Fiery Dragons and Good Men

It's Father’s Day, and I am thinking of men—of all the good they do and can do and of the ways that being a man is becoming harder lately. 

What? You may say. Aren’t men the oppressors, the abusers, the guardians of the glass ceiling, the source of that poison called male toxicity? 

This attitude is on display in a couple of novels I read recently, both set in the 50s and written by women who never lived the 50s. In Chemistry Lessons by Bonnie Garmus, the protagonist is raped by her thesis advisor, and when she reports this, she is kicked out of her doctoral program--and evidently this behavior is common, for it happens two or three times more in the book. When Women Were Dragons by Kelly Barnhill, a fantasy novel, takes this resentment of men to what may seem the natural next step. Women who are abused by the men in their lives turn into dragons, eat their abusers, and fly off in fire, fury, and power. 

It is true that some men have been abusive and violent and selfish and toxic. It’s true that some men, sometimes even with good intentions, kept women within narrowly prescribed boundaries. But not all men are rapists. All men do not deserve a fiery death. In my career, men encouraged and guided me. My father, my husband, my sons, and almost all men I have had contact with have been kind, respectful, and supportive. 

In fact, it seems to me that most men have supported and helped others in their lives. I’m talking of the millions of good men who have protected and provided for others from the beginning of men and women--from the cave men who risked their lives hunting mammoths to feed their village to the modern dad who works to provide for his family every day—maybe at a job he doesn’t particularly love—and then comes home to help with dinner, change the baby, play ball with the kids, and then deal with bedtime routines.

Most men, the vast majority, are like all of humanity, just trying to figure out how to live a good life. Most men do so with a desire to help others and especially their families. Most men are willing to use their particular skills to help with everything from opening jars and carrying heavy boxes to figuring out what’s wrong with the vacuum cleaner or the car. 

But, somehow, in the last decades, many men are losing their way. As women’s opportunities have increased, many men have lost ground. Here are some stats from a recent book by Richard Reeves, Of Boys and Men: Why the Modern Male Is Struggling, Why It Matters, and What to Do about It. In 1972, 13% more men graduated from college; today more women graduate by 15%. Male employment has dropped by 7% in the last 50 years, especially among young men. Among men with only a high school diploma, a third are out of the workforce. Since 1983, men’s wages have dropped by 10% while women’s earnings have risen 33%. 

But most disturbing of all, male “deaths of despair” (suicides, drug overdoses, and alcohol-related illnesses) are about three times that of women. 

What can be done to support boys and men, while at the same time helping women? Is success a zero-sum game, where if women are to succeed, men must fail? Now obviously, this is a complicated question and I'm not going to answer it in a 800-word blog post, but here are a couple of thoughts.

Reeves has ideas, ranging from boys starting school later than girls (because their brains mature more slowly) to encouraging men to work in traditionally female fields such as nursing and education. 

But I think the place to start is letting boys and men know that we appreciate them and respect their talents and skills and efforts. 

Last year about this time, my husband and I took our young grandchildren on an outing and afterwards stopped to get ice cream. While everyone was enjoying huge bowls of rocky road and strawberry cream, a thunderstorm came up, deluging the area with rain. The children gathered at the glass door to watch the torrents of water streaming from the sky, then they squealed as the torrents streamed in under the door. The employees got buckets and mops while the rain poured and we watched in fascination. Finally, the rain stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. When we opened the door, we found the parking lot had become a shallow, filthy lake.

My 75-year-old good husband took control. “I’ll get the Expedition and bring it to the door.” Then he sloshed through dirty water up to his calves, got the car, and sloshed out again to help carry the little ones in. His instinct and his desire were to protect us. He is a good man.

 

I’m grateful for good men, for their muscles and their support. For moving furniture and digging the garden. For giving advice and putting together the Christmas toys. For making corny jokes and for wanting to keep others safe.

 

Men are not the enemy. As women obtain more opportunities, men do not have to decrease in importance. We, men and women, are partners. We work together. 

 

And there are a lot of good men out there. Let’s remember them and celebrate them this Father’s Day and always.

 

On Being a “Weird Mormon”

Here I am, ready for Church.

