Atheists in foxholes…

I’ve always heard that “there are no atheists in foxholes”…  According to Wikipedia this means:

“The statement “There are no atheists in foxholes” is used to imply that atheists really do believe in God deep down, and that in times of extreme stress or fear, such as when participating in warfare, the belief will surface, overwhelming the less substantial affectation of atheism.”

Is this true?  Do all atheists eventually call out to God – like when they are on their deathbeds?

I have to say no.  And, I say this because of the one atheist that I knew very well… and whom I watched die slowly… and all that went with that.  My father.  And, did I ever see him wobble on this?  Suddenly admit he was wrong and ask for God’s help?  No.  I didn’t.

Matter of fact, I watched him once go into surgery.  It was pretty major surgery (aneurysm repair) and considering all his health issues – he had a good chance of having complications, or death. They told him it was a more difficult surgery than open heart surgery.  Anyway, I was with him at the hospital.  And, after they had him all prepped for surgery I was talking with him.  When, in walks a priest and he says to my father, “hello.  would you like me to pray with you?”.  My father, said, “no. thank you”.  Part of me was thinking, “oh come on Dad.  What could it hurt?”…. but I just stood there, as the priest said, “oh. ok.  are you Catholic?”.  And, I’ll never forget, my dad looked up at him and without a hint of defiance or hesitation, he just said, “nope. I’m an atheist”.  The priest looked at me…  I looked back and shrugged my shoulders at him.  He left the room… and my dad just continued our previous conversation, like nothing at all. 

At the time, I wasn’t sure if that was a wise thing to do or not, but, I did think, that took some pretty big balls.  It also shot that “no atheists in foxholes” theory to hell for me.  I mean, here was my dad… and he knew he could die, and he didn’t think twice. 

And, it makes sense…  I mean… if you REALLY don’t believe in God… why on earth would you want to pray to him – even at death’s door. 

By the way, my dad survived that surgery…. although, it wasn’t easy… and he didn’t actually pass away until a few years later.  When he did die, he knew he was going to die for a few months before he actually did.  He was on hospice care in my home…  and we had time for many many many talks… about life, and death.   Never once did I see him act like he was changing his mind about being an atheist.  I’m sure that in a way, he probably wished that he could.  I mean, lets face it, dying has to be a bit easier if you think you are going to a “better place”.  So, why NOT just repent and ask God into your heart at the last moment?  I tell ya why not…  Because he just didn’t believe.  Period. 

Now, what really always amazes me… is how so many Christians will tell you about people who DO repent on their deathbeds.  TI can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve heard that go something like this:

Christian 1:  ”did you hear Billy’s uncle so-and-so passed away?”

Christian 2:  ”No, he did? Oh, that’s too bad.  Was he a Christian?”

Christian 1: “well, he wasn’t… but, so-and-so prayed with him just before he died and we THINK he asked Jesus into his heart just before he died”. 

Christian 2:  “really?  Hallelujah!”

It amazed me, even when I was a child, how many times this happened.  No matter how “bad” the person was,  this always was the case.  Somebody always prayed with them on their deathbed, and we were always either 100% or 99% sure that they were saved “just in time”.  Don’t you think that’s a little bit convenient?  Both for the dying person, and for all their Christian relatives/friends? I don’t think I ever remember anyone in church ever asking that question “were they a Christian?”, and the other person saying, “no. they are probably in hell”. 

People believe what they want to believe. 

My own brother, (the one who went to church with me for years and isn’t all that religious anymore but, seems to have hung on to parts of it ) – tried to tell me that he thought our Dad might have done this.  ?!?  I was like, “what? when!?”….  He said, he talked to him and they talked about whether or not there was an afterlife and that he (my brother) asked him why he didn’t just ask God into his heart, “just in case”. 

Interested, I asked what my dad’s response was and my brother told me that he didn’t say too much, but, he THINKS that MAYBE he DID think twice, and maybe he did ask him into his heart.   I disagreed, and told him about some of the conversations I had with dad where he was very matter of fact about his disbelief in heaven and hell.. and, about what he did believe happens when you die… which was nothing.  We even talked about his former near death experiences, when he did actually die on an operating table when he was 12 but was revived.  How I never got the  feeling from him at all about having any doubts.  But, my brother didn’t want to hear any of this really… and he tried to shrug it off and say, “yeah.. well.. ya never know.. I think, maybe he did believe”. 

I just looked at my brother in awe… I dawned on me that he just really wanted to believe this. I guess, maybe… he really needed to believe this…  Just like all those other people at church when they spoke of Billy’s Uncle so-and-so or whatever. 

I started to think that if my father didn’t argue with him, or tell him how he really felt – that maybe he did it for a reason.  Maybe he knew that my brother needed to have this hope.   That would be just like my Dad…  not to lie… but, to let you believe what you want to believe. 

So, who am I do try to take that away from him?

But, you can’t make me believe he wasn’t an atheist to the end. 

I’m sure, there are atheists  who DO change their mind… and call out to God when in their final hours… or accept Jesus into their hearts “just in case”, but I know of at least one atheist who did not.

And, apparently, he’s not alone…  I found a few websites dedicated to atheists in foxholes…

http://www.atheistfoxholes.org/
http://ffrf.org/foxholes/

To me… when I was 13…

Whelp… I’ve been tagged… by Rebecca from her “Fictional Reality” blog.   The idea is to write a letter to yourself when you were 13.  This was her post – “Tag! You’re it!“, and is a good read that leaves one wondering… “what exactly happened at her cousin’s wedding anyway??”.  =)… 

It is funny that not too long ago, I wound up writing a post called “If I could go back in time… “.  In that post, I wound up writing about what I would tell myself if I could go back 6 years ago… when I was pregnant with my 2nd son, had a 5 year old son, and was taking care of my dieing father. 

I didn’t plan to write it… it just rolled off…  and the really weird thing is that only a couple days later, I wound up face to face with a pregnant woman – pregnant with her 2nd son, and she has a 4 year old son, and she had just lost her mother.  I wound up in a deep conversation with her, even though we hardly knew each other… and, saying many of the same things to her that I had just written about. 

Anyway – now, I’m faced with writing to my 13 year old self… and I can’t help but wonder if there is some poor 13 year old out there, that is  going thru a similar time that I had, and will suddenly appear after this post and engage me in deep conversation…   ???  Wouldn’t that be something???

Before I begin my letter, I’d like to say that I remember being 13 very well…  and I have my old diary to remind me of just where my mindset was those days.  At that time, I was going thru some major rebellion and learning curves of my own.  I sort of doubt that I would listen to any adult back then too much…  probably not even myself since I’m now “old”.  LOL  But, also true to my nature then and now, I will tell myself what I think should be said, whether the 13 year old me wants to hear it or not!   So, here goes….

Dear Samantha Jane… 
(yes, I know that is not your real name…  and I do not know WHY your mother always called you that…. and it’s even MORE of a mystery as to why 29 years later you would chose it for your blog name?? What’s a “blog”, you ask?  Ohh… never mind!)

I know you don’t think anyone can possibly understand where you are coming from, or how you feel…  but, you should know that if anyone can, I can.  And, all in all, I don’t think you need too many pointers. You actually did a pretty darn good job of surviving your teen years, and you obviously make it thru alive.  Better yet, you make it through with a rather positive outlook on life and a smile on your face. You have a better head on your shoulders than you realize… and all in all, you have a pretty good life.  But, now that I’m 41, I can think of a few things that might have been nice to know when I was your age (13).   So, maybe, jusssssssssssst maybe – you can take some of these pointers into consideration, ok? 

