Candidates must then go through a challenging induction known as the ordeal to become members. The ordeal is filled with hard things: self denial, sleeping alone under the sky, silence, and sacrificing to do service projects.
When I was a young scout I desperately wanted to join the O.A. I was more than willing to endure the hardships of the ordeal to join my friends that were already members. I was elated when my troop nominated me to do so.
The first two times I served as chapter adviser I had little problem doing O.A. elections or getting candidates to attend the ordeal. Troops clamored for us to come and hold elections. My chapter chiefs assigned boys to handle these appointments. Newly elected boys showed up in droves to endure the ordeal, although, they knew it would be challenging.
After again putting on the chapter adviser hat a couple of years ago, I was stunned to discover how much had changed. We have to beg troops to let us hold elections. Only a few scout leaders will even let us come. Excuses include having no boys that meet the camping requirements, having no boys that are interested, and having no boys that the scout leader thinks are worthy of the honor.
When we finally do get to hold a unit election, the vast majority of candidates never attend an ordeal. They are busy. Their parents complain that they are already involved in too many other worthwhile activities. Nor are many boys much interested in doing the hard things required during the induction. With dwindling numbers of candidates joining, few candidates sense any peer pressure to join because they have no friends involved.
Another factor is my own waning enthusiasm. I greatly admire and appreciate the O.A. The organization made a major difference in my life as a youth. During my first two stints as chapter adviser I had a great time helping other boys gain some of the same kinds of benefits I garnered as a youth.
It's different this time around. I have significantly greater job and family responsibilities, several health challenges, and less energy. I constantly face dilemmas when it comes to committing time and effort to my O.A. position. My inability/unwillingness to put forward the kind of effort I did in years past bothers me. But I am not sure that the outcome would be much better even if I did so, due to social and cultural change.
As I glanced around the room at the closing banquet of Founders Festival I could see that the reported registration numbers were right. Just slightly more than half of those present were youth. The O.A. is supposed to be run by the youth. The adults are supposed to be there for support and safety, not to run the organization.
Like the rest of the BSA, the O.A. has seen its membership demographic change. The percentage of youth members is declining as the percentage of adult members increases. The BSA anticipates having more registered adults than youth in a few years. Multiple factors are at play here. One is that more of those that enjoyed the program as youth are choosing to remain or become involved as adults than in past generations. (I am among these.) But another is declining interest in the program among youth.
The result of this shift is an organizational push for the O.A. to do more to serve the interests of its expanding adult membership, which is antithetical to the organization's stated goal of primarily serving youth interests. The flip side of this is that adults that see little in the organization for them tend to stop showing up and helping the youth.
I'm not going to solve major social issues. I can only address what I can do. Right now I feel guilty that I am not doing more to improve the flagging chapter that I advise. But I also feel guilty if I try to do more, because it takes time away from my family. My district scouting chairman assures me that having me serve with my limitations is better than what they would otherwise have, which is no adult leader currently willing to step up and serve. But I would be dishonest if I didn't say that I am not happy with the results.
Thursday, January 03, 2013
Husband Can't Dance
I recently saw a comic showing an eager wife leading her much less eager husband into a dance class as the husband remarked that taking dance lessons was something like #1,382,076 on his bucket list. I laughed because I understood the man's plight.
My beautiful wife grew up dancing. While still a pre-teen, she and her siblings traveled from their home in California to far off Utah for a major dance competition. I have seen the pictures of them on stage with their fellow dancers dressed in western looking costumes.
In fact, the first time I met my wife was at a dance at the local LDS Institute. But this was after the dance was over. During the cleanup I sat down at a piano to tickle the ivories into eliciting some songs that were popular at the moment.
I still recall the song I was playing as two young ladies walked up and introduced themselves. The cutest one was doing the talking. She asked if I knew a guy that was a friend of hers. I had worked with him on Boy Scout camp staff and we both served in the same mission (he was still there), so I knew him quite well. He had apparently told the young lady to look me up.
Although I really wanted to ask this girl out and I felt that she was angling the conversation in that direction, I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't even get her number. I had always been painfully shy around girls. And after all, there were two girls standing there and it seemed incredibly awkward to ask one for a date with the other just standing there.
Time skip 4½ years. I was surprised to discover that my blind date (which had been arranged by one of my former Boy Scouts) was the same young lady whose number I had failed to get that night at the institute. She eventually told me how disappointed she was that I had not pursued a date and asked why I had been so reluctant. When I explained my reasoning, she replied that her friend was there only for moral support and was already committed to a guy anyway. (As if I could know that given my lack of mind reading skills.)
This highlights one of the differences between male and female thinking. Unlike guys, gals tend to enjoy inviting their gal pals to visit the restroom together. Although I will admittedly never quite comprehend this penchant, my future wife must have employed this kind of thinking when asking her friend to come along to talk to a guy. It apparently never crossed the mind of my sweetheart-to-be that, while friendly female support might seem helpful to her, simple math dictates that 2 gals + 1 guy = no date.
Just a few nights after our first date, I met my wife again at the LDS Institute, where she was engaged in dance practice with the institute's folk dance team. I marveled at the dancers, since dancing had never been my strong suit. I know what good dancing looks like, but I've never been able to make my body do it.
During our courtship and engagement, I attended many folk dance practices and performances. At our wedding reception the folk dancers did a number of dances and then performed a wedding waltz while my wife and I slowly waltzed in the center of the group. My wife had carefully trained me to do this limited step and everything went satisfactorily.
A couple of years later my wife informed me that she had signed us up for ballroom dance lessons at the local university. Being madly in love with my wife and knowing how important dancing had been to her throughout her life, I acquiesced.
Our dance classes stretched over a couple of months. I learned many dance steps, some of which I can still sort of do. I learned to lead. But I can only do so if my wife is constantly reminding me of what I am supposed to do next.
Dancing is supposed to flow from the inside out. Learning the techniques of dancing is meant to merely hone the body's natural response to the music, making the experience more enjoyable. But I have never been able to get to that point.
For me dancing has always been a series of unnatural mechanical movements, each requiring deliberate thought, shrouded in the stressful fog of trying to make sure that everything happens when it's supposed to happen. If pleasure is at one end of a given spectrum, dancing is somewhere toward the other end of the spectrum for me—near the likes of surgery without pain killers.
A couple of years ago some friends invited us to their stake's Valentine's dance. I agreed to go because I love my wife. I'm sure that dancing with me is far from the most enjoyable experience in the world. I was grateful when the husband of the other couple (who knows how to dance) danced with my wife for a few songs. I was also very grateful when the evening was over.
Although my wife has always loved dancing, she willingly puts up with my lack of dancing ability because she loves me and apparently finds other compensating factors in our relationship. I will dance with my wife when she really wants me to, because I love her enough to do something that I find less than enjoyable when it's important to her. And somehow, mixing her grace with my awkwardness enhances our relationship.
My beautiful wife grew up dancing. While still a pre-teen, she and her siblings traveled from their home in California to far off Utah for a major dance competition. I have seen the pictures of them on stage with their fellow dancers dressed in western looking costumes.
In fact, the first time I met my wife was at a dance at the local LDS Institute. But this was after the dance was over. During the cleanup I sat down at a piano to tickle the ivories into eliciting some songs that were popular at the moment.
I still recall the song I was playing as two young ladies walked up and introduced themselves. The cutest one was doing the talking. She asked if I knew a guy that was a friend of hers. I had worked with him on Boy Scout camp staff and we both served in the same mission (he was still there), so I knew him quite well. He had apparently told the young lady to look me up.
Although I really wanted to ask this girl out and I felt that she was angling the conversation in that direction, I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't even get her number. I had always been painfully shy around girls. And after all, there were two girls standing there and it seemed incredibly awkward to ask one for a date with the other just standing there.
Time skip 4½ years. I was surprised to discover that my blind date (which had been arranged by one of my former Boy Scouts) was the same young lady whose number I had failed to get that night at the institute. She eventually told me how disappointed she was that I had not pursued a date and asked why I had been so reluctant. When I explained my reasoning, she replied that her friend was there only for moral support and was already committed to a guy anyway. (As if I could know that given my lack of mind reading skills.)
This highlights one of the differences between male and female thinking. Unlike guys, gals tend to enjoy inviting their gal pals to visit the restroom together. Although I will admittedly never quite comprehend this penchant, my future wife must have employed this kind of thinking when asking her friend to come along to talk to a guy. It apparently never crossed the mind of my sweetheart-to-be that, while friendly female support might seem helpful to her, simple math dictates that 2 gals + 1 guy = no date.
Just a few nights after our first date, I met my wife again at the LDS Institute, where she was engaged in dance practice with the institute's folk dance team. I marveled at the dancers, since dancing had never been my strong suit. I know what good dancing looks like, but I've never been able to make my body do it.
During our courtship and engagement, I attended many folk dance practices and performances. At our wedding reception the folk dancers did a number of dances and then performed a wedding waltz while my wife and I slowly waltzed in the center of the group. My wife had carefully trained me to do this limited step and everything went satisfactorily.