A few weeks ago, I read an article in a well-known national publication about a best-selling fantasy author. In this article, this author was summed up as a “weird Mormon.” (https://www.wired.com/story/brandon-sanderson-is-your-god/)

 

That hurt, not only because I happen to like that author, but because I am a “weird” Mormon myself, or rather a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This treatment was not exactly surprising though, since members of my church seem to be the last group that people can laugh at, from the straightlaced two-faced “Mormon” in movies to the ever-popular Broadway musical lampooning “Mormon missionaries.” 

 

These days, while it is unthinkable to ridicule Muslims or Native Americans or Hindus or Catholics or Jews, it seems it is totally OK to mock my faith. 

 

Why? All I can think of, is people don’t understand us. So today, I want to take you on a little tour of my life as a “weird Mormon.”  I don’t want to talk about doctrine or try to convert you. I just want to tell you about us, as people. Then you tell me if we deserve mockery.

 

If you were to enter my church service on a Sunday morning, the first weird thing you might notice is that the person conducting the meeting is the same person who teaches at the local school, or works at the local Walmart, or fills cavities in your teeth. The main leader of a congregation, called the bishop, is just an ordinary member. He leads our worship, teaches the youth, counsels the troubled, and provides assistance to the poor. He will serve for about five years, and then someone else has a turn. My husband has been a bishop. 

 

How does one person do this, when he has another full-time job and a family to care for? He has a lot of help. 

 

In fact, every member of the congregation is called a “minister.” We all help each other. Members serve as leaders (men and women both) over the women, the men, the children, and the youth. Every person in the congregation has two or three specific people to watch over, to call or text or visit so that we know what they are going through. This way, ideally, no one feels alone. If a person is sick, or struggling emotionally, or having a financial crisis—we help.

 

Also, the lay bishop doesn’t give the sermon every week. We do. Every week, two or three members get to give a 10–15-minute sermon (or talk). Everyone has a chance to do this. This means some talks are better than others. This also means every week we hear our friends’ personal experience with trying to follow Jesus. And, every once in a while, each of us gets to think deeply about our faith and share that understanding with the congregation. I gave a talk just last week.

 

Because we love our faith, we want to share. We say, “let us know if you want to know more about our church.” We send our young sons and daughters off to share the good news all over the world, funded by our own money. Barely out of high school, these youngsters give up dating, movies, and listening to popular music to live in a strange culture, often trying to speak a foreign language. This is scary and hard. But these boys and girls do it cheerfully and willingly.

 

We not only sacrifice our time to share our faith, but we also sacrifice our money. We give ten percent of our income to the church. This tithing money is used to build and maintain churches, support higher education (including an on-line program available worldwide), and provide service. Last year the Church donated over 1 billion dollars to humanitarian projects all over the world.

 

The church has been in the news lately because the funds have piled up. We are ready for future needs. We are not misusing the funds. Even the general leaders of the church who work full time` receive only a modest income. No one is getting rich off the church.

 

Those are some of the “weird” parts of our faith. We also do a lot of good things which we know others do as well. I’ll just mention a few to fill in the tour of our faith.

 

We help others. From helping the widow down the street with her yard to mucking out basements devastated by hurricanes, Mormons are great at organizing and serving. We love to help. My congregation has a quilt-making activity every Tuesday morning, donating the quilts to women’s shelters, refugee centers, and anybody in need. I know of a congregation that regularly makes cookies for the local LGBTQ club. Often congregations make bag lunches for the homeless.

 

Like others, we try to be good people. When we make mistakes, we believe we can repent and change. When those around us make mistakes, we believe they can do the same, and we forgive them. We respect the free will of others and don’t try to change them. We teach, but we allow others to find their own path. We try to accept and love all of God’s children. We believe deeply that the greatest commandments are to love God and to love each other. 

 

We study the word of God daily. We pray. We try to do what God wants us to. 

 

Of course, these are ideals. Being mortal, we often come up short. Some members of our faith do not seem to follow these ideals. All of us mess up from time to time. Don’t judge the faith or the Church by the mortals who are in it. 

 

Yes, the Mormon faith is different, maybe even weird. But does that mean we should be mocked? We who belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are just trying to do good and be good. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disneyland Happiness and Everyday Happiness

 

Recently Paul and I spent a day in the happiest place on earth. Yes, it was Disney land, and yes, we were happy, and as far as I could see, so was everyone else there. As we stood in line, we watched families, friends, and couples, all cheerily talking and laughing. We squealed with everyone else on the Matterhorn and ooh-ed and ah-ed on the Peter Pan ride. We savored beignets and churros. We chatted with total strangers who were just happy to be there and even seemed happy to be there with us. 