1)  You are not alone.  You might feel like you are…  but, someday, they are going to have this thing called “the Internet”, and you are going to be able to read about all kinds of people whom you can actually relate to and went thru similar situations.  That alone, is sort of comforting to me now… so, I thought if might make you feel better. 

2)  Your parents both love you very much.  Yes, they have their issues with each other and in general.. but, never doubt that they both love YOU.  Not the “you” that you think you need to pretend to be – but the REAL you.  They do.  You may have them fooled on some things… but, if/when they find out the truth (and ummm… they will eventually), guess what?  They still love you.  Believe it.

3) Your brother’s love you too.  Even your oldest brother whom you swear hates you and loves to see you get in trouble.  Yeah, he might be a little jealous of you sometimes, but he truly cares about you so much that he worries about you more than you know.  He would do anything for you… and there winds up being a few times that he actually really helps you out.  Don’t be afraid to talk to him, and know that both of your brother’s always have your back. 

On the other hand, realize that just because your brothers would never hit a girl… there are other guys out there that will.  You might want to think twice before you dump your drink down that jerk’s pants when your 19… even though, he totally deserved it.  But, if you DO decide to do it… then, after you pick yourself up off the floor (after the 2nd time you go down), and the whole bar is holding him back??  – Use a fist when you swing over the little bar-tenders head and hit him (instead of an open hand slap to the head).  Then still take him to court, press charges, and sick your brother’s on him! The nazi-rat-bastard!   

4)  OK – this is a hard one.  About your Mom….  While, yes, she loves you… you should know that she has some bigger issues than just being a religious fanatic.  She has some real mental health issues.  Don’t laugh.  It’s not funny.  I know you joke about it, but don’t really believe this right now.  It’s scary… but, it’s true.  No, she’s not like her mother… but, it is more than just her religious outlooks, or her relationship with Dad.  She’s looses touch with reality sometimes.  I think you’re better off knowing this.  I think everything will be less confusing and scary if you learn a little about it. 

You don’t need to confront her on it… it won’t do any good… and don’t expect Dad to want to talk about it either – because he’s also afraid to believe this.  He’s afraid of what people will think about your whole family if they know.  His silence on these issues is both his being in denial, and because he’s trying to protect you.  But, don’t YOU be afraid anymore.  You are NOT like your mother… and you don’t have these same issues that she has.  Her problems are completely unrelated to you.  However, her problems DO affect you.  Try to learn a little about schizophrenia or mental illness in general… and, know that when she does things, it’s NOT YOUR FAULT.  It’s also not her fault….  but, mostly realize there’s nothing you can do to make her better. 

5)  Matter of fact, you should know that a lot of things are NOT your fault.  You have a tendency to put way too much pressure on yourself.  It’s good to take responsibility for yourself… and your own actions.  But, you need to understand that there are many things that you just have to deal with…  but can not control. Try not to feel so guilty all the time.

6)  Your Dad is not going to Hell.  And either is your brother, or you, or anyone else that you love and worry about.  It is not up to you to save them.  And yes, it is wrong for your mother and other church people to put that kind of expectations and pressure on you.  Don’t let them anymore. Stop worrying – and go with your gut.  When you have questions, ask them.  It’s okay to wonder, doubt, ask, and learn.  The more you learn, the better you’ll feel – and the sooner you’ll feel better.

7)  The world is not black and white.  Everything isn’t either good or bad.  There is plenty of gray area.  Don’t be so quick to think you know the answers.. or that someone else does.  You know? You are very good at putting yourself in someone else’s shoes.  You are easily able to sympathize and empathize with folks.  You seem to naturally want to help people (and animals).  Keep doing that.  The more you do that.. the more gray you see… and that’s a good thing. 

8 ) Also, don’t think you have to have this charade of a split personality.  Both “sides” are ALL YOU – and, the “whole you” is actually pretty special.  Those that really care about you, will appreciate your being honest with them and the “whole” you, way more than only getting the parts of you that you THINK they want to see.

9) And, don’t worry about what other people think about you too much…   Ironically, the more you are yourself… the more confident you are… and the less you try to please everyone else… the more people like you… and the better you’ll feel. 

10)  You’re Dad always tells you that “boys always want what they can’t have, and then once they get it, they don’t want it anymore”.  He’s right.  99% of the time this seems to be the case.. especially for teenage boys.  But, this goes both ways… and if there’s ever a boy that you reeeeeeeeelly think you like soooooo much… and you’re feeling sooo hurt over, think about how this might be applying to you. 

11)  Speaking of boys…  You are right to not have any big desire to get a serious boyfriend any time soon.  Keep learning from your friends mistakes… and being there for them (your friends) when they need you.  Even years later, don’t ever feel pressured into doing something just because you THINK everyone else is doing it… or that you SHOULD want to. If you don’t want to do something, and/or think you’ll regret it.. then, don’t.  

Here’s 2 more things about boys…  1) While it might not seem believable right now… some day, you’ll have more chasing after you than you ever imagined.  Don’t be so afraid of this when it happens.  Have fun.  You don’t have to be serious with any of them if you don’t want to.  Give a few more of them a chance then you do.  because..   2) Someday, when you least expect it, and aren’t looking for it… you WILL meet someone who really loves you and wants to be with you forever.  (and, wait til you see your kids… but, we’ll let that be a surprise.  =)

12)  Your friends mean the world to you right now.. and that doesn’t change.  Don’t ever lose sight of how much you need your friends…  but, do question if someone really IS a friend.  Friendship is a two way street.  You don’t have to follow along with any “friends” that aren’t really looking out for your best interest.  Don’t be so quick to follow…  you can be a great leader when you want to. 

13)  Why don’t you try out for a few more activities?  I know you don’t want to do cheerleading (like your father wants), but, you might like to be on a girls sports team… or maybe even in the Drama club? You know you love to sing.  Don’t NOT do things just to spite anyone… and don’t be so nervous… you can do it! 

14) Think twice about giving up on your piano lessons.  I know it’s hard to learn from mom… but, she really is an excellent pianist… and you COULD play like that someday if you stick with it.  If you don’t… you’ll always regret it. 

15) About Gram and Pa – Visit them, and talk to them, and listen to their stories about your Dad (even though you’ve heard them a million times) every chance you get.  Take in every wrinkle and twinkle in their eyes… 

16) Have fun at concerts..  but, do yourself a favor and don’t chug Jack Daniel’s from a wine sac… 

17) You, are NOT fat.  Some day, you are going to look back at how you look now… and think, “wow!  I was actually pretty good lookin!”.  I know that isn’t going to resonate with you… so maybe at least this advice will.  Please try to understand that there is NOT miracle pill…  or miracle diet…  Save yourself years of yo-yo dieting.  The only way you will ever be thin and healthy is if you eat right… and exercise.  Surprise Surprise. 

18) When you write in your diary…???  Try to write a little bit more about Mom and Dad and Gram and Pa and family events and stuff…  I know it’s easier to write pages and pages about boys and parties and girlfriends… but, trust me on this…

19) Speaking of your Diary…. do you REALLY think Mom isn’t going to read it??  You might want to hide it a little better.. or, leave out a few parts… then again, never mind.  That all plays out for a reason…

and last but not least:

20)  and this is very important…  it could save you YEARS of frustration.  So listen up.  

You, my dear, have naturally wavy hair that has a mind of it’s own.  All the blow-drying, curling irons, and hot rollers in the world will NEVER tame it or enable you to have that feathered back “Farah Faucet hair” that all your friends seem to have.  What you need to do is just brush it once when it’s wet, then put gel in it, scrunch it, and then do NOTHING.  Maybe pick it out a little when it dries and spray it.  That’s it.  Women will tell you for many many years that they would kill for your hair.  It’s one of your only re-deeming features in later years. Try to quit hating it so much and work with it.  =)

Ok – that’s it…  Sorry it was so long and I babbled on and on.  SOME things NEVER change….