A couple of years later my wife informed me that she had signed us up for ballroom dance lessons at the local university. Being madly in love with my wife and knowing how important dancing had been to her throughout her life, I acquiesced.
Our dance classes stretched over a couple of months. I learned many dance steps, some of which I can still sort of do. I learned to lead. But I can only do so if my wife is constantly reminding me of what I am supposed to do next.
Dancing is supposed to flow from the inside out. Learning the techniques of dancing is meant to merely hone the body's natural response to the music, making the experience more enjoyable. But I have never been able to get to that point.
For me dancing has always been a series of unnatural mechanical movements, each requiring deliberate thought, shrouded in the stressful fog of trying to make sure that everything happens when it's supposed to happen. If pleasure is at one end of a given spectrum, dancing is somewhere toward the other end of the spectrum for me—near the likes of surgery without pain killers.
A couple of years ago some friends invited us to their stake's Valentine's dance. I agreed to go because I love my wife. I'm sure that dancing with me is far from the most enjoyable experience in the world. I was grateful when the husband of the other couple (who knows how to dance) danced with my wife for a few songs. I was also very grateful when the evening was over.
Although my wife has always loved dancing, she willingly puts up with my lack of dancing ability because she loves me and apparently finds other compensating factors in our relationship. I will dance with my wife when she really wants me to, because I love her enough to do something that I find less than enjoyable when it's important to her. And somehow, mixing her grace with my awkwardness enhances our relationship.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
At Home Together but Apart
We had a somewhat unstructured New Years Day celebration today. I spent three hours of the day at the first installment of The Hobbit with two family members.
The movie is a spectacular and incredible adaptation of JRR Tolkien's book and various writings. I must admit that I was surprised to see families with quite young children in attendance. The movie includes some pretty dicey scenes.
Later in the day I had hoped that we could relax together as a family. (None of us are sports enthusiasts, so we had skipped the day's various televised athletic competitions.) But everyone was too busy with their own pursuits to be bothered.
One child was upstairs desperately trying to master a new video game. Another was downstairs trying to complete schoolwork that should have been done long before the final day of Christmas vacation. Two were in the family room. But one was wearing headphones and was glued to the laptop, while the other was watching a video that nobody else in the family can stand to watch. My wonderful wife was at the dining room table working on a sewing project for one of the children. (She once enjoyed sewing. Now she only does it at great need.) Finding no willing companions, I retreated to the office.
The modern American family home can be both a blessing and a curse. When there is enough room for each person to have their own space, the need to spend time together is minimized, even on a holiday when families traditionally spend time together.
The movie is a spectacular and incredible adaptation of JRR Tolkien's book and various writings. I must admit that I was surprised to see families with quite young children in attendance. The movie includes some pretty dicey scenes.
Later in the day I had hoped that we could relax together as a family. (None of us are sports enthusiasts, so we had skipped the day's various televised athletic competitions.) But everyone was too busy with their own pursuits to be bothered.
One child was upstairs desperately trying to master a new video game. Another was downstairs trying to complete schoolwork that should have been done long before the final day of Christmas vacation. Two were in the family room. But one was wearing headphones and was glued to the laptop, while the other was watching a video that nobody else in the family can stand to watch. My wonderful wife was at the dining room table working on a sewing project for one of the children. (She once enjoyed sewing. Now she only does it at great need.) Finding no willing companions, I retreated to the office.
The modern American family home can be both a blessing and a curse. When there is enough room for each person to have their own space, the need to spend time together is minimized, even on a holiday when families traditionally spend time together.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
The Best Time to See the Christmas Lights at Temple Square
The LDS Church's Temple Square in Salt Lake City is always an interesting place to visit. But around Christmastime each year it becomes a major holiday destination as its trees are lit up with hundreds of thousands (perhaps millions) of lights. The effect is magical.
In addition to the lights, there is always a special Christmas display in the North Visitor Center and a life size presentation of the Nativity story on the lawn between that building and the historic tabernacle. The Nativity story plays over and over with lights shining on staged scenes and speakers conveying professional narration along with music by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
A beautiful Nativity scene graces the center of the reflecting pond. Small clear balls with lights that appear to be lit candles float on the surface of the pond. A walkway is lined with Christmas lanterns. Nativity sets reflecting various cultures grace a number of spots.
Temple Square at night during Christmastime is indeed magical. There are only a couple of drawbacks: parking and crowds. The lights and displays make the place such a popular holiday destination that the press of people on any night of the holiday season can make the experience difficult. This is particularly so for families with young children and strollers, as well as for anyone with mobility challenges.
My wife and I visited Temple Square one evening about a week and a half ago only because we were attending an event at the Salt Lake Temple that concluded in the early evening. As we walked around sans kids, I was reminded of the times we had navigated the crowds with our kids and recalled the difficulty of maneuvering a stroller while also managing young children on foot that could easily get lost in the crowd.
We have found that the best time to visit Temple Square to see the Christmas lights and displays is AFTER Christmas. The lights stay lit each night until just after New Year. (The website says that they will only be lit through December 31 this year.) But once Christmas is over the crowds diminish, as do the panhandlers and anti-Mormons that line the sidewalks around Temple Square.
I would say that the experience of strolling around Temple Square after Christmas beats being pushed along in a stream of people before Christmas. It would seem that most people that want to see the lights feel as if it absolutely must happen before Christmas, perhaps to help them get into the spirit of the season. But in my mind, the relaxed pace and easier parking after Christmas more than make up for anything lost by missing the lights before Christmas.
In addition to the lights, there is always a special Christmas display in the North Visitor Center and a life size presentation of the Nativity story on the lawn between that building and the historic tabernacle. The Nativity story plays over and over with lights shining on staged scenes and speakers conveying professional narration along with music by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
A beautiful Nativity scene graces the center of the reflecting pond. Small clear balls with lights that appear to be lit candles float on the surface of the pond. A walkway is lined with Christmas lanterns. Nativity sets reflecting various cultures grace a number of spots.
Temple Square at night during Christmastime is indeed magical. There are only a couple of drawbacks: parking and crowds. The lights and displays make the place such a popular holiday destination that the press of people on any night of the holiday season can make the experience difficult. This is particularly so for families with young children and strollers, as well as for anyone with mobility challenges.
My wife and I visited Temple Square one evening about a week and a half ago only because we were attending an event at the Salt Lake Temple that concluded in the early evening. As we walked around sans kids, I was reminded of the times we had navigated the crowds with our kids and recalled the difficulty of maneuvering a stroller while also managing young children on foot that could easily get lost in the crowd.
We have found that the best time to visit Temple Square to see the Christmas lights and displays is AFTER Christmas. The lights stay lit each night until just after New Year. (The website says that they will only be lit through December 31 this year.) But once Christmas is over the crowds diminish, as do the panhandlers and anti-Mormons that line the sidewalks around Temple Square.
I would say that the experience of strolling around Temple Square after Christmas beats being pushed along in a stream of people before Christmas. It would seem that most people that want to see the lights feel as if it absolutely must happen before Christmas, perhaps to help them get into the spirit of the season. But in my mind, the relaxed pace and easier parking after Christmas more than make up for anything lost by missing the lights before Christmas.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Christmas Family History
We got a video camera when our first son was born so that we could capture our family's special moments on video. We've had five iterations of video cameras since then plus a couple of phones that actually produce somewhat decent video.
We currently have about three dozen DVD discs of family movies that include many years of our Christmas celebrations. One Christmas morning is missing because I accidentally deleted critical files on a then-new camcorder. But for the most part we can watch our family age as we look at videos of Christmas over the years, allowing us to recall events from a lengthening chain of Christmases.
Some elements are perpetually the same. We do our annual Christmas Eve dinner on the floor. It started out being somewhat reminiscent of the type of dining that occurred in Israel around the time of the first Christmas. But over the years we have gradually dropped the less favored and less convenient items for items with broader appeal. We seriously parted from Jewish tradition the year our Christmas Eve feast included slices of ham.
Then there's the Christmas morning gift opening event. What started out as a desire of young parents has firmed into an iron clad tradition. Following breakfast the kids first get their Christmas stockings and check out the stocking stuffers. Then we start handing out gifts from under the tree, trying to time the opening in such a way that I can capture the moment of delight (or disappointment) with each gift.
A few years ago we headed into the Christmas holidays with no snow on the ground. But then it snowed during the night so that we awakened to an incredibly beautiful snowy day with clear skies. After opening gifts we went to the nearby park where we slid down the slopes on toboggans and tubes, making our mark in the fresh snow. I caught elements of this on video. We returned to the house for hot chocolate, movies, games, and playing with gifts. It seemed like the perfect traditional Christmas.
My appearances in our family movies are rare and rare, since I am usually running the camera. However, my commentary can often be heard.A couple of evenings ago my daughter was watching some of our Christmas videos. It was fun to see the kids when they were much younger. But it was a bit shocking to see myself in those videos. It provided for a comparison with the present, allowing me to realize how much I have aged.