 

Why shouldn’t we be happy? The whole park had been created to delight us. Even the easy-to- overlook coat of arms on Mr. Toad’s ride delighted us with the motto Semper Absurda. The story book canal took us through miniature villages so detailed I wanted to call out “stop the boat! I need to more time to look!” Those beignets were not only delicious, but they were shaped just like Mickey. Who wouldn’t smile at that? 

 

And then the employees, ahem, “the cast” of workers all did everything they could to help us to be happy. Every time I was lost (and it was often) I just stopped a helpful employee—a kiosk salesgirl, or a custodian emptying the trash, or just a random employee walking across the park. They always seemed delighted to be asked to help and never made me feel stupid. “Oh, I know it’s easy to get lost here,” they would smile. Then they would point me in the right direction, or even walk with me to find it. If I went to the wrong window to pick up my food, an employee smiled and said, “Oh, it is a little confusing. Just go right over there!” 

 

Making money did not seem to be the main purpose of the employees--making happiness was. When I bought Minnie Mouse ears, the girl cut off the price tag, but wrapped another long tag around the headband and taped it tight. I said, “Oh, you can just cut that off too.” She replied with a smile, “But if I do that, you can’t return it.” Wait, what? Did she just say that I could return the ears after wearing them, maybe all day?

 

But probably the most important reason for our happiness at Disneyland was that we WANTED to be happy. We had planned for this day, saved money, asked friends for advice, cruised the web searching for tips, downloaded the app, bought the cute Disney clothes—after all that investment, we were not going to blow the day by being cranky. So, when something went wrong, we laughed. When the line was long, we played games. When we were hungry, we ate. It’s just one day. We can be happy for one day (or three or five if you splurged on the longer pass).

 

But what if we want to be happy at home, maybe every day? Can we use the Disney magic to help with that? Now I’m talking about everyday kind of days. If we are facing real tragedy—divorce, disaster, death ---that is not what we are talking about here. But what about an ordinary day, a day when you might be tired or frustrated or cranky. Can we apply Disney magic to those days?

Well, we can be like Disney and look at our surroundings. Think about what makes you happy or what keeps you from feeling happy. Dirty dishes in the sink get you down? Then wash them. Rushing around like crazy in the morning? If it makes you unhappy, change your schedule so there is time for a peaceful morning. Don’t like your front door? Paint it. 

 

In other words, if anything surrounding you is impacting you negatively, identify the problem and try to fix it. This will take some work, but, hey—you put all that work into the Disney vacay, you can do this too.

 

Here’s another idea. We can be like Disney and be delighted help others. Just like your mom said, “When we’re helping, we’re happy.” Maybe, like the Disney cast, if someone asks a stupid question, I can just say, “It’s easy to be confused about that.” Maybe, if someone needs help, I can pitch in and help with a smile.

 

And then, maybe most important, we can want to be happy--want it enough to put in the effort, to take responsibility for our own happiness, to put on smile and let that smile be real.

 

All that I’m saying here is, just think of the effort you would put into having a happy day at Disneyland. And then consider putting something like that effort into having a happy day on any normal day in your life. What would you do? What could you do?

 

At the end of our Disney day, as we walked out of Mickey and Minnie’s Runaway Railway into the dusk of ToonTown, we came upon a little square of artificial turf. There on the turf were children, toddlers, parents—all chasing and laughing and tickling. 

 

That moment of chasing and giggling and tickling was not created by Disney magic. It was created by families who decided to be happy. Maybe we don’t need Disney to be happy. We just need to decide.

 

 

 

The Courage to Bring Forth Treasure

 

Once, when I was in graduate school, I picked up the communal phone in my student apartment to hear my writing professor, raging.  “You can’t do this! If you abandon the muse, she will abandon you!”

You see, my first thesis topic was to write poetry. I worked with that professor, a well-known poet, for several months, but my poetry was not immediately great, and I feared it never would be. So, I quit.  

 

Then he called with the ultimate threat—the muse will abandon you!

 

At the time I laughed. But, it's true. When you quit in fear, you lose your chance.

 

This truth is explained in a book I recently read called Big Magic: Creative living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert. Gilbert basically says, “Get up and do that thing you’ve been thinking of. Don’t let fear stop you!”