~smj

 Now…. if anyone’s interested…  here’s a link to Brad Paisley’s song along these lines – called, “If I could write a letter to me”.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fqtbMHfpXY

 -  oh – and if anyone is still reading this…. consider you yourself tagged!  =)

Blast from the past.. (Feb 82)

So… for shits and giggles.. I pulled out my old diary… I hadn’t looked in there in a long time.   I randomly opened to Feb, 1982…  when I was in my sophmore year of high school and 15 years old.

I wrote:

on 2/7/82

…..Tomorrow I’m gonna be grounded. I’ve got a D in SS and we get our report cards tomorrow. Bummer! Now I’m gonna be grounded for recess.  I’ve got to get my ass in gear. (how many times have I said that?) What worries me more than that are my absents. 7. Dad’s gonna bitch more about that.  Maybe I can change it to a 4.  Mom being home all the time now since she quit working is a real pain in the ass.  I have to listen to her nag first thing when I walk in the door after school.  Plus, she picks through my room.  I’ve been arguing with her a lot lately.  I’m not sure who starts it or what about exactly.  She bugs me though.  In just about everything she does.  I can hardly stand it.  Maybe since she bothers me so much I’m automatically snotty to her.  Sometimes, I think she is looney.  I guess that’s pretty rude to say, but that’s how I feel a lot of the time. Friday night I stayed at Kelsey’s.  Her bf got us some Boone’s Farm wine – Tickled Pink. Yum. We sat in the woods on the bridge and drank it and talked and talked.  She was telling me about her parents and stuff that happened when she was little.  I’ve heard it all before, but I think it’s good to get these things out…

2/8/82

I thought we got report cards today but we didn’t.  I’m so disappointed (sure!). Tonight, Dad was taking some pictures of me with my new camera.  I wanted to send one to M.  Dad said he wanted one of me too because he didn’t have any recent ones.  I liked modeling, kind of.  I did my hair and makeup.  It was fun.  Until Mom started acting all weird.  She tryed telling me he was trying to take dirty pictures of me… or “cheesecake” pictures as she called them?!?  I couldn’t believe her.  I don’t know how she can serioulsy believe or say that! It really upsets me.  She says she doesn’t trust him.  Then, when I said, “well, I do” – she gets mad and starts throwing that shit at me about him making my brothers and me think against her. THAT I really hate!! If I have any bad thoughts about her, they got there by themselves.  Dad wouldn’t think of exploiting me or anything.  As if! I mean come on! I’m sure!! The thought of it makes me sick! I know Dad was pissed too.  K wasn’t in school again today. Ths time she really was sick, I think. I see H in the halls.  Usually with her bf.  What an ASS.  Well better go.

2/9/82

Howdy. Today was ok, in spite of the fact that I got grounded.  Dad only yelled at me for about 10 minutes or so.  He didn’t see my report card until about 9:00 when I got home from babysitting.  He would have yelled more if I hadn’t changed my absences. I changed an 8 to a 5.  I used my nail file to scrape over it, then I filled over what I wanted to stay there again.  It worked great. Mom didn’t even look.  She didn’t say much of anything.  Maybe Dad will let me off for Recess.  I’m not counting on it. I stayed after school in Industrial Arts.  I wanted to. I get so much more done then I do in class.  I hope I can at least get an A in that.  But, I hear he grades harsh.  I don’t think I’ll mind being grounded for vacation all that much.  I haven’t been going anywhere’s a lot lately anyway. Besides, I’ll want to sleep in on vacation anyways…

 ==========

 And so went my teen life…

It’ s funny… I remember the picture incident vividly.  I was really confused when I realized what my mom was implying.. and then shocked and disgusted.  I have the pics from that day..  I am wearing a blouse… buttoned up to my chin practically… but with my hair all done nice, and make up on.  I was trying to look pretty because I wanted to send a picture to my boyfriend who lived an hour away from us.  But, I certainly would never try to look sexy with my Dad taking pics…  gross.  Still makes me mad thinking about how my mom made me feel that night…  dirty or something.  When I had done nothing wrong.

I did get a couple decent pictures out of it though…  I even ended up getting one with my brother… and one with my mother… and had my mom take one of me and my Dad.  I actually love those pics… but, it’s bittersweet because of the other part of the memory that goes with it. 

 ~smj

The “True” Meaning of Christmas

The other day, I heard a Christian get very upset about people who say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas”.  He actually went into a bit of a rant about it, and how he is sure to tell folks back, “No, Merry CHRISTmas!” (in a very sarcastic sneer of a voice), when this happens.  After all, that’s what Christmas is about, right?  Pissing people off and getting pissed off, that is, right?  ?!?   Come on!  Makes ya afraid to wish people well…  they might get themselves in a tizzy over it.  Sheesh… 

Ya know?  Like most kids I  loved Christmas as a child. I have fond memories of moments with both my mother and my father – both individually and as a family. We weren’t the model family by any means… but, I only have good memories of Christmas.

My mom, of course, was all about the “real” meaning of Christmas. To her, it was all about celebrating the birth of Jesus and the greatest gift of all that God gave to mankind – his son. We went to church a lot. I loved church at Christmas-time when I was a kid. The music… the plays… it was… beautiful. Moving. Magical. 

If it were up to my Mom, we would have probably went to church on Christmas day too… but, that was where my Dad would put his foot down and insist we spend the Christmas day as a family… not half of us at church… and half at home (since he and my oldest brother didn’t go to church). I don’t recall my mom ever arguing about that…  just wistfully wishing he would “see the light” and that we could all spend the day together as a family – at church.   She dreamed that dream for many years… and prayed and prayed for it.     Me?  I was happy to spend the whole Christmas day at home with whatever new presents we got that morning… and/or going to my aunts house later so see cousins, grandparents, etc. 

I remember my mom stressing to me over and over that Christmas was Jesus’ birthday. Not to lose sight of that.  Santa and presents – those were just thrown in there.  She warned that we shouldn’t get wrapped up with that part (as enticing as they were).   I completely was okay with this.   We would sing Jesus happy birthday along with all the other Christmas songs.

My mother, one brother, and I were often coming or going to church… and I remember we’d drive different routes (usually on the way home when we were no longer in a rush to get anywhere) just to see all the different decorations and lights people would put up. I think, my mom got us lost several times… but, we didn’t care.  She always got us home eventually.  LOL  We’d sing songs the whole way… and stop and look at some of the really cool houses.  We especially looked for religious type decorations… manger scenes… but, we loved them all.  My mom told me that each light, on each house, on each tree – was a birthday candle to Jesus. I thought that was so cool… (and that Jesus must be reeeeeally old! LOL). 

And, the music…   I always loved Christmas music.  I was always involved with the music. Always in the chorus at school, and choir at church.. in plays… and often signing a solo or duet or something too at church. 

I still love Christmas music… it is one of the few things I miss about church. I still sing the songs to my children… have CD’s.  Just because I don’t believe all the bible stories anymore or in a in a lot of religious things – doesn’t mean I don’t still like the Christmas story itself.  It’s a beautiful story, and beautiful music. It just is.