Being a regular journal writer, I have also captured our annual Christmas celebrations in writing too. There was the year that our two oldest were toddlers and were both quite ill. My wife took our oldest to the emergency room late on Christmas night, only to be told that his very high fever was the result of a virus and that the only option was to let the virus work its course.
I was off work between Christmas and New Year that season, but my wife wasn't. I spent the holidays mostly caring for my sick little boys, who had little desire to do much other than to watch videos and be held. Fortunately, they both rebounded about the time I had to return to work.
My brothers and I used to bring our families to my parents' home on Christmas Eve, where we would eat, share gifts, and have the grandchildren perform a talent show and the nativity story. That eventually became too difficult to pull off as families aged and started spreading out.
There was the Christmas when it snowed, and snowed, and snowed. I spent much of the day doing snow removal at our place, for various neighbors, and at the church. Then there was last year, when we celebrated together for what we figured would be our last time as a family for a while, anticipating boys leaving on missions.
I need to figure out which services I'm going to use to move our family movies and my journals out to the cloud. Although I have backup copies of these files (even stored off site), they are not as accessible or as secure as they could be on the cloud. Besides, all electronic data is subject to obsolescence. I have already undertaken major projects to upgrade my journals and videos to current formats. But even those are aging. When will DVDs be little more than anachronisms of a bygone era?
We will soon be taking video and still shots of our annual family Christmas celebration once again. I will then work to preserve these videos for future use. Hopefully my kids will always have the opportunity of looking back on events from their formative years to help remind themselves of the ties that bind us together even stronger than the bonds of life itself.
We currently have about three dozen DVD discs of family movies that include many years of our Christmas celebrations. One Christmas morning is missing because I accidentally deleted critical files on a then-new camcorder. But for the most part we can watch our family age as we look at videos of Christmas over the years, allowing us to recall events from a lengthening chain of Christmases.
Some elements are perpetually the same. We do our annual Christmas Eve dinner on the floor. It started out being somewhat reminiscent of the type of dining that occurred in Israel around the time of the first Christmas. But over the years we have gradually dropped the less favored and less convenient items for items with broader appeal. We seriously parted from Jewish tradition the year our Christmas Eve feast included slices of ham.
Then there's the Christmas morning gift opening event. What started out as a desire of young parents has firmed into an iron clad tradition. Following breakfast the kids first get their Christmas stockings and check out the stocking stuffers. Then we start handing out gifts from under the tree, trying to time the opening in such a way that I can capture the moment of delight (or disappointment) with each gift.
A few years ago we headed into the Christmas holidays with no snow on the ground. But then it snowed during the night so that we awakened to an incredibly beautiful snowy day with clear skies. After opening gifts we went to the nearby park where we slid down the slopes on toboggans and tubes, making our mark in the fresh snow. I caught elements of this on video. We returned to the house for hot chocolate, movies, games, and playing with gifts. It seemed like the perfect traditional Christmas.
My appearances in our family movies are rare and rare, since I am usually running the camera. However, my commentary can often be heard.A couple of evenings ago my daughter was watching some of our Christmas videos. It was fun to see the kids when they were much younger. But it was a bit shocking to see myself in those videos. It provided for a comparison with the present, allowing me to realize how much I have aged.
Being a regular journal writer, I have also captured our annual Christmas celebrations in writing too. There was the year that our two oldest were toddlers and were both quite ill. My wife took our oldest to the emergency room late on Christmas night, only to be told that his very high fever was the result of a virus and that the only option was to let the virus work its course.
I was off work between Christmas and New Year that season, but my wife wasn't. I spent the holidays mostly caring for my sick little boys, who had little desire to do much other than to watch videos and be held. Fortunately, they both rebounded about the time I had to return to work.
My brothers and I used to bring our families to my parents' home on Christmas Eve, where we would eat, share gifts, and have the grandchildren perform a talent show and the nativity story. That eventually became too difficult to pull off as families aged and started spreading out.
There was the Christmas when it snowed, and snowed, and snowed. I spent much of the day doing snow removal at our place, for various neighbors, and at the church. Then there was last year, when we celebrated together for what we figured would be our last time as a family for a while, anticipating boys leaving on missions.
I need to figure out which services I'm going to use to move our family movies and my journals out to the cloud. Although I have backup copies of these files (even stored off site), they are not as accessible or as secure as they could be on the cloud. Besides, all electronic data is subject to obsolescence. I have already undertaken major projects to upgrade my journals and videos to current formats. But even those are aging. When will DVDs be little more than anachronisms of a bygone era?
We will soon be taking video and still shots of our annual family Christmas celebration once again. I will then work to preserve these videos for future use. Hopefully my kids will always have the opportunity of looking back on events from their formative years to help remind themselves of the ties that bind us together even stronger than the bonds of life itself.
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Music of Christmas: the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
I have always genuinely loved Christmas music; although, my tastes have varied over time. As a small child I was quite fond of Up On the Housetop. Nowadays I much more enjoy the likes of the Hallelujah Chorus.
Not that I didn't like sacred Christmas music as a child. Once when I was young I watched big fluffy snowflakes falling on our already snowy neighborhood out the front window of our home just days before Christmas. I went out into the carport where I could look at neighbors' Christmas lights through the falling snow without the glare of indoor lights reflecting off the window. I suddenly found myself so filled with the Christmas spirit that I burst out and sang O Holy Night at the top of my lungs.
Christmas music comes in sacred, secular, and crossover varieties.There are distinct subsets or themes revolving mainly around Jesus Christ, Santa Claus, charity, winter, and winter romance. Over my lifetime American culture has developed an increasingly tortured relationship with Christmas music. Americans seem to love Christmas music, but listen to it under a cloud of possibly offending some.
Still, some Christmas songs seem to endure quite well. But some of them honestly mystify me. When I was a kid we had a 33⅓ rpm vinyl LP that included a rendition of The Little Drummer Boy. I kind of like the music for this song. But maybe I'm too cerebral about it, because the lyrics make no sense to me.
As the father of five children I wonder what sane adult would allow some kid to pound on a drum to soothe a baby. Is Mary saying, "Yeah, the cattle and chickens aren't making enough noise. Why don't you see if you can permanently damage the baby's hearing by whacking your drum? That's sure to help the child sleep. Who the heck needs a silent night anyway?"
And while Jingle Bells has an incredibly catchy tune and rhythm, how in the world did it become a Christmas song? How many people can even sing more than the first verse of the song anyway? Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow! is a fun song, but why is it considered a Christmas song? Ditto with other romance based songs such as Sleigh Ride and Winter Wonderland. None of these songs even refer to Christmas in any form.
Unlike various religious scolds, I have no problem with most secular Christmas music, as long as it's not used in a worship service. While I think that devotion should play a central role in my Christmas celebration, I don't think that the Lord is offended with an appropriate amount of celebration that is not strictly religious. So I enjoy both religious and secular Christmas music.
I like both traditional and modern arrangements of various Christmas songs. Up to a point. Most broadcasts seem to tightly focus on a tiny subset of the ample repertoire of available songs. While there are multiple versions of these songs performed by various artists, it sometimes feels like overload.
It's easy for overload to happen when the Christmas season lasts 2-3 months. Christmas is magical when it is special. The longer the season is drawn out, the less special it becomes. Instead of the music lending to a magical feeling, it becomes annoying.
Speaking of annoying, there are a few Christmas songs that fit squarely into that category for me. I still recall the moment nearly 30 years ago when Jingle Bell Rock became permanently annoying to me. While I particularly can't stand the version where the male singer sounds like a goat when he sings, "Jingle around the clo-o-o-o-o-ock," I detest pretty much any rendition of the song. Feliz Navidad sits at the bottom of this bucket for me too.
On Monday night our family will gather for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. Later on, after the sibling gift exchange, we will prepare to pray and read the Christmas story from the scriptures by singing a religious Christmas carol. I'm not sure what we'll sing. Whoever is the voice for our family prayer on the 23rd gets to pick the song on the 24th. But I am sure that I will enjoy singing the song.
Not that I didn't like sacred Christmas music as a child. Once when I was young I watched big fluffy snowflakes falling on our already snowy neighborhood out the front window of our home just days before Christmas. I went out into the carport where I could look at neighbors' Christmas lights through the falling snow without the glare of indoor lights reflecting off the window. I suddenly found myself so filled with the Christmas spirit that I burst out and sang O Holy Night at the top of my lungs.
Christmas music comes in sacred, secular, and crossover varieties.There are distinct subsets or themes revolving mainly around Jesus Christ, Santa Claus, charity, winter, and winter romance. Over my lifetime American culture has developed an increasingly tortured relationship with Christmas music. Americans seem to love Christmas music, but listen to it under a cloud of possibly offending some.
Still, some Christmas songs seem to endure quite well. But some of them honestly mystify me. When I was a kid we had a 33⅓ rpm vinyl LP that included a rendition of The Little Drummer Boy. I kind of like the music for this song. But maybe I'm too cerebral about it, because the lyrics make no sense to me.
