Like father like son.

I just now saw a lead in for a segment on a news show about a seven year old being taught to hate… they showed him holding a sign saying, “God hates fags.” The clip included the interviewer asking the parents the question, “What if he grows up and doesn’t agree with everything [you believe] anymore?” He’d be bounced out of the family – “that’s the Lord