Last year my family (my husband and I, and our 2 sons) attended a church for the first time in ages to hear a couple of my friends sing in their church choir for their first time ever. I went to support them… and out of curiosity (because I know my one friend can’t sing! LOL), and I also thought it would be nice to show my kids what the inside of a church looked like for a change.  I thought I’d let them hear “the true meaning of Christmas” from the church perspective and see how they liked it. Both my boys love music and my 10 year old is in his school orchestra for the 3rd year.

My boys did like seeing the Church… and they liked the music… but, they acted like they were going to die when the preacher kept talking and talking. My 10 year old son looked up at me in desperation and whispered, “I THOUGHT you said there was going to be MUSIC?!?”. LOL.   I sssshhhed him, and told him there WAS music… and there’d be more at the end.  He rolled his eyes… fidgeted in his seat and acted as if he was going to die.  

I almost died laughing when, the offering plate was passed around, and he looked up at me in surprise and whispered, “You have to PAY to come here?!?!?”.  I shook my head “nooooo”… but thought to myself “Only if you want to go to heaven!”… LOL… Of course, I didn’t say it out loud.   Yeah.. so, anyway… I don’t think they are too eager to attend church again…. But, I may take them to hear the Christmas choir again this year anyway.

Anyway – back to my childhood…

My Dad, on the other hand, loved the pretending and make-believe stories of Santa. He had us all fooled alright. At least for a while. He was such the story teller and prankster anyway. It was often hard to tell when he was kidding or not. But, I could usually tell.. he’d get that gleam in his eye and often crack himself up (eventually) when he was joking. He really loved to play up the Santa stories. I was the youngest.. and I think, my brothers probably told me it was all pretend before my Dad wanted me to know. Still, I believed anyway… because, I wanted to. It was fun.

Yeah… my Dad liked to play a good joke. And, he liked to make us kids happy. To him, Christmas was all about the kids. All about family. However, he told us it was all about giving in general, and not about getting. He took us all shopping, and made us think long and hard about what to get our grandparents, etc. Dad was big into cards. He’d rather get a mushy card than a thoughtless gift. He’d spend long whiles in the card isle… picking out the right sentimental card for each person. Something I now do as well…

My Dad liked to sing too.  He knew tons of silly songs.  And, at Christmas time, he and I would sing Christmas songs together, one after another -  from “Here comes Santa Claus”, to “Away in a Manger”. One of his favorites was “The First Noel”.   Even he, an atheist, liked those songs.  I remember I liked to turn the lights out, except for the tree lights, and snuggle up with my Dad on the couch… singing songs while we gazed at our beautiful Christmas tree. I liked to look at all the ornaments… and talk about them. And, he use to always tell me to squint my eyes a little when we looked at the colored lights… to make them turn into big, fuzzy, colored stars.

I don’t ever recall the horror that some folks tell tale of when they first found out there was no Santa. I don’t really recall the moment I knew for sure. I remember wondering… doubting… for a long time… but, still wanting to believe. (sounds familiar?)  I wasn’t taking any chances. I figured, if believing got me presents? I was in! LOL Eventually, I just admitted I knew… but, my Dad still joked and would say, “I think I hear sleigh bells!”. That was enough to make my brothers and I run for bed. After all – Santa couldn’t come if we weren’t in bed, right?

I remember listening to my parents wrapping presents and setting things up. And thinking – “ah ha! They are putting the presents under the tree!”. I was always nosey. I liked to peek. I don’t remember being upset by it, though. I was just as anxious and excited as ever and couldn’t wait until Christmas morning.  We really didn’t have much money… or get tons of expensive presents… but, we did all right… more than all right.  We felt like the luckiest kids in the world on Christmas morning!  

It’s funny. My mom and dad reeeeeeally did NOT get along.  And, I know they didn’t see eye to eye on hardly ANYTHING. I know my mom didn’t like “Santa” stories… she didn’t encourage us to believe in Santa… Yet - she never tried to spoil it for us either.  She may have rolled her eyes a bit… and done her best to bring up what SHE thought was important – but, she never flat out told us that our Dad was “fooling” us.  She knew we enjoyed it. Even she couldn’t deny that.  And, so, she let us. Besides, she was under the impression that the father was the head of the household and what he sent went. So, maybe, she thought she was doing her wifely duties by letting my Dad do the Santa thing.  Deep down, I think she liked the fun of “Santa” too. 

And, my Dad… the atheist… obviously he didn’t buy into the whole birth of Christ story himself. But, I don’t ever remember him scoffing at the idea to us at Christmas-time or rolling his eyes.  He never told us is was BS.  Matter of fact, he LIKED all the Christmas songs too. He came to see my plays and specials at church. And, at home, he read me stories… Santa and baby Jesus ones alike.

And the moral of this long drawn out babbling post of a story?  Well… I guess it’s this: 

If MY mother and father could be as opposite as they were… and yet still succeed in making Christmas time a special, enjoyable, magical, and memorable time for my brothers and I ?? – then, why is it so hard for people to let Santa and Jesus (and Hanukkah and Ramadan or anything else for that matter) co-exist?

As a kid – I never cared who believed in Santa… or who told me “Merry Christmas” vs “Happy Holidays”.  I guess the “bah humbugs” must come with age… and bills… commercials, and political and religious opinions….  Not to mention five hundred thousand corny Christmas movie reruns (which, actually, I’m embarrassed to admit that I secretly enjoy watching LOL).  

I’m not sure how I managed to stay joyous myself all these years.  Maybe I wasn’t born with the “God gene”…..  but surely was blessed with a double dose of the “Peace, Joy, & Love” gene.    Or maybe…  just maybe…  my “atheist father” and “religious nut of a mother” were better parents than many parents.  Between the two of them, maybe they did a few things REALLY right.  Like teaching their children to be loving… tolerant… considerate… happy… and about what IS really important.  

I don’t get it when people get upset about all kinds of irrelevant things around the holidays.   So,  I don’t care if people tell me “Merry Christmas”, “Happy Holidays”, Happy Hanukkah”, “Here comes Santa” or anything else! As long as they bring me presents, I’m happy. =) (That was a joke, yes!.)  Seriously, in any case – they are wishing you well, right?   Isn’t it all just ”Good will towards men”, regardless of how you phrase it?

If people would channel their beliefs, likes, and dislikes into actually doing some good deeds, good works and helping charities  – maybe we could get someplace.  Actually, when people aren’t busy stressing about money and how to greet one another  – there is something about this time of year makes people want to help… and to give.  Regardless of their beliefs – if people want to give, and spread joy, help and love one another… that works for me.  And, yeah… if I get a cool present or two out of the deal, I won’t complain.

 So, I’m gonna try real hard not to get stressed out… caught up in the hustle and bustle, and to remember the TRUE meaning of Christmas that I knew my whole childhood… even with an atheist for a Dad and a religious nut for a mom… and that is………  LOVE. 

Peace on earth… Good will towards men… and all that jazz…
=)
~smj

Response to “spare the rod” post at PBB….

What  sobering posts over on the “Parenting Beyond Belief” blog  – called “spare the rod (and spare me the rest)“, and “responses to “spare the rod”.  He talks about how many people, like James Dobson with Focus on the Family, use the bible to support spanking and different views on this.  As I recently mentioned, I can’t stand Dobson or FOF. I worry about messages being spread still today, and that good Christian people (like my friend who is a new mom) might buy into because they do like FOF and Dobson. 

My parents didn’t agree on much… but, they did both believe in spanking.  I have to say that my brothers got it worse than I did… but none of us ever got it that bad.  I wouldn’t say either my mother or father was “abusive” in their spanking methods, but I realize that’s a relative statement and matter of opinion. 