As the father of five children I wonder what sane adult would allow some kid to pound on a drum to soothe a baby. Is Mary saying, "Yeah, the cattle and chickens aren't making enough noise. Why don't you see if you can permanently damage the baby's hearing by whacking your drum? That's sure to help the child sleep. Who the heck needs a silent night anyway?"
And while Jingle Bells has an incredibly catchy tune and rhythm, how in the world did it become a Christmas song? How many people can even sing more than the first verse of the song anyway? Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow! is a fun song, but why is it considered a Christmas song? Ditto with other romance based songs such as Sleigh Ride and Winter Wonderland. None of these songs even refer to Christmas in any form.
Unlike various religious scolds, I have no problem with most secular Christmas music, as long as it's not used in a worship service. While I think that devotion should play a central role in my Christmas celebration, I don't think that the Lord is offended with an appropriate amount of celebration that is not strictly religious. So I enjoy both religious and secular Christmas music.
I like both traditional and modern arrangements of various Christmas songs. Up to a point. Most broadcasts seem to tightly focus on a tiny subset of the ample repertoire of available songs. While there are multiple versions of these songs performed by various artists, it sometimes feels like overload.
It's easy for overload to happen when the Christmas season lasts 2-3 months. Christmas is magical when it is special. The longer the season is drawn out, the less special it becomes. Instead of the music lending to a magical feeling, it becomes annoying.
Speaking of annoying, there are a few Christmas songs that fit squarely into that category for me. I still recall the moment nearly 30 years ago when Jingle Bell Rock became permanently annoying to me. While I particularly can't stand the version where the male singer sounds like a goat when he sings, "Jingle around the clo-o-o-o-o-ock," I detest pretty much any rendition of the song. Feliz Navidad sits at the bottom of this bucket for me too.
On Monday night our family will gather for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. Later on, after the sibling gift exchange, we will prepare to pray and read the Christmas story from the scriptures by singing a religious Christmas carol. I'm not sure what we'll sing. Whoever is the voice for our family prayer on the 23rd gets to pick the song on the 24th. But I am sure that I will enjoy singing the song.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Missionary Christmas
I recently pulled out my missionary journal from the way-way-back device (aka bookshelf) and reread my entries from the days surrounding the two Christmases I spent in Norway. It brought back some pleasant memories.
Both years I was in Norway I was transferred to a new city just days before Christmas. Each year I left behind those I knew and went to a new situation. The first year I went to a companion and church members I had never met. The second year I went to a companion that was already a good friend. The city had three other sets of missionaries. I knew all of them. I knew some of the members. But in both cases, people made Christmas very enjoyable for me, despite being far from home.
I arrived in Hamar a few days before Christmas my first year in Norway, replacing my MTC companion, who had been there the whole time we had been in Norway. (Hamar was my fourth city.) Church members immediately welcomed me. They were very hospitable to us during the holiday season.
One middle age couple whose children were all adults lived quite comfortably by Norwegian standards invited us to their Christmas Eve celebration. Gifts were opened that night per the national tradition. We had a marvelous feast and enjoyed the family's gift giving. We also opened gifts that our families had sent from home. Thanks to the efficiency of the postal system between the U.S. and Norway, my gifts had arrived weeks earlier.
We spent Christmas day with a couple of other families. One family allowed me to use their phone to call home. (It was a collect call, so it cost them nothing.) I can't remember why my companion had to call his family on the 26th, but this family made arrangements for us to visit them for that event.
When we showed up on the 26th, the lady of the house talked to us through the front door and asked us to go around back. When we got to the back of the house, she opened a window and invited us to climb into the house through the window.
Although the 26th is a national holiday along with the 25th, the man of the house had to make a trip to a town about an hour away that morning. The deadbolt locks on their doors were keyed on both sides. When the husband had locked the house and left that morning, he had inadvertently taken both sets of house keys with him.
I thought that it must have been quite a sight for the neighbors to see two young Mormon missionaries climbing through the back window of the house at the wife's bidding while the husband was away. Thankfully, the husband returned home while my companion was still on the phone. He said that he was surprised when he found the second set of keys in his coat pocket upon arrival at his destination.
My second Christmas in Norway was spent in Trondheim, one of Norway's significant cities. I arrived on the 23rd, a date many Norwegians refer to as Little Christmas Eve. Being immediately thrust into a leadership position meant that my companion and I spent all that day shuttling missionaries that were transferring to and from the city and getting the new missionaries settled.
On Christmas Eve we were invited to visit a couple of families, where we enjoyed food and gifting. At midnight we took our entire missionary zone to the midnight mass at the Nidaros Cathedral, where most Norwegian royal coronations have taken place for nearly a millennium. (Since 1908 only the royal benediction has occurred in the cathedral. The actual coronation takes place in Oslo, at the seat of government.) It was an interesting experience.
We spent Christmas day making more visits to church members and investigators, doing a bit of impromptu snow sliding with some kids on a slope near an apartment complex, and playing Monopoly. When we visited "The Captain," a very gracious brother who was a retired cruise ship captain, he allowed us to call home using his phone and he served us elegant treats. I only realized after popping one luxurious dipped chocolate into my mouth that it was filled with cherry liquor. My companion laughed when he saw the surprised look on my face.
I'm not sure what it's like nowadays, but Norway's Christmas celebrations back then differed from those in the U.S. in that decorations usually didn't appear until just before Christmas. Work, school, and church Christmas parties usually occurred in the weeks following the holidays, rather than prior to the holidays. People leave their decorations up until mid or late January (or sometimes even later).
In the U.S. we are inundated with Christmas as stores clear Halloween candy from the shelves. It seems like radio stations that once played 100 hours of Christmas music now play 100 days of Christmas music. Stores play 20 variations of the same 12 Christmas songs for weeks until we are all sick of it. But once December 25th passes, Christmas is over. Decorations go down. Christmas music stops. It's done.
Each year when I was in Norway, we eventually gathered at the church for a congregational Christmas party. Per Norwegian tradition, we joined hands in circles around the Christmas tree. A small circle (usually of young children) circled the tree tightly. That group was surrounded by a larger circle, and so forth until all attendees were in a circle. Every other circle rotated the opposite direction from the next circle as we sang Christmas carols.
I recall with fondness the two Christmases I spent as a missionary in Norway. I hope that my son that is serving a mission in a foreign country will encounter hospitality, generosity, and enjoyable local traditions this Christmas, much as was the case for me years ago.
Both years I was in Norway I was transferred to a new city just days before Christmas. Each year I left behind those I knew and went to a new situation. The first year I went to a companion and church members I had never met. The second year I went to a companion that was already a good friend. The city had three other sets of missionaries. I knew all of them. I knew some of the members. But in both cases, people made Christmas very enjoyable for me, despite being far from home.
I arrived in Hamar a few days before Christmas my first year in Norway, replacing my MTC companion, who had been there the whole time we had been in Norway. (Hamar was my fourth city.) Church members immediately welcomed me. They were very hospitable to us during the holiday season.
One middle age couple whose children were all adults lived quite comfortably by Norwegian standards invited us to their Christmas Eve celebration. Gifts were opened that night per the national tradition. We had a marvelous feast and enjoyed the family's gift giving. We also opened gifts that our families had sent from home. Thanks to the efficiency of the postal system between the U.S. and Norway, my gifts had arrived weeks earlier.
We spent Christmas day with a couple of other families. One family allowed me to use their phone to call home. (It was a collect call, so it cost them nothing.) I can't remember why my companion had to call his family on the 26th, but this family made arrangements for us to visit them for that event.
When we showed up on the 26th, the lady of the house talked to us through the front door and asked us to go around back. When we got to the back of the house, she opened a window and invited us to climb into the house through the window.
Although the 26th is a national holiday along with the 25th, the man of the house had to make a trip to a town about an hour away that morning. The deadbolt locks on their doors were keyed on both sides. When the husband had locked the house and left that morning, he had inadvertently taken both sets of house keys with him.
I thought that it must have been quite a sight for the neighbors to see two young Mormon missionaries climbing through the back window of the house at the wife's bidding while the husband was away. Thankfully, the husband returned home while my companion was still on the phone. He said that he was surprised when he found the second set of keys in his coat pocket upon arrival at his destination.
My second Christmas in Norway was spent in Trondheim, one of Norway's significant cities. I arrived on the 23rd, a date many Norwegians refer to as Little Christmas Eve. Being immediately thrust into a leadership position meant that my companion and I spent all that day shuttling missionaries that were transferring to and from the city and getting the new missionaries settled.
On Christmas Eve we were invited to visit a couple of families, where we enjoyed food and gifting. At midnight we took our entire missionary zone to the midnight mass at the Nidaros Cathedral, where most Norwegian royal coronations have taken place for nearly a millennium. (Since 1908 only the royal benediction has occurred in the cathedral. The actual coronation takes place in Oslo, at the seat of government.) It was an interesting experience.