 

As Gilbert points out, it takes courage to do stuff. She particularly addresses the creative task of writing, but really, it takes courage to do anything that’s hard. It takes courage to make a friend, to start a new job, to paint your living room, to change your life in any way that you may be thinking about but wondering if you should.

 

Gilbert asks, “Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you?” Treasures hide within each of us. But it takes courage to excavate and share them. Do I have the courage? Do you?

 

Back in 2016 I decided to write a blog. I thought, I have things to say. I could do that. Writing the essays took effort, but the hard part was sharing my blog. How hard it was to plunge in, to commit to doing it. How my heart thumped every time I pushed the publish button. I feared that no one would read it. I feared that those who did read it would think it was stupid, that it had all been said before. I feared people would misunderstand me, disagree with me, not like me.

 

What do you fear but want to do? Here are some examples from some of my friends—let’s call them A, B, C, and D. 

 

Friend A quit a successful career teaching English to go to law school, fearing she was making a big mistake. She recently retired as a judge. 

 

B overcame her fear of painting seriously; now she regularly wins prizes and sells her gorgeous abstract paintings for impressive amounts.  

 

C, a part-time teacher, overcame fear to try a new profession. She took a job writing reports on the status of women, which led her to develop her own non-profit, a training program for women who want to return to the workplace. 

 

D wished she could buy a layering shirt that would not be bulky but would make strappy tops and dresses more modest. So, overcoming fear that she didn’t have time or money to do this (she has 8 kids!), she created such a shirt and started a successful company selling them. 

 

For me, I started a blog back in 2016. But over those years of blogging, I faced the worst fear of all, one that surprised me. Once in a great while, I posted an essay that was somehow different. The essay might be about a movie, about motherhood, about politics—but for some reason my readership blew up.  I went from 67 readers to hundreds or even thousands. People were sharing my link. People were asking if they could re-publish my essay in other venues. People were caring about what I had to say.

 

And each time, the success scared me. What if I could never say anything smart again? What if people came looking for something from me and I couldn’t give it to them? 

 

Each time that happened, I quit writing for a while. I was frightened of the very thing I thought I wanted.  

 

In time I stopped posting altogether. I was busy with husband and grandchildren and scrolling through social media for hours a day. I didn’t have time.

 

And then, having denied the gift, it left me. I no longer had things to say. As Dr. Clinton had warned, the muse had abandoned me. 

Gilbert says the universe is filled with ideas. If one comes to you, you can welcome it and work with it and create something. If you do not welcome it, that idea will go find someone else to collaborate with. 

 

So now, my muse is reawakened. I feel invited to write again. Do I have the courage? Can I overcome my fears and push through, writing regularly, making sense of the world, and sharing my understandings with you, my reader? 

 

Stay tuned. If I don’t, this blog site will be empty again in a few weeks. If I do, we will continue with our conversation. You can plan on something from me every week. It will be about 800 words, a couple pages typed, something you can read in about two minutes. 

 

Come join me. See if I have the courage to bring forth treasures. 

 

Better yet. Choose something you’ve been wanting to do. Don’t be afraid. Bring forth your own treasures. 

 

Scrooge, Resolutions, and the Hard Work of Seeing Ourselves

 

When I was about 9, my big brother’s wife gave me a paperback copy of Dickens’ The Christmas Carol, and I have been pretty much reading it every year since. And every year I get something new out of it. Now, I need to put in a plug here for reading-- or listening to-- the book itself. Film adaptations do not have the richness of the real thing (though the Muppet’s Christmas Carol comes closest). Anyway, after my latest reading, I’ve been thinking about the importance of clear vision in trying to become a better person.

 

In the beginning of the novella, Scrooge’s vision is impaired by more than the thick London fog that “came pouring in at every chink and keyhole,” “obscuring everything.” He cannot see that his clerk is freezing cold; he cannot see the kindness of his nephew; and most of all he cannot see his own faults. Indeed, after saying, “If they would rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population,” Scrooge “resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself.”

 

If Scrooge had made New Year’s resolutions at that time, they probably would have been 1) to make more money, 2) find a better way to collect rents, and 3) look for ways to cut expenses further. To him, these were good changes to be pursued.