I do have vivid memories of my father threatening “the belt”, although, he never used it.  He DID spank with an open hand, though… not very often… but, enough that we believed we would “get it” if he threatened it. Usually, he only had to threaten it, and not do it, but we knew he WOULD if we didn’t listen.  My mother was more sporadic.  She’d whack ya with anything in her hand, usually a wooden spoon, if you weren’t listening. But, she must not have hit us very often or hard, because we were not as afraid of her.  She’d save the important spankings for my father to dish out.   They both believed that was part of his fatherly duties.  The old, “wait until your father gets home!” thing. 

One of the more common threats that my Dad use to say was “I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you over the head with the bloody end of it!”.  Ironically, this was NOT something scary, but rather something my brothers and I found humorous.  We knew he meant it sarcastically.  He had a bit of a warped sense of humor (as do I).  This saying did, however, use to scare our friends when they heard him say it.  But, my brothers and I would just laugh and say, “aww… he’s only kidding…. he always says that… and look – we still have 2 arms”.  No, we were more afraid of “the look”, or the threat of “you’re gonna get it!”. 

I do remember witnessing my brothers getting spanked… never with a belt… and never bare bottomed…  but always dramatic.  Often, if one of us got in trouble, we all did.  And, usually he started with my oldest brother.   I was usually hysterical just from watching my brothers get spanked while waiting for my turn…  and, probably because of that, and the facts that I was younger and a girl, my dad would barely swat me, if at all.  This is something my brothers still like to throw in my face about what a faker I was to get off of spankings LOL.  But, I really wasn’t faking.  It really was traumatic just to watch and wait.  

My oldest brother would always try to act tough, and to not cry…  and so, he’d get spanked the hardest I think…  until he DID cry.  Spanking is all about breaking that will and humiliation, isn’t it?  So, ironic… now that I think about it, being taught NOT to cry… and then punished harder for NOT crying.   ??  (I never really thought about that before now… but, wow… that’s pretty screwed up! ? ?)

My other brother, would go the dramatic route.  Running around screaming and yelling “no no no!”… until my father could wrestle him over or force him to come and get it.  Because he was already screaming and crying (moreso out of anger and frustration and for the pure drama effect, I think), he didn’t get spanked as hard.  Except for the time he put a book down his pants… and when my Dad hit that with his hand, he was really mad.

Then there was me.  Watching and waiting… trying not to cry, but failing miserably at times like this…  obediently going over when called without trying to run… and, I must have looked so pitiful, that my dad couldn’t/didn’t really spank me most of the time.  A couple times, he shut the door so my mom and brothers couldn’t see, and he whacked the bed or himself instead of me for sound effects… and told me to not tell (my mother) that he didn’t spank me. 

This leads me to believe that he didn’t always want to be “the enforcer”, but did feel like it was his job… and like he needed to do it to make my mom happy sometimes.  Which also leaves me feeling a bit bitter and resentful…

Looking back, I can not think of a time that I feel these spankings were really beneficial.  I have a hard time remembering what any of them were even for??  All of the memories that I DO have of important life lessons, or times I DO think I learned something good – had absolutely nothing to do with being spanked. 

I admit to having spanked my first child a couple times… which was more like a swat on a padded butt…  and nothing like the “proper spankings” described in the post at PBB. Each time I did, I immediately felt guilty and regretted it.  Each time I did, I was completely frustrated, upset, and/or scared when I did it.  Like, when my son was at the defiant 2 year old age and liked to  say “no” and run away as most 2 year olds do.  One day, though, he almost ran in to oncoming traffic as I called him and chased after him.  When I caught him, I was both relieved and upset, and it was almost a reflexive swat that I gave him. Part of me thought it was just the normal and right response.  Like it was something I ’should’ do, or ‘had’ to do… “for his own good” (ugg… I am wincing at that saying as a I type it).  Once I calmed down, a bigger part of me just felt it was wrong. 

I am glad that I felt that way, and that I did not continue to use spanking as a form of punishment.  I realized there were other ways….  better communication, and if necessary threats and punishments (time outs, no more TV or Computer, no treats, etc.) that I could follow thru on more easily, that were also more effective and obviously the better choice.

It’s funny, we do not spank our boys now (ages 5 and 10) and we do not go to church.  My boys are also probably more concerned with doing the “right” thing , and “being nice” than most of our friends kids that go to church every Sunday.   I’m not just bragging here, and I know I’m bias – but, I can’t think of ANY kids we know that have better behavior or attitudes than our boys.  Sure, our boys and aren’t perfect angels – but, I tell you what… they are genuinely GOOD kids.  You might not believe me, but, this is not just my opinion.  We constantly have have friends and family tell us how they are impressed by how well behaved our boys are. 

~smj

To cry… or NOT to cry…

There’s another interesting read over on “The Naked Soul” blog, called “Pain and Suffering – Human VS Spiritual “.   Do we create our own pain?  Or chose to suffer? I started to reply to it…  but, felt my reply turning into a book – so, decided to make a post here instead.  I often think of my father when I think of people who overcame and dealt with pain.  (He almost died in a fire when he was 12 – more details on that posted here).  He was never one to complain, though.   

When we were kids, we never even realized how much he had gone through, or still dealt with.  Pain was a constant for him.  He flinched with every step he took… but, he was too tough, and proud, to admit his pain, or to complain about it.  Even when he got really sick his last days on this earth… and had even more trouble walking…  he refused to let me push him in a wheel chair through the hospital to his appointments.  He said he was never going back in another wheel chair…  he walked… stopping every so many feet until we got there.  This frustrated me as I knew he was in pain, and felt it was “needless”.  It also inspired the hell out of me, and made me admire his will power and strength. 

As I got older, and saw him more as a human, and not just my Dad – I realized that much of his “toughness” was a big act.  He was a big softie on the inside…. but, you wouldn’t have known it.  I still have to respect him and admire his strength….  he sure was a tough old goat .  He had to be to make it through everythig he  did. 

However, I do think his “strength”, and prideful commitment to it, probably went a little overboard sometimes.   He was so strong… yet he was afraid to express his real emotions/feelings. He was so afraid to look “weak”, that he didn’t/wouldn’t seek help that was often readily available -  and suffered more in the process because of that.  He taught us to do the same.  Is that really a good quality?

My brothers and I were strongly encouraged to hide any pain and negative feelings. Crying or showing weakness was shameful and flat out ridiculed.  I remember my father telling my brothers that they were “sissies”… or “crying like a little girl” when/if they cried (the words “little girl” said with a sneer of disgust, as if something terrible to be).  So, I didn’t want to cry… OR act like a “little girl” either.  Even though I WAS one! LOL  Nope, I wanted to be tough… and one of the guys.  And, I was.  To this day, most of my friends and family all perceive me as being much stronger than I think I really am.  I talk about that a little in my other post about here.  

We were taught to hide or repress our tears…  That it was shameful to feel sorry for ourselves…  or to act weak.  We were told to not make excuses for ourselves…  To accept responsibility… to look on the bright side… to not complain - even if we had something legitimate to complain about…  And we were taught that most things were not worth complaining about.  I can still hear my father’s voice saying, “If that is all you have to complain about, than you shouldn’t be complaining!”.  Much of this logic… I still completely agree with.   However, I know it went too far.  I have to take a step back and watch how I treat my own boys…   I remember being afraid of the dark when I was very young… but also being petrified to seek comfort and admit I was afraid.  I was more afraid to go to my parents and say I was afraid, than I was afraid of the dark.   I don’t ever want my boys to fee like that.  I want them to run to my bed in the middle of the night and know they will find protection from whatever bad dreams or darkness they fear. 

I remember being teased by my brothers, and really being upset… and running to the bathroom and dabbing tears so as not to let them fall from my eyes…  making sure there were no signs of a tear before facing them again.  