We spent Christmas day making more visits to church members and investigators, doing a bit of impromptu snow sliding with some kids on a slope near an apartment complex, and playing Monopoly. When we visited "The Captain," a very gracious brother who was a retired cruise ship captain, he allowed us to call home using his phone and he served us elegant treats. I only realized after popping one luxurious dipped chocolate into my mouth that it was filled with cherry liquor. My companion laughed when he saw the surprised look on my face.
I'm not sure what it's like nowadays, but Norway's Christmas celebrations back then differed from those in the U.S. in that decorations usually didn't appear until just before Christmas. Work, school, and church Christmas parties usually occurred in the weeks following the holidays, rather than prior to the holidays. People leave their decorations up until mid or late January (or sometimes even later).
In the U.S. we are inundated with Christmas as stores clear Halloween candy from the shelves. It seems like radio stations that once played 100 hours of Christmas music now play 100 days of Christmas music. Stores play 20 variations of the same 12 Christmas songs for weeks until we are all sick of it. But once December 25th passes, Christmas is over. Decorations go down. Christmas music stops. It's done.
Each year when I was in Norway, we eventually gathered at the church for a congregational Christmas party. Per Norwegian tradition, we joined hands in circles around the Christmas tree. A small circle (usually of young children) circled the tree tightly. That group was surrounded by a larger circle, and so forth until all attendees were in a circle. Every other circle rotated the opposite direction from the next circle as we sang Christmas carols.
I recall with fondness the two Christmases I spent as a missionary in Norway. I hope that my son that is serving a mission in a foreign country will encounter hospitality, generosity, and enjoyable local traditions this Christmas, much as was the case for me years ago.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Christmas Breakfast Cereal
I have a handful of extremely vivid memories from my early childhood. I still remember Christmas morning when I was three years old. It was still dark outside when we got up. The only lights in the living room emanated from the Christmas tree. I walked closer to the tree through what appeared to be aisle ways of massive wrapped boxes. It doesn't take very big or very many boxes to look that way to a three-year-old.
I got a Wonder Horse for Christmas that year.
I am told that all I did on Christmas day was to cycle through eating treats and bouncing on the horse. Apparently this cycle continued until I managed to make myself sick by evening. I finally threw up and then went to bed queasy.
Mom still claims that I never rode that horse again, but she's wrong. The horse was relegated to the basement. My brothers and I actually did ride that horse quite a bit down there. But we also drew on it with markers and poked darts from the dart board into its vinyl rump. It stayed in the basement until my younger brother was too big to ride it.
Although I don't clearly remember getting sick that Christmas, I think that one of my family's current traditions may have stemmed from my subconscious memory of that event coupled with my deep memory of another Christmas morning.
When I was a kid the family practice was to get up early on Christmas morning (not one second before 6:00 am by parental decree) and open gifts. Of course, there was always an abundance of treats available, including the treats in our boots. We didn't have Christmas stockings. Mom had made us each a Christmas boot that fit a #10 can, which could hold far more goodies than your average stocking.
With all of the gift opening, playing, and eating of treats, we never got around to breakfast until 10 am or later. By then we'd have filled our tummies with delectables that were intended to be eaten only in small amounts, so we weren't hungry. Eventually the consequential effects of indigestion would set in.
Then one Christmas morning the doorbell rang just as we were beginning to open our gifts. Mind you, this was about 6:15 am. On the doorstep were the Rasmussens, a cheery empty nester couple that lived around the corner. They refused our invitation to come in, but they presented us with a plate of hot scones along with a container of honey butter. Then they were on their way.
The scones were delicious. We ate them and then continued with our Christmas morning activities. We later learned that when the Rasmussens realized that none of their children or grandchildren were going to be close enough to visit that year, they wanted to find a fun way to celebrate Christmas morning.
They decided to go to bed extra early and then get up extra early to prepare scones. They made a large batch of scone dough and got hot grease ready. Then the moment they saw a neighbor's lights come on they would prepare enough fresh scones for that family, quickly deliver them, and then return to their work. It was hard work, but it made Christmas morning fun for them and for many others.
Mom later noticed that we didn't delve into the candy and treats much that morning, so there was less indigestion (and gas) among the family members. Ruminating upon this as I became a young adult, I vowed that when I had my own family I would make everyone eat breakfast before opening gifts. When my wife and I began to have children, she agreed with me on this. The question, however, was how to get excited young children to focus on eating breakfast when a trove of Christmas presents beckoned from the next room.
Together we eventually formulated a plan. We would allow each child to select a box of their favorite breakfast cereal for Christmas morning. The whole box would be theirs until it was exhausted. We even wrote the child's name on the box with marker to prevent others from inadvertently eating from it.
This has worked wonderfully. Our kids usually only get breakfast cereal from the biggest bags of cereal that they sell at the local markets. Boxed cereal is more pricey and has certainly always been a novelty in our home. The funny thing about this is that even our young adult children still look forward to this family tradition each Christmas. They get the cereal they want, everyone has breakfast before digging into gifts and treats, and everyone is much happier.
At least, it works to a certain extent. A couple of years ago our oldest son requested Berry Berry Kix, a cereal he relished from his childhood. We soon found why we hadn't seen it for a while. None of the stores in town carried it any longer. It was available online, but only in quantities of four boxes. It was too close to Christmas to get the cereal without paying exorbitant shipping, so he opted for something else.
Then last Christmas we got our son four boxes of Berry Berry Kix. He quickly realized on Christmas morning that either the recipe had changed, his palate had changed, the cereal tasted a lot better in his memory than it did in real life, or some combination of these factors. Sometimes foods we haven't eaten for years don't live up to our memories because many elements besides the actual taste are involved, and some of those things can't be recreated. It took months before all four boxes of the cereal were gone.
I have tried making scones on Christmas. But no matter how many recipes I read or how many videos I watch on the subject, I just can't seem to make my scones turn out very well. Besides, there is no way to recapture the magic of the moment that the Rasmussens delivered hot scones to our door that Christmas morning long ago. Still, I suppose that if I do something to bring joy to someone's Christmas celebration, it might help spark their own Christmas traditions long after I'm gone.
I got a Wonder Horse for Christmas that year.
Mom still claims that I never rode that horse again, but she's wrong. The horse was relegated to the basement. My brothers and I actually did ride that horse quite a bit down there. But we also drew on it with markers and poked darts from the dart board into its vinyl rump. It stayed in the basement until my younger brother was too big to ride it.
Although I don't clearly remember getting sick that Christmas, I think that one of my family's current traditions may have stemmed from my subconscious memory of that event coupled with my deep memory of another Christmas morning.
When I was a kid the family practice was to get up early on Christmas morning (not one second before 6:00 am by parental decree) and open gifts. Of course, there was always an abundance of treats available, including the treats in our boots. We didn't have Christmas stockings. Mom had made us each a Christmas boot that fit a #10 can, which could hold far more goodies than your average stocking.
With all of the gift opening, playing, and eating of treats, we never got around to breakfast until 10 am or later. By then we'd have filled our tummies with delectables that were intended to be eaten only in small amounts, so we weren't hungry. Eventually the consequential effects of indigestion would set in.
Then one Christmas morning the doorbell rang just as we were beginning to open our gifts. Mind you, this was about 6:15 am. On the doorstep were the Rasmussens, a cheery empty nester couple that lived around the corner. They refused our invitation to come in, but they presented us with a plate of hot scones along with a container of honey butter. Then they were on their way.
The scones were delicious. We ate them and then continued with our Christmas morning activities. We later learned that when the Rasmussens realized that none of their children or grandchildren were going to be close enough to visit that year, they wanted to find a fun way to celebrate Christmas morning.
They decided to go to bed extra early and then get up extra early to prepare scones. They made a large batch of scone dough and got hot grease ready. Then the moment they saw a neighbor's lights come on they would prepare enough fresh scones for that family, quickly deliver them, and then return to their work. It was hard work, but it made Christmas morning fun for them and for many others.
Mom later noticed that we didn't delve into the candy and treats much that morning, so there was less indigestion (and gas) among the family members. Ruminating upon this as I became a young adult, I vowed that when I had my own family I would make everyone eat breakfast before opening gifts. When my wife and I began to have children, she agreed with me on this. The question, however, was how to get excited young children to focus on eating breakfast when a trove of Christmas presents beckoned from the next room.
Together we eventually formulated a plan. We would allow each child to select a box of their favorite breakfast cereal for Christmas morning. The whole box would be theirs until it was exhausted. We even wrote the child's name on the box with marker to prevent others from inadvertently eating from it.
This has worked wonderfully. Our kids usually only get breakfast cereal from the biggest bags of cereal that they sell at the local markets. Boxed cereal is more pricey and has certainly always been a novelty in our home. The funny thing about this is that even our young adult children still look forward to this family tradition each Christmas. They get the cereal they want, everyone has breakfast before digging into gifts and treats, and everyone is much happier.
At least, it works to a certain extent. A couple of years ago our oldest son requested Berry Berry Kix, a cereal he relished from his childhood. We soon found why we hadn't seen it for a while. None of the stores in town carried it any longer. It was available online, but only in quantities of four boxes. It was too close to Christmas to get the cereal without paying exorbitant shipping, so he opted for something else.