 

As I look back on my own resolutions in the past, I think I may be guilty of the same kind of lack of vision and resulting poor goals. I tend to see myself in a positive light, and my goals are often just to improve on what I am already doing, rather than to achieve substantive change. I already work on eating well and exercising, yet that will be my goal. I already read voraciously, yet I might make a goal to read even more. Do these kinds of goals really help me to become better?

 

Scrooge, of course, has a series of miraculous visions which improve his vision of himself and others and lead to true change. First, Marley’s Ghost shows him his eternal fate if he continues on this path. Then, and perhaps most importantly, the Ghost of Christmas Past, allows him to look at himself from the outside—to “see himself as others see him,” as the poet Robert Burns put it. As he looks on himself growing from boy to man, he can see his own loneliness, his own missed opportunities, and his own poor choices. He begins to soften. He says, “I should like to have given [the boy singing carols] something,” and “I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now!”

 

The Ghost of Christmas Present expands his vision to see the good in people. Led by the Ghost’s capacious presence, Scrooge learns to feel compassion. He asks, “Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live.” As he observes the vast expanse of humanity with all their sorrows and courage, he finds humility as well, saying, “Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask.” And finally, Scrooge meekly seeks to learn from the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, saying, “I know your purpose is to do me good.” The sobering vision of how his life might end makes his good intentions permanent.

 

When Scrooge awakes on Christmas day, the sky is clear and bright, and Scrooge also has clear vision of what he has been and what he can become. He knows what he should do: be kind to his employee, give freely to charity, and perhaps most of all, establish a close relationship with his only living family, his nephew.

 

But here we are, trying to make good resolutions for the new year and maybe not even seeing what needs to be changed? What can we do, in the absence of friendly Ghosts to help us clear our vision? How can we see ourselves and our influence on others and make the kinds of goals that will help us to truly become better? 

 

True confession. I reached this point in my essay three days ago. I’ve been struggling with where to go with this. I’m kind of stymied. We are so caught up in our own point of view that there is no easy way to see ourselves and others clearly. 

 

This is all I can come up with as a possible answer. We can learn about ourselves and what we need to change, but only if we cultivate a spirit of humility, only if we are open to seeing ourselves from an outside perspective. We need to attend, to direct our attention to the issue, to be present in our interactions with others, to search for clues. 

 

As we spend time with others, we can watch to see how they react to what we do and say. When the time is right, we can ask others for advice on how they see us. Most of all we can pray, and ask our Heavenly Father, who knows and loves us best, what we can do to be better.

 

This will be hard work. It will take both meekness and courage. I will need to listen to what I learn without being defensive. When I have a disagreement with someone, rather than assuming it is all their fault, I will have to hold in my heart the reality that it is also my fault and look for ways I can change to make myself and the situation better. 

 

I’ve decided, rather than choose a particular trait to work on as a New Year’s Resolution, I am going to make that effort to attend, to watch for ways I can improve and try to do it.

 

Hard, but worth it, as Scrooge finds on that glorious Christmas morning when he lets go of all his sins and feels “as light as a feather.” He loves the knocker of his house, he loves Marley, the ghosts, and all that brought about his change. True change, true repentance, brings great joy. 

 

Scrooge “became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a [person], as the good old city knew.” And so might we, as we learn to see ourselves clearly, to see how we need to change, and then make the effort to actually change. A big order, but we don’t need to do it in one night. Little by little, bit by bit, we can grow to become better. And all along the way, like Scrooge, “[our] own hearts [will] laugh.”

 

 

 

 

 

O Beautiful (Though Flawed) America

Today a friend of mine (thanks, Gary) reported that his neighbor told him, “We are not flag-flying people.” This same neighbor--when my friend wished him a “Happy Independence Day!” --mumbled in response, “Well, good morning.” 

I was not surprised. Shows of patriotism have become yet another issue over which our country is sadly divided. A July 3 New York Times article reports that a vegetable stand was having trouble getting customers because it sported an American flag. The article explains, “What was once a unifying symbol — there is a star on it for each state, after all — is now alienating to some, its stripes now fault lines between people who kneel while “The Star-Spangled Banner” plays and those for whom not pledging allegiance is an affront.”  

 

How has this division over patriotism come to be? Once members of both major parties proudly wore a flag on their lapels. Is it because, now, one of the parties has become especially known for brandishing flags at rallies? Is it because, in another party, a deep cynicism about the history of our country has become pervasive? In highlighting our differences, have we forgotten what we share? Have we forgotten to notice the many good things about this country of ours?