I remember physically getting hurt, and being able to choke back the tears… and then be rewarded for doing that.  (what a brave girl!)   If I did cry… I felt like a big cry baby… and didn’t want anyone to see. 

I remember  a lot worse things that I care not to write about that I never told anyone.   Even things that I knew then were “wrong” or not fair to me, I still kept to myself because I somehow thought it was “my own fault”.  I blamed myself… and didn’t want to admit it to anything… even if it wasn’t really my fault.  .Better to suffer and hide it, then to have anyone else know how “weak” I was.    I know I applied this in many areas of my life…  blaming myself… and repressing negative feelings… putting on a good front.

I remember the first time I cried in front of a best friend… we were 18… and had been best friends since 3rd grade.   She had never once seen me cry and she was utterly shocked.  She didn’t know how to respond to me.  Matter of fact, she said “Oh my God!  I’ve never seen you cry.  Please don’t cry.  You can’t cry!  Don’t cry!”.  ??  As if I wasn’t allowed to.  ?! I  still hate to cry in front of anyone… but, I’m not as bad as I use to be.  On of the best friends I have now, is one who I can cry with occassionally.  (When we are not too busy laughing our asses off, that is )  I actually am a person who usually has fun no matter what… who always looks on the bright side…  makes others laugh… see’s humor in most things… and I am glad I am like that. 

So, anyway… I’m not trying to whine here…  (sorry! LOL) , but rather state that regarding the whole “people should be responsible for their own pain” issue… ??  Well, like many things, I have mixed feelings on this topic.  While I don’t want to dwell on the negatives… or let pain or suffering consume me… I also am fairly recently learning that it’s okay to acknowledge pain,  or mourn or grieve for oneself, and to cry.   Sometimes, pain (physical or spiritual) is very real… and very deserving of those tears. 

Matter of fact, I am reading a book that rather insists that one NEEDS  to do this (acknowledge your pain and suffering, and grieve) rather than live in denial of it, and rationalize things from your past (or present).  It claims that until you do so, you can never really understand yourself and grow…  That you need to do feel sorry for yourself.. grieve… mourn whatever it was you never had or lost, or what you are dealing with…  so that you can then move on.  I suppose that’s the trick, right?  Knowing when to “move on”… and then actually being able to do it, right? 

~smj

All is fair in love and conversion…

Another post at “de-conversion” got me thinking.  The post is called “My life of proselytization“, this time from HeisSailing…   

In his post, he said:

 ”I witnessed the Gospel of Jesus Christ for most of my adult life”. 

Now, I was much younger  than he was when I was a full force believer.  But, I believe I felt just as strongly.  I believed it all.  I went around trying to “save” all the kids in my neighborhood… but, my main mission was to save my own father.   

HeisSailing made a comment about getting his mom to come to church:

“I would try to convince my mother, once a committed Christian and now a practical atheist, the error of her backsliding ways. I even got her to go to church with me a few times, but not before informing the pastor that I was bringing her and if he would not mind directing a word or two of his message her way.”

This really reminded me of how when I was a young girl, I would be pressured into singing or doing “specials” in front of the church.  Then, I would be asked to put the pressure on my father to come to church to see me.  After all, I was “Daddy’s little girl”, didn’t he want to see me perform?  So, he did come… for at least the first few years of “specials”. 

Each time he said “yes honey, I’ll come see you sing” –  I would report back to my mother.  Then my mother, her friends, the pastor, and my brother and I would rejoice.  He’ s coming!  Hallelujah!  And we’d all pray hard every day until the day of the “special”, that when he came… THIS would be the time the lord would come down and bonk him on the head and turn him into the perfect Christian father and husband.  When it didn’t happen… we’d go back to plan A.  Try, try again.  Repeatedly I was put in this position of trying to save my own father.  For years. 

Eventually, my father stopped coming to every “special” of mine.  He knew the deal… and he didn’t like being approached by the pastor and pressured each time he came either.  It was like the whole church was looking at him when he’d come.  “Here comes that atheist husband and father!”.  They could’ve sold tickets to see the freak atheist!  LOL  So, I can’t blame him for not wanting to come – even at the time.  He probably also sensed the pressure being put on me, and didn’t want to be a part of that either. 

I know it was very hard for him to eventually start telling me, “no honey, I won’t come see you sing”.  I would then have to report back to my mother that I had failed.. he won’t come… I’m sorry.  She would then freak out and get very upset.  She made me feel terrible when he didn’t come.  She’d make me ask him again and again.  And, then they’d argue and she’d try to make him feel guilty for not coming,  and make ME feel guilty and like he didn’t care about me in the process.

Eventually, I didn’t WANT to keep singing either.  (surprise surprise!).  Mostly because I didn’t want to keep pressuring my dad and going thru this.. and because I was starting to have my own doubts about all of it.  Not only about my beliefs, but I started wondering if I even had a good voice or not!  (loletinf!;)  When I finally stood up for myself and said that I didn’t want to do a “special”, I suddenly didn’t feel so special anymore.  Not just my mother, but the church leaders also made me feel really bad.  Like I was a quitter… giving up… back-sliding… and, they then put pressure and guilt trips on ME asking me over and over when I would sing again.  My mother even said something like, “how is your father ever going to be saved now??! ”. 

Looking back, I can’t believe how much plotting and scheming it all was.  The pressure, fear, and guilt used! Unfortunately, since I was in it, I understand their thinking and putting the pressure on my Dad.  They really felt it was their duty and apparently rudeness, politeness, respect, and common courtesy fly out the window when you are trying to save someone’s soul (and do your Christian duty ).  This is bad enough. 

However, what really gets me (and I don’t want to sound whiney here, but) is how could they do that to me?  I was a little girl.  A little CHRISTIAN girl who wanted to believe all they were teaching.  They played me.  They used me.  How could they put that kind of pressure, guilt and fear on me?!?

 And, when I say “they”, it was NOT just by my mother.  It was also her friends, the pastor, the choir director, the church leaders.  What kind of people scare the crap out of a little girl telling her that her father, (who she loved wholeheartedly and was a GREAT Dad) was going to burn in hell?  Tell her that over and over?? Which is bad enough… but, then tack on the, ”unless YOU can save him” part.  ??  And we prayed.. and prayed…  And I cried… and cried…

I just don’t get it. I don’t get how adults, in their right minds, could think this was an okay thing to do.  ??  The “RIGHT” thing to do??  It makes me mad still when I think about it, and leads me to the only logical conclusion I can think of, and that is that they ALL were not in their right minds! 

HeisSailing wrote:

” I then became exhausted from witnessing. I was exhausted and drained from believing that I and my small sect of Christian brethren have the exclusivity on truth and everyone else, no matter what their beliefs, are going to eternal torment. I was sick of believing that I was on the narrow path of righteousness, and my loved ones are on the wide path leading to destruction when in many cases, they are just simply much better people than I am.”

This is a huge part of why I eventually didn’t believe and don’t believe in any one religion, or in religion or God at all really.  Not only because I can’t fathom the idea of my own father going to hell (which is a biggie, I admit), but, also ALLLLLL the other people.  It can’t be.  It makes no sense. 

HeisSailing then wrapped up his post by saying:

“Then I became sick of that guilt, I became sick of that arrogance of exclusivity, I became sick of looking at our life as a trial from God to see if we believed the correct doctrines, and I refused to accept it anymore.”

Like him, I also ”became sick” of these same things…  The eternal dangling carrot, and the constant fear of hell. I am glad to be rid of them.    