Then last Christmas we got our son four boxes of Berry Berry Kix. He quickly realized on Christmas morning that either the recipe had changed, his palate had changed, the cereal tasted a lot better in his memory than it did in real life, or some combination of these factors. Sometimes foods we haven't eaten for years don't live up to our memories because many elements besides the actual taste are involved, and some of those things can't be recreated. It took months before all four boxes of the cereal were gone.
I have tried making scones on Christmas. But no matter how many recipes I read or how many videos I watch on the subject, I just can't seem to make my scones turn out very well. Besides, there is no way to recapture the magic of the moment that the Rasmussens delivered hot scones to our door that Christmas morning long ago. Still, I suppose that if I do something to bring joy to someone's Christmas celebration, it might help spark their own Christmas traditions long after I'm gone.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Christmas Gift Spies
When I was nine years old I discovered that parents hate it when their kids get out of school too many days before Christmas. The children in our family at that time were all old enough to be hep to the Santa thing. (My caboose brother was born later.) So Mom started putting gifts under the Christmas tree a few days before Christmas.
Mom kept a pretty vigilant eye on the gifts, so we couldn't get too close. But then Christmas Eve arrived. They had let us out of school early on the 23rd. Then we had a whole day at home on the 24th. A whole day to think about the following morning when we would—as the narrator of A Christmas Story puts it—plunge "into the cornucopia quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice."
We tried doing other things—playing games, watching TV, eating treats, etc—but the pile of brightly wrapped gifts that grew every time Mom came out of the bedroom with a few more boxes in hand drew us with an impossibly irresistible force. Regardless of the distractions we attempted, that treasure trove was right there tantalizingly out in the open, mocking our childish passions with its close yet inaccessible presence.
Then about midday Mom decided that she had to run some errands. We correctly assumed that she was about to pick up a few last minute items for us, since she was adamant that we all remain behind. I'm also sure that she wanted her trip to be as quick as possible. She knew that each additional child would hamper that goal. Besides, my oldest sibling was 12½, plenty old enough to watch the rest of us, none of whom were tiny.
No sooner had the taillights of the car disappeared around the corner than we began inspecting the wrapped hoard under the tree. We looked to see to whom each package was addressed. We touched none of them at first. Then we ever so carefully began picking up parcels to feel their weight and to gently shake them. We paid careful attention to each gift's location and orientation so that it could be replaced just as Mom had left it. We didn't want her to know of our surreptitious gift reconnaissance.
My oldest brother played the part of the executive. He was always the chief executive when our parents weren't around—not simply due to his age, but due to his nature. Today he is the chief operating officer of a vibrant multinational firm. He kept our foray under control.
At least, he did so until the second oldest—who has always been the most adventurous among us—decided that he would carefully open the end of one of his gifts and then reseal the package. We posted a sentinel at the front window to watch for Mom. My brother was able to see one of the minor gifts he was to receive. Then, as promised, he cautiously fixed the wrapping and returned the box to its original location.
Having proved that this could be done, my executive brother opted for a turn at it. He too discovered what one of his minor gifts would be and returned the gift to its place. Of course, the remainder of us clamored for the same privilege. But the executive said that we were insufficiently skilled to accomplish the task without leaving evidence that would alert Mom to our transgression. After a fair amount of pestering, he finally gave in.
I selected a box covered with thick shiny foil wrapping paper. I still remember that it had a silver background covered with large colored dots, most of which were purple. The paper was so tough that I easily pealed the tape back without scarring the wrapping. I was thrilled to see a Kenner SSP car.
My younger brother picked a box that was kind of heavy for its size. He opened it to discovered an HO scale train engine. He had so wanted a real HO railway set. But it was so expensive that Mom and Dad could afford to get him little else. So Mom had opened the set and packed each train car separately. The power converter was in its own package. The tracks were split into several packages. But as soon as my brother saw the engine, he pretty much knew what was in most of the other gifts addressed to him.
Unfortunately, the box my brother picked was wrapped in very delicate paper. Unlike the thick foil wrapping on my box, the paper had easily torn. What's more is that the only piece of that style of paper remaining on the roll was far too small to cover the gift, so it could not be wrapped anew.
My oldest brother was trying to help my younger brother re-wrap the box in its now tattered wrapping when the posted sentinel saw a car turn the corner that looked like Mom's car. With no time to spare, they slapped the wrapping together, trying to cover the unsightly rips with tape. They re-attached the bow and flung the box under the tree in nearly the right spot under another box.
Fortunately, the car was not ours. But Mom returned a few minutes later anyway. By then we appeared to be casually lounging in front of the TV. Inside we were reeling from a sense of impending doom. Mom returned to her room for more wrapping. Surely she would discover the pre-opened gift upon delivering more gifts to the base of the tree. But she didn't. We had gotten away with it!
A couple of hours and a couple of trips to the tree later, Mom moved some gifts to make room for a few more boxes. Mom's wrapping jobs were always meticulous and gorgeous. Upon moving one gift, Mom's eagle eye suddenly caught sight of a box that was very un-meticulously wrapped.
Even as Mom hoisted the formerly gorgeously wrapped toy train engine, I thought we might still get away with our spying. And even if we didn't, my younger brother—thanks to a pact among brothers—would throw himself on the grenade, as it were, and proclaim that he alone was responsible for gift espionage.
It didn't work out that way. When we did our best to do the three monkeys routine when Mom asked what us older brothers had been doing while our younger brother opened the gift. Mom must have learned her interrogation techniques from Sgt. Joe Friday, because it didn't take her long to get to the bottom of what had happened.
We were in serious trouble. By the time the whole thing unraveled we knew it wouldn't be long before Dad would get home from work. It would be all over then.
Thankfully, our punishment was rather light. Dad didn't want anger or harshness hanging over our Christmas Eve celebration. And it was hard for my parents to be angry the following morning. They seemed to get nearly as much delight out of watching us open our gifts as we got from opening them ourselves. My younger brother was still thrilled with each box he opened.
The following Christmas I was surprised to see Mom again putting gifts under the tree a few days before Christmas. Maybe she thought we'd learned our lesson. She was only partially right. We never again tried to prematurely open any gifts. But we did carefully scope out the packages when we were unsupervised.
We were surprised to discover that the gift tags showed only symbols and no names. That way our parents were able to keep us from knowing which package belonged to which child until the operative moment. It would have been unconscionable—and probably punishable by pummeling—to open another brother's gift. So nobody tried opening any gifts ahead of time.
Just as Dad was about to explain the code on Christmas morning, my analytic executive brother piped up and asked if he could guess. Amused, Dad told him to go ahead. My brother asserted that the circle was for child #1, the cross for #2, the triangle for #3, and the square for #4.
My parents looked at each other in stunned amazement, and then asked, "How did you know that?" "Simple," my brother explained. "A circle has only one line so it is for #1. The cross has two lines so it is for #2. A triangle has three lines so it is for #3 and a square has four lines so it is for #4." My surprised Dad said, "We didn't even think about that. We picked these symbols randomly." My brother surmised that they must have subconsciously recognized the correlating pattern.
It may be due to my childhood gift espionage that my wife and I wait until just before retiring on Christmas Eve to put gifts under the tree. But we keep no secrets about where the gifts are stored until then. Our kids know that they can go there if they really want to. It's up to them whether they want to be surprised on Christmas morning or not.
I'm not sure whether our kids spy or not. They certainly don't do so while we're around. Even if they spy, it seems that they still manage to quite enjoy opening gifts on Christmas morning. And maybe gift spying is just another fun part of our family's Christmas traditions. After all, it still makes me smile.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
We Heart Christmas: A Marriage Parable
Years ago my wife and I got engaged in November. We spent a lot of time together over the next few weeks. With Christmas approaching we dropped by a shop and selected our first Christmas ornament as a couple; a stuffed cloth heart adornment that reminded us of our love for each other. Since each of us was living with family at that time, neither of us had our own Christmas tree on which to hang the ornament. But we bought it anyway.
A year later as we prepared to celebrate our first Christmas as a married couple we bought a cheap little artificial Christmas tree at K-Mart. It looked like it was constructed of green bottle cleaners. We put it atop a box on the indoor balcony of our little house so that it could be seen from the main floor. We strung some cheap lights and hung a few very cheap ornaments on it. We also hung our 'engagement' ornament from the previous year.
During that season we happened to see another heart shaped ornament in a shop. It didn't cost much. We bought it, brought it home, and put it on our ugly little tree. Thus was a born a tradition that we have followed every year since.
Each year we seek out a Christmas ornament that is either heart shaped or that features a heart. Before putting it on our tree we attach a piece of tape with the year written on it so that we can keep track of when we got each ornament.
We now have quite a menagerie of heart ornaments. Some are elegant; others aren't. Some are large and some are small. We have a large Mickey Mouse ornament from the year we went to Disney World. A string of four small wooden Teddy bears with hearts marks our fourth Christmas together. One of my favorites is a heart made of Hadeland crystal from Norway, where I served as a missionary. Another hand carved heart looks very Scandinavian.