 

Arthur C. Brooks discussed this problem in a recent column in the Atlantic magazine, “The Happy Patriot.” In the column, Brooks reports that a recent Gallup poll show a huge drop in patriotism: When respondents were asked if they were “extremely proud” to be an American, in 2003 69 percent agreed; last year only 42 percent did. Brooks also quotes Alexis de Tocqueville, a Frenchman who traveled through the new United States in the early 1830s. Tocqueville marveled at the vehemence with which Americans disagreed about politics, and yet those same Americans managed to be unified in their patriotic pride, about their desire to build the country together.

Brooks suggests that we try remembering what is good about our country, at the same time we are trying to make it better. This is just what our family did yesterday to celebrate the Fourth: we sat around the family room and everyone took a turn sharing their favorite things about America. If your family wants to give this a try, here are a few of ours to start you off, in no particular order.

1.     That we have advanced medical technology providing Pfizer, Moderna, and Johnson and Johnson, excellent vaccines to bring the world safety in a pandemic.

2.     That we have a Constitution with checks and balances protecting us from the possibility of tyranny.

3.     That we celebrate our national holiday with parades that highlight—not our military might—but our community, with high school marching bands, floats with pretty girls, cowboys on horseback, and small children twirling batons.

4.     That within our nation, we have developed technological marvels—cars, airplanes, cell phones, internet—that have improved lives throughout the world 

5.     That we can disagree publicly with our government, safely

6.     That we are founded on virtuous ideals, like “All men are created equal.”

7.     That we have a strong tradition of philanthropy—both rich and not-so-rich willing to pitch in to help those less fortunate, both within our country and throughout the world.

8.     That after a hard-fought victory won at great human cost, we did not punish our former enemies, but rather instigated the Marshall plan, spending $13 billion ($114 billion in 2020 dollars) to aid Western Europe in recovery.

9.     That, for most, the American Dream is real, that there are no real class barriers, that a poor child can --through hard work, talent, and good fortune--become almost anything.

10.  That our military does not swear allegiance to the President, or any branch of government, but to the Constitution itself. 

That’s just a short list. There are many, many more great things about this country. There are also things that are not so great. But to change the not-so-great, we need to be able to believe in the greatness we have and the greatness we can achieve.

 

In church on Sunday, we sang “America, the Beautiful,” a stirring anthem written by Katharine Lee Bates and first published in 1895. This song has always been my favorite patriotic song, but this year the words to the song were especially meaningful to me. In the lyrics, Bates lauds the beauty and goodness of America, “Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.” But she also points, at the end of each verse, to a need to improve our country.

            

      “God shed his grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea.”

 

Though we are "good," we need to be better at living the ideals upon which we were founded, better at showing that “all men are created equal.”

 

God mend thine ev’ry flaw,

Confirm thy soul in self-control,

Thy liberty in law.

 

      We do have flaws. But  we will not change our country through rebellion; our nation can overcome those flaws through self-control. We will have true liberty as we govern through law.

 

May God thy gold refine,

Till all success be nobleness,

And ev’ry gain divine.

 

We have abundant raw material of “gold” available in our country, unlimited possibilities for greatness. But that gold will not be refined until we strive for nobleness, that is “high moral principles and ideals” (lexico.com). 

 

The last verse points to a future when our country can achieve its promise of greatness.  

 

Oh, beautiful for patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam,

Undimmed by human tears!

 

As we celebrate Independence Day, 2021, may we strive to be the kind of patriot who sees beyond the years, who sees a future for our country that is “undimmed by human tears,” that is crowned with brotherhood and sisterhood. 

May we be the kind of patriot who is proud to fly our flag, because of the ideals it stands for, because of what we have achieved and because of what we can yet achieve, as we work together, as we build together.  May we see in that flag the vision of the “alabaster city,” the best that America can become.

Through God's grace and our own noble efforts, together, I believe we can achieve that dream.*

*With gratitude to my brilliant children, who, in our after-barbecue discussions, provided most of the material for this essay.