PS – If you haven’t already – I suggest you go read HeisSailing’s post in full, as he writes much better than me and makes his points with much better reasoning…

Take care,

~smj

God will provide…

My mom’s been saying “the Lord will provide” forever, but especially ever since she up and sold our house… and decided to become a missionary.  She had the house, all paid for, in the divorce settlement between her and Dad years ago.  The house we all grew up in… and, he gave her without a fight.  She promptly decided to sell it and everything in it…  because God told her to. 

My brother’s and I asked her several times, what would happen if the missionary thing didn’t work out?  Where will she stay when she comes home?  “The Lord will provide” she’d said. 

In a way, I give her credit.  Whether or not she heard the Lord’s advice – it took guts for her to do that.  And, I think it was a life long dream.  And, she did it.  She up and moved to China.  Who would have thunk it?? 

I know she was just running away from a bad situation.  She felt like her whole life here had crumbled apart.  Her marriage had finally fell apart, along with her belief that someday God would turn her atheist husband into a Christian husband for her.  In addition, she had finally crossed the line with her “stories”, and her own children and family (along with doctors and police) had all told her that basically, she was crazy, and needed to get “help”.    So, it was either admit she needed help… or turn into a missionary.  Hmmmmm…???  China, here she comes! 

Still, took guts… and a passport… and all kind so other stuff.  And, she did it.  Off she went.  She spent a few years in China… only returning for a week or two here and there.  She lost touch with all her grandchildren – but, became a little hero with her church friends.  I emailed her regularly and handled her finances here.  I think, we actually get along better via email. 

She made me upset when she insisted on flying home immediately when my father passed away.  She hated him all my life.  She accused him of terrible things.  She acted like he was the devil himself.  I did not want her at his funeral.  Nobody did.  I was shocked when she said she’d take the first flight home.  I tried to tell her nicely, and then not so nicely, that she shouldn’t come.  She didn’t listen.  She said, she wanted to be there “for me”.  But, I think she wanted to be there because she knew we didn’t want her there.  Whenever she feels “rejected”, she is even more pushy. 

In the year before my dad died, I had mentioned to her via email that he was dying.  I didn’t go  into it much, because they didn’t get along – but, thought she should at least know what was happening… what *I* was dealing with, if nothing else.  She told me in one email that she didn’t believe it… he was faking.  I told her that I was the one taking care of him, dealing with all the doctors and hospice care, that I KNEW he wasn’t “faking”.  She then responded that “if she was God, he would have been dead a long time ago”.  ??  LoLetinf!   Very Christian of her, don’t cha think?  But, then, when he actually passed away – she couldn’t understand why I didn’t want her to be there. 

Truth be told, I never really turned to my Mom for comfort much.  She always annoyed me.  I remember when I was a kid and sick with the flu or anything, and I’d be getting sick in the bathroom… she would come in… and put her hand on my back… and pray in tongues for me as I was getting sick.  It always made me feel sicker.  I was always trying to nicely shrug her off of me.  I didn’t want her there.  This was how I felt when Dad died…   ten fold…

But, she came.  And I did my best to be polite, but unavailable to her for the most part, as I had told her upfront I would be. 

A few weeks after that, she came home for a few months… stayed between my brother’s house, my house, and a friend of hers.   I felt like I had to let her stay with us too…. but, it wasn’t easy.  She takes over when she’s around.  Expects to be waited on… take over the TV and sofa… and, thinks someone should give her full access to their vehicle. 

Shortly after that she got out of the missionary group in China – and moved back to the area for good.  She hinted at staying with us.  Luckily, my oldest brother told her she could stay with him… but,he lives out about 1.5 hrs away, and she didn’t want to be that far from her church, etc.  So, she opted to get her own apartment.  Fine.  She got one RIGHT around the corner from where I grew up.. and where I live now.  Fine.  We helped her move in… helped her with everything.  She said, it was too expensive.. .she wouldn’t be able to stay there long… but, “God will provide”. 

Now, she has hit the point where her lease is up – she says she can’t afford it there anymore.. .and she needs to find a less expensive place.  Again, “God will provide”… but, every time she says it, I get the feeling she thinks God has the same last name as my husband and I!  She started off hinting around BIG time that she wants to live with me… and now is just basically asking by saying we could “go in on” a bigger house together.  ?!?!?  Is she nuts???  (duh! stupid question, I know.)

Doesn’t she remember how it was when she lived her briefly before??  Way back when, she lived with me for a few months BEFORE her and my Dad’s divorce went final  – and it was Hell! I can’t help it.  She drives me crazy.  Even DH, who normally would tell me, “now, honey… she is your mother… be nice”… even HE was hitting his boiling point when she stayed here.  He suddenly was following me out the door every time I had to leave saying, “wait!  I’m coming too!” – because he didn’t want to be left there.  I wound up having to write her a letter, telling her that she NEEDED to wrap things up with the divorce and leave because she was affecting every aspect of my life, my marriage, my job, in a negative way.  Can’t she re-read that note?? Maybe I can find a copy… LOL. 

I mean, she KNOWS I love her… she also KNOWS we do not have the closest relationship.  I don’t know why she thinks this would work.  No way.  I think that just because my Dad lived with me for 15 years, she things she should be able to.  It’s the old “rejection” thing again, and she wants her fair share” of my life.  It ain’t gonna happen.

If anything, the fact that my Dad lived with us is a deterrent.  It was hard enough living with him, and he and I actually were very close and got along great.  My marriage barely lived thru that – and he did his best to not overstep boundaries when he was here.  My marriage could not withstand my mother living with us.  Thank God I still have my brother offering up his home.  He has a big house… his kids are grown… and he can handle her better than I can anyway.  She will have to go there.. or find a cheaper apartment. 

God will provide.  Ha!  In other words, “I have no idea what I am going to do, and shouldn’t be responsible for myself.  Everyone else take care of me now”.  She should have never sold the damn house.

~smj

 

“Surrendered” Wives ??

While visiting the blog “The Journey Out“, I happened to come across this disturbing article posted in “Feministing.Com” on a book called, “The Surrendered Wife”. 
Here’s the opening on it:

Remember that book, The Surrendered Wife, that came out a while ago and got all sorts of press because it basically told women that the key to happiness in marriage was to shut-the-fuck-up?Well it seems that some folks are taking it wa-ay seriously.

This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about in my last post - about growing up with double standards that were reinforced by my father, my mother, and the church. 

Another really sad thing is, I think this is the book a few of my close girlfriends (who fairly recently became serious Christians) were reading and getting in to.  They didn’t discuss it too much with me, because they knew I wasn’t into religion and thought I would “poo poo” it.  Man, were THEY right! 

What little I just did learn about it was appauling!   I can’t believe this book would be so popular today, and feel sorry for all the young girls who will be taught their place in society by their own parents and church with the assistance of it. 

I also found this article on it by Leanne Bell.  I am not familiar with who she is, but, I liked her article on this book .  The following is an excerpt from it:

It’s a shame Mrs. Doyle thinks women can’t balance a chequebook and be great lovers too. It’s a shame that she believes holding an opinion and voicing it will ruin her marriage. It’s even sadder to think that she believes going back to the fifties when women had to work too hard for too little respect is the answer.

The answer is not to surrender to anything. The answer is to fortify yourself. Be the strongest, most vibrant invidual you can be. Embrace your sexuality and enjoy it, don’t consider for a second abdicating the wealth of your personality and the value of your character in order to maintain a facade of a marriage to a man who doesn’t appreciate what he has. And don’t dare teach your daughters to grow up with such low expectations, such little self-esteem, such dismal hopes for happiness in marriage.