One of the kids' favorite heart ornaments features two mice snuggling atop an old fashioned camera. The center of the flash pan has an opening that fits over a Christmas tree light. Our ornament for 2001 is a metal heart painted to look like an American Flag in remembrance of the patriotic response to 9/11. One two-heart ornament features painted words that say, "The best things in life ... aren't things."
There are many other heart ornaments, including a ceramic heart shape that is cleverly fashioned to look like a Santa face, a heart shaped picture frame featuring a photo of my wife and me from that year, an incredibly cute miniature xylophone, and an angel that is also a bell.
Each year we unwrap each heart ornament and reminisce as we put it on the tree. The appearance of certain ornaments always evokes a sense of delight. Then at the end of the season we carefully wrap each heart ornament in tissue paper and store them in containers until the following Christmas season.
I think our little tradition says something to our children and to each other about how we regard our marriage. It sort of reminds me of the April 2003 LDS general conference talk given by F. Burton Howard. Elder Howard related how his wife cherished and cared for the fine silverware set they began to accumulate upon marriage. He was enlisted in this care as well. His wife was so vigilant with the silver that he thought her to be "just a little bit eccentric." But he ultimately came to see that the silver was simply a metaphor for the conscientious way she approached their own marriage.
I think our little tradition says something to our children and to each other about how we regard our marriage. It sort of reminds me of the April 2003 LDS general conference talk given by F. Burton Howard. Elder Howard related how his wife cherished and cared for the fine silverware set they began to accumulate upon marriage. He was enlisted in this care as well. His wife was so vigilant with the silver that he thought her to be "just a little bit eccentric." But he ultimately came to see that the silver was simply a metaphor for the conscientious way she approached their own marriage.
We long ago got rid of our bottle cleaner tree. Our current living room has a high ceiling but limited floor space. We very much enjoy our narrow 12' tall tree. Our heart ornaments are just a few of the many ornaments on the tree.
Although our tree is gorgeous, I must admit that as I was putting it together and decorating this year, I started looking forward to the time that we might just have a half tree that hangs on the wall, like my Mom does. I suppose that when we get to that stage we will put only our annual heart ornaments on the tree. I would love it if we someday had 50, 60, or more such ornaments.
Whether we reach that high number or not, I hope that each of my children forms Christmas traditions that demonstrate their devotion to their spouse and family. It would be nice to someday see grandchildren carrying on in their own families something like the tradition my wife and I started years ago when we embarked on our journey together.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Giving and Getting Great Christmas Gifts
Despite my mixed musings about Santa in my last post, I have a great fondness for the Christmas season. My parents made Christmas a fun time for our family when I was young. If they were seeking to instill lifelong pleasant memories, their efforts paid off well. We developed traditions that I still cherish, some of which my own family mimics today.
Our working class family had sufficient. But we were far from well off. Still, Mom and Dad worked hard to be generous to their kids at Christmas while trying not to kill the family budget. We always got some great gifts, even if we rarely got the major items we wanted.
Actually, the lack of getting big ticket items we wanted may have been one of the best Christmas gifts of all. I often came to cherish some of the smaller items I received. And unrewarded immediate desires were often better rewarded in the long run.
I still remember very much liking a flying whirligig toy I got. You'd shoot it into the air using a kind of a slingshot device (a rubber band tied to a stick). When it reached its apex, the thin plastic wings would unfold and the thing would gently helicopter to earth. You can buy these things nowadays for a buck.
Another great inexpensive toy I received as a kid was Sea Diver by Parker Brothers, which was a Cartesian diver. We regularly got board games (this was the b.v.g. era: before video games), Hot Wheels cars and tracks, action figures, various balls for sports, etc.
When we did actually get bigger ticket items, they were things that our parents were pretty sure would get used and would hold up well. One year they bought a used ping-pong table that got quite a bit of use for three decades. One brother got a Schwinn 5-speed Stingray bike one Christmas. (He really needed a new bike and it also covered his birthday.) I got a cassette tape player one year. That was a big deal back then.
But year after year my parents would fail to get the big ticket things we REALLY wanted. In retrospect, I can see that most of these things suffered from one or more significant deficiencies, such as being too expensive, too bulky (Where are you going to put it?), too flimsy, too narrow focused to hold our interest for long (fun for the first half hour, but not so much after that), and/or would have been jointly owned and would have caused never ending quarrels.
One year air hockey tables were all the rage. We begged and pleaded for one of these amazing devices. These things were new and expensive. Only high end folks could afford to be early adopters. Besides, even the expensive home use tables tended to break easily. They were pretty large too. I later noted long unused and/or broken air hockey tables consuming space in friends' homes. We received many wonderful gifts on Christmas morning that year. But an air hockey table was not among them.
My brother and I used Lego blocks to build a frame that resembled an air hockey table (complete with goals) on the floor of our bedroom. We put layer after layer of Mom's furniture wax on a rectangular spot on the hardwood floor of our bedroom, fervently buffing each layer until the surface was incredibly slick. Two small Tupperware containers became our mallets and a poker chip became our puck.
We played our makeshift air hockey game (sans air) on the floor of our bedroom day after day over the Christmas break. We kept playing it for the next couple of months. In fact, our fake air hockey court outlasted some of the fancy-shmancy air hockey tables that some of our friends got for Christmas. Only, when we lost interest and our Lego frame broke to the point that we didn't want to put it back together (sometime in late spring), we simply put the blocks back in our Lego bucket.
I sometimes find my wife and I going to great ends trying to get each child the perfect set of Christmas gifts. Occasionally I step back from the heat of shopping and remember the makeshift air hockey table from my childhood. While that was far from the only time we made our own fun without spending more money, I wonder what might have been lost had my parents insisted on getting us exactly what we wanted that Christmas. And then I relax a bit about Christmas shopping.
Our working class family had sufficient. But we were far from well off. Still, Mom and Dad worked hard to be generous to their kids at Christmas while trying not to kill the family budget. We always got some great gifts, even if we rarely got the major items we wanted.
Actually, the lack of getting big ticket items we wanted may have been one of the best Christmas gifts of all. I often came to cherish some of the smaller items I received. And unrewarded immediate desires were often better rewarded in the long run.
I still remember very much liking a flying whirligig toy I got. You'd shoot it into the air using a kind of a slingshot device (a rubber band tied to a stick). When it reached its apex, the thin plastic wings would unfold and the thing would gently helicopter to earth. You can buy these things nowadays for a buck.
Another great inexpensive toy I received as a kid was Sea Diver by Parker Brothers, which was a Cartesian diver. We regularly got board games (this was the b.v.g. era: before video games), Hot Wheels cars and tracks, action figures, various balls for sports, etc.
When we did actually get bigger ticket items, they were things that our parents were pretty sure would get used and would hold up well. One year they bought a used ping-pong table that got quite a bit of use for three decades. One brother got a Schwinn 5-speed Stingray bike one Christmas. (He really needed a new bike and it also covered his birthday.) I got a cassette tape player one year. That was a big deal back then.
But year after year my parents would fail to get the big ticket things we REALLY wanted. In retrospect, I can see that most of these things suffered from one or more significant deficiencies, such as being too expensive, too bulky (Where are you going to put it?), too flimsy, too narrow focused to hold our interest for long (fun for the first half hour, but not so much after that), and/or would have been jointly owned and would have caused never ending quarrels.
One year air hockey tables were all the rage. We begged and pleaded for one of these amazing devices. These things were new and expensive. Only high end folks could afford to be early adopters. Besides, even the expensive home use tables tended to break easily. They were pretty large too. I later noted long unused and/or broken air hockey tables consuming space in friends' homes. We received many wonderful gifts on Christmas morning that year. But an air hockey table was not among them.
My brother and I used Lego blocks to build a frame that resembled an air hockey table (complete with goals) on the floor of our bedroom. We put layer after layer of Mom's furniture wax on a rectangular spot on the hardwood floor of our bedroom, fervently buffing each layer until the surface was incredibly slick. Two small Tupperware containers became our mallets and a poker chip became our puck.
We played our makeshift air hockey game (sans air) on the floor of our bedroom day after day over the Christmas break. We kept playing it for the next couple of months. In fact, our fake air hockey court outlasted some of the fancy-shmancy air hockey tables that some of our friends got for Christmas. Only, when we lost interest and our Lego frame broke to the point that we didn't want to put it back together (sometime in late spring), we simply put the blocks back in our Lego bucket.
I sometimes find my wife and I going to great ends trying to get each child the perfect set of Christmas gifts. Occasionally I step back from the heat of shopping and remember the makeshift air hockey table from my childhood. While that was far from the only time we made our own fun without spending more money, I wonder what might have been lost had my parents insisted on getting us exactly what we wanted that Christmas. And then I relax a bit about Christmas shopping.