 

Graduation and the Many Splendored Possibilities of Adulthood

 

 

Last Wednesday night, we sat in the bleachers of the Jordan High football stadium and watched my oldest grandson graduate. From our seats on the west side of the stadium we had a stunning view of the Wasatch mountain peaks directly in front of us, so close you could almost touch them. Below on the field were the seated class of 2021, all in maroon robes and mortar board hats.

 

Speakers from the graduating class represented many types of students: valedictorian and salutarian of course, but also the class president, a cheer leader, and one who hadn’t been sure she would graduate. Three spoke bilingually—a few sentences in English and then saying them again in Spanish. The Principal Wendy Dau regaled us with the many accomplishments of the class. 

 

Everyone spoke of the challenges of the last year, of trying to complete high school in spite of the restrictions caused by Covid—online instruction, cancelled dances, limited sports activities, and just missing being together. They spoke of finding alternatives to what was denied them, of finding workarounds, of triumphing in spite of the difficulties.

 

In truth, the sound system didn’t work well, and I missed much of the talks, but I got the gist. And I was proud of the speakers and all the graduates. The details of the talks don’t much matter.

 

What matters is these kids. They have completed thirteen years of formal schooling. For some that is all they get. 

 

While trying to hear the talks, I was diverted by the action on the other half of the football field. Behind the maroon-clad graduates, their little brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews cavorted on the green turf, not even trying to listen to the program. I watched crawling babies; tottering toddlers (one who lost his pants altogether); small brothers playing frisbee; a girl in an orange dress sprinting down the field, long legs reaching; a tween kicking her shoes off, flinging them as far as she could before racing over to retrieve them and do it again. 

 

They were just children, unconcerned with the challenges of life. These kids in maroon robes--they were children too, just the other day. They were babies, then toddlers, kids, tweens, and now—with this rite of passage—now, they are adults. The principal has presented them, the superintendent of the school district has accepted them, and the school board president has certified that these students have earned their diplomas. It’s official. They are now qualified to use the skills and knowledge they have gained to find their way in the wide, wide world. 

 

Will it be enough? They have varying amounts of classroom knowledge—yes. History and math and writing and science. They have completed papers and projects and prepared for exams during late nights and early mornings. But they also have learned social skills, life skills, learned on sports teams and student government, debate teams and drama clubs. They have learned, or I hope they have, the skills to contribute to the world’s work, the skills to be grown up.

 

They have already faced hard personal challenges. A couple of weeks ago we attended awards night. Jordan High’s mascot is the Beetdiggers. Back in the early days of the town, the school stood among fields of beets, growing a crop for the local beet factory, which turned the sweet vegetable into beet sugar, a common substitute for cane sugar back in the day. 

 

Each scholarship or award was preceded by a description of the sponsors. Almost all the awards were given by alumni, simple people who valued education. We learned of beet farmers and small business owners who struggled through economic hardships, saving money so that their kids could get an education, and then  went on saving so that they could help other kids go to college. 

 

Then each presenter went on to share the achievements and challenges of those receiving the awards. Some of the awards went deservingly to excellent students. But many were just as deservingly given to students who had managed to succeed in school and serve others despite great hardships: growing up in foster care, losing a parent, experiencing homelessness. 

 

I thought of that awards night as I sat not quite trying to decipher the garbled amplified talks. I thought of the brief glimpses I was honored to get of the school graduates this year. As each student filed forward to receive a diploma and congratulations, I thought of the many, many stories represented by the maroon-clad young people on the football field. I thought of what they have overcome so far, and what they will face in the future. 

 

After all the talks were over and all the diplomas had been given, parents raced to the field to find their graduates. There were signs of congratulations held aloft and screams of joy. And leis! One grad was covered in so many leis her head was entirely covered. 

 

What a happy, happy time—and rightly so! We found our graduate, beaming with joy—as we all were.

 

And yet, this is not an ending but a beginning. It is the beginning of adult life. The beginning of work and paying their way and eventually maybe starting a family and raising new little ones who will go on to graduate themselves.

 

I was talking about the graduation with my son—Sam’s uncle. We spoke of the joy of the graduates and the sense of accomplishment. Mark, shaking his head, remarked, “They think the hard stuff is behind them, but it is really still ahead.” 

 

And there will be hard stuff ahead. And also happiness--all of it mixed together. But that is a story for another day.

 

For now, it is graduation day, a day to rejoice in accomplishments fulfilled, a time to celebrate the future, a future filled with many-splendored shining possibilities.