Mrs. Doyle doesn’t understand that surrendering your body amounts to prostitution, that surrendering your autonomy is as good a being in prison, and that surrendering your mind is slow, sure, mental death.

Amen Sister!

~smj

My Dad – Con’t (not an atheist saint after-all)

Ok – So, when I looked back at my last post… I realized I left out a few things about my Dad. I did mention a lot of  really good things about him… and whille yes – I really really loved and respected my father a lot, I failed to mention that he wasn’t’ a saint.
(As IF an atheist could be a Saint, right?!)

So, yes..  my dad certainly wasn’t perfect.  He was a tough old goat, really,  He was pretty strict… and fairly controlling. He was the boss. You know the old “When I say JUMP! You say, How high?!” mentality.  He was very stubborn, old fashioned, and he also had double standards when it came to my brother’s and I – which was a pretty sore subject with me.

I was the youngest and the only girl… and spent a good deal of time trying to keep up with my brothers and prove I could do anything they could do.  I felt like I had a double whammy of chauvinism from my parents. I even use to call my Mom a “male chauvinist pig”.  Not only was my dad very over-protective of me and telling me I couldn’t do things because I was a girl – but, my mother agreed. She thought the wife should be subservient to the husband. Even though she thought my Dad was the devil himself, and bad mouthed him constantly, she still believed she needed to let him be “the boss”, and ultimately that she should “obey”.

The churches we attended reinforced this mentality. When I was teen, we were going to a church where all the women wore these doily things on their heads – especially for prayer time. It was to symbolize that they recognized that they needed something between them and God – something to do with the original sin of Eve. The men didn’t need to wear them. You can imagine how well this went over with a teenage girl who was trying to prove she was just as good as her brothers. I refused to wear one.  Because I was not yet a “woman” – the church didn’t make a big deal out of it. 

My mom did all the housework… well, she and *I* did all the housework. My brother’s never had to learn how to cook or clean. On the same token, I never learned how to start a lawn mower until I was an adult with my own home either.

Every Saturday when we were kids, I had to clean the house with my mom… help prepare the meals… do laundry. While my brothers got to go outside and help in the yard. This didn’t seem fair to me at all. I would have much preferred to have been outside in the sunshine picking up sticks and playing on the riding lawn mower.

By 11 years old, I had to do all my own laundry and ironing…. Start dinner every day after school. My brothers had no clue how do those things and weren’t expected to. Every once in a while, I got even by making them pay me to iron one of their shirts if my mother wasn’t around.

My mother also thought everything was bad… or evil… so, she didn’t like me to do much of anything except go to church. My Dad didn’t care if I went to church or not, but he was very overprotective and strict with me. He wanted to know where I was all the time and I was not allowed to do things that he let my brothers do when they were my age.  Again, this didn’t go over well with me.  I had no intention or desire to be the “perfect little girl”.   I wanted to be one of the boys, dammit! 

When I asked why, or complained… I was told – from my mother, “This is what women do. Get used to it”. And from my father, “because you’re a girl. It’s just different. Some day you’ll understand”. 

Yeah- ummm…  I’m still waiting for that day to come…

So, I complained… a lot. I could get away with arguing with my Dad. He didn’t like it… and he didn’t usually give in… but, he also would tolerate my hormonal outbursts. He would never hit me… because I was a girl, of course. He would, however, whack my brothers if they talked back. At last.. an advantage to being a girl!

So, I learned the rules and played the game…
and I learned how to cheat at the game.

I quickly figured out (with a little help from my one brother), that it was easier to lie in order to do what I wanted – than it was to reason with my parents.  So, I hit a point where I didn’t even argue or ask to do things I knew they wouldn’t want me to do. I just did them behind their back… and then some.

I became quite rebellious in a very sneaky way. I was quite the good liar… and thought nothing of lying to my parents.. or anyone in authority really. I thought it was the only way to survive… and, I was pretty good at it too. I could come up with an excuse on the spot, and make anyone believe just about anything. 

By the ripe old age of 11 or so, I was well into my “double life”. I skipped school… a lot… and, went in late to school all the time… I forged notes and report cards… I cheated on tests and homework. I jumped out my window… lied and said I was babysitting when I wasn’t so that I could stay out late.. or I stayed overnight at my friend’s homes whenever I wanted to do something I knew my parents wouldn’t let me do…. I went to rock concerts and drank… and partied…. All unbeknownst to my parents.

My parents had no clue. They thought I was some perfect little angel. And it wasn’t easy keeping up the charade and not getting caught. I was always covering my tracks.  Anticipating what could possibly go wrong… 

I also continued to go to church with my mom and one brother, 1-4 times a week.  Every Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night, and sometimes Saturday night. (Hell, most of those church kids were the biggest partiers of all!!!)

My friend’s parents, and neighbors, church leaders, and school teachers all liked me… because in front of them, I was well behaved and quiet. I did all my make up work for school, and I got good grades. So,  most grown ups didn’t pay much notice to my missing from class half the time or whatever.  I hid my bloodshot eyes (Visine was a staple)… and, I didn’t get caught (much), or get in trouble (much).  And the few times I did get caught – I lied lied lied so that I didn’t get caught compeltely. (“Yes yes!  I swear to God it’s the first time I ever jumped out my window, Dad!” – when I finally got caught after 2 years of hiding that darn ladder. LOL). 

I always pushed the limits… but, I really didn’t go THAT far. Well, I suppose that is a relative statement. I mean, I wasn’t as bad as a lot of other kids I knew. I never failed a class… or hurt anyone. I never ran away or got myself in too much of a bind. (Again, I realize that is a relative statement!).   I was weary of strangers and didn’t trust people so was always on the look out and protective of my friends.  I was the one suggesting we do something stupid.. but, them making sure nobody got hurt in the process.  LOL

I tried a lot of things…. including drinking and smoking pot.. and a few various other drugs… but, I was always afraid to get addicted to anything… or NEED to do drugs to have fun… or have a bad experience. I always kept myself in check.

I also wasn’t screwing around with boys.  One of my best friends got pregnant and had an abortion when we were 14 yrs old.  That blew me away.  And, a different friend went from one jerky boyfriend to the next… and, I learned from their mistakes. I also was afraid my mother and father would kill me… but, mostly, I just didn’t want to be hurt or anyone’s fool.

Sure, I had lots of crushes on boys, and I had a couple not-so-serious boyfriends.. but, when my mother found and read my diary when I was 17.   I sure was glad I hadn’t had sex yet. Not that it mattered to her – she acted like I had done the whole football team and was the biggest drug addict in town. I wrote about that in my “Sometimes you just gotta laugh” post (http://savemenot.wordpress.com/2007/03/12/quick-laugh-because-sometimes-you-just-have-to-laugh/ ).

Am I blaming my Dad (or my Mom for that matter) for my being so rebellious and sneaky when I was a kid? I dunno?? Maybe a little. Ok, yeah.. I am. They MADE me that way! LOL But, maybe part of it was just in my nature too.. and I might have been like that anyway. Who knows?

My Dad and I talked about things a lot when I was an adult. For the most part – we laughed our asses off remembering funny stories from my childhood. But we talked about the difficult times and arguments we had too. I think he regretted some of the things he’d done and said… but, he wasn’t one to apologize much.

I figure, he did the best he could with what he knew… and I know he was they way he was with me because he loved me so much. There were quite a few times when I was really mad at him for not letting me do something… and then, I realized he was right. Teenage guys are jerks. LOL All in all – like my first “Dad” post said, I’m very thankful he was my dad and was the way he was.

So – there you have another big chunk of why I am the way I am… whatever way that is.

=)
smj