Thursday, December 06, 2012
Being Santa
Today, December 6 is the traditional observation of the feast of St. Nicholas. The old Catholic saint has morphed over the years into the modern tradition of Santa Claus. He has gone from having his own religious feast to being a secular symbol of Christmas giving.
I have a photograph of me sitting in a friend's living room with his three wide-eyed children on my lap. Their wonder arose from me being dressed as Santa Claus. I had purchased a Santa outfit from a man that had professionally done the gig for many years.
This was not your standard cheap-o Santa outfit. The custom built suit was made of rich but sturdy red upholstery material trimmed in plush fake white fur. The knees and upper forelegs were reinforced to handle the extra wear that came from people sitting on Santa's lap. A quilted undersuit added the appearance of plumpness. The wig and beard were made of yak hair that could be washed and styled. These pieces were integrated so that the beard did not budge at all when a child pulled on it.
The outfit included a dandy cap, a large padded plush red bag full of cheap little trinkets and candy canes, black boots, white gloves, fake reading glasses, and a black leather bandoleer festooned with jingle bells.
Being a young adult at the time, I had to color my eyebrows and put on makeup that made me appear older. That took some work. I was somewhat chubby back then so that my face fit the Santa persona fairly well. (Nowadays I would just look too gaunt.)
At first I just did a few gigs for neighbors. Sometimes I dropped in on friends and neighbors unannounced. Some of them never realized who it was that was playing Santa. It was a lot of fun. People were always happy to see Santa. I went away from these encounters feeling warm and happy.
Eventually I started doing professional engagements, mainly for family, work, or church gatherings. These larger gatherings sometimes left me exhausted. The multi-layered suit was incredibly warm, and once the headset was in place it was difficult (almost impossible) to drink or eat. It was easy to get dehydrated and overheated.
Despite the fun of playing Santa, some engagements left me far more fatigued than should have been the case. After a few years I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Most people with MS are susceptible to easily overheating and I am no exception. It can result in a serious bout of fatigue that doesn't just go away after cooling down.
I eventually mostly gave up playing Santa for health reasons, although, I did occasionally do smaller engagements. I was able to hide my preparations from my children when they were small. But the older kids eventually found out. I only ever played Santa for my own kids on one occasion. Eventually I gave the entire outfit to a friend whom I thought could better use the outfit.
Over the years I developed mixed feelings about our modern day Santa tradition. Although scholars are uncertain as to whether Nikolaos of Myra ever existed, the legend of St. Nicholas tells of a wealthy man that devoted his life to God, and then spent his wealth secretly helping those in need, sometimes even delivering these gifts in the still of the night.
While our modern jolly Santa figure still delivers gifts at night, he has become a supernatural tall and obese elf that goes around in a sleigh propelled by flying reindeer, dumping more stuff on kids already suffused with so much stuff that they can't take care of it all. Being needy is not a requirement for his largess, and the necessity of being 'good' is so disassociated with his gifting as to beg the question of how 'bad' one must be to be skipped.
The ancient saint carefully watched for those in need and carefully helped out where he could. He did not go around advertising his charity. Today's Santa doesn't ask what is needed. He plops children on his lap and asks them what they want. Unlike the iconic Santa that told Ralphie he'd shoot his eye out, most Santas today promise to try to bring what the child wants.
Can you see the message that is being sent here? The ancient saint is a model of charitably and secretly helping those that are in deep need. He is all about selflessness. The modern Santa is all about promoting and feeding children's avarice. He is too often all about selfishness.
I'm not trying to trash fun holiday traditions. After all, many people find the joy of 'playing Santa' by secretly taking gifts to neighbors and people in need. (No red suit required.) This is the kind of thing children (and indeed each of us) need to learn. Getting is fun. But giving to others—especially those that can't reciprocate—brings joy, which is infinitely deeper than any fun you'll ever have.
Santa is still a fun part of our family's holiday observance, but we try to make Christmas far more meaningful than just the getting of gifts. When our children were young we told them that Santa only filled the stockings, as in Clement Moore's well known poem. The remaining gifts came from parents, grandparents, etc. Whenever one of our children asked if we were Santa, we'd level with them. We wanted our children to be able to trust us when it came to important matters, so we refused to lie to them about Santa.
Even my youngest child discovered the truth about Santa some time ago. Yet my children still enjoy putting out cookies and milk on Christmas Eve before going to bed. Knowing the truth hasn't destroyed the magic of the occasion.
Those three little boys that sat on my lap when I came to their house dressed as Santa are now all grown men, two of them with children of their own. More than a decade has passed since I last played Santa. I admit that our society's current interpretation of the Santa myth gives me some heartburn. But I still feel a warm glow inside when I think about the times I dropped by friends' homes as Santa.
I have a photograph of me sitting in a friend's living room with his three wide-eyed children on my lap. Their wonder arose from me being dressed as Santa Claus. I had purchased a Santa outfit from a man that had professionally done the gig for many years.
This was not your standard cheap-o Santa outfit. The custom built suit was made of rich but sturdy red upholstery material trimmed in plush fake white fur. The knees and upper forelegs were reinforced to handle the extra wear that came from people sitting on Santa's lap. A quilted undersuit added the appearance of plumpness. The wig and beard were made of yak hair that could be washed and styled. These pieces were integrated so that the beard did not budge at all when a child pulled on it.
The outfit included a dandy cap, a large padded plush red bag full of cheap little trinkets and candy canes, black boots, white gloves, fake reading glasses, and a black leather bandoleer festooned with jingle bells.
Being a young adult at the time, I had to color my eyebrows and put on makeup that made me appear older. That took some work. I was somewhat chubby back then so that my face fit the Santa persona fairly well. (Nowadays I would just look too gaunt.)
At first I just did a few gigs for neighbors. Sometimes I dropped in on friends and neighbors unannounced. Some of them never realized who it was that was playing Santa. It was a lot of fun. People were always happy to see Santa. I went away from these encounters feeling warm and happy.
Eventually I started doing professional engagements, mainly for family, work, or church gatherings. These larger gatherings sometimes left me exhausted. The multi-layered suit was incredibly warm, and once the headset was in place it was difficult (almost impossible) to drink or eat. It was easy to get dehydrated and overheated.
Despite the fun of playing Santa, some engagements left me far more fatigued than should have been the case. After a few years I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Most people with MS are susceptible to easily overheating and I am no exception. It can result in a serious bout of fatigue that doesn't just go away after cooling down.
I eventually mostly gave up playing Santa for health reasons, although, I did occasionally do smaller engagements. I was able to hide my preparations from my children when they were small. But the older kids eventually found out. I only ever played Santa for my own kids on one occasion. Eventually I gave the entire outfit to a friend whom I thought could better use the outfit.
Over the years I developed mixed feelings about our modern day Santa tradition. Although scholars are uncertain as to whether Nikolaos of Myra ever existed, the legend of St. Nicholas tells of a wealthy man that devoted his life to God, and then spent his wealth secretly helping those in need, sometimes even delivering these gifts in the still of the night.
While our modern jolly Santa figure still delivers gifts at night, he has become a supernatural tall and obese elf that goes around in a sleigh propelled by flying reindeer, dumping more stuff on kids already suffused with so much stuff that they can't take care of it all. Being needy is not a requirement for his largess, and the necessity of being 'good' is so disassociated with his gifting as to beg the question of how 'bad' one must be to be skipped.
The ancient saint carefully watched for those in need and carefully helped out where he could. He did not go around advertising his charity. Today's Santa doesn't ask what is needed. He plops children on his lap and asks them what they want. Unlike the iconic Santa that told Ralphie he'd shoot his eye out, most Santas today promise to try to bring what the child wants.
Can you see the message that is being sent here? The ancient saint is a model of charitably and secretly helping those that are in deep need. He is all about selflessness. The modern Santa is all about promoting and feeding children's avarice. He is too often all about selfishness.
I'm not trying to trash fun holiday traditions. After all, many people find the joy of 'playing Santa' by secretly taking gifts to neighbors and people in need. (No red suit required.) This is the kind of thing children (and indeed each of us) need to learn. Getting is fun. But giving to others—especially those that can't reciprocate—brings joy, which is infinitely deeper than any fun you'll ever have.
Santa is still a fun part of our family's holiday observance, but we try to make Christmas far more meaningful than just the getting of gifts. When our children were young we told them that Santa only filled the stockings, as in Clement Moore's well known poem. The remaining gifts came from parents, grandparents, etc. Whenever one of our children asked if we were Santa, we'd level with them. We wanted our children to be able to trust us when it came to important matters, so we refused to lie to them about Santa.
Even my youngest child discovered the truth about Santa some time ago. Yet my children still enjoy putting out cookies and milk on Christmas Eve before going to bed. Knowing the truth hasn't destroyed the magic of the occasion.
Those three little boys that sat on my lap when I came to their house dressed as Santa are now all grown men, two of them with children of their own. More than a decade has passed since I last played Santa. I admit that our society's current interpretation of the Santa myth gives me some heartburn. But I still feel a warm glow inside when I think about the times I dropped by friends' homes as Santa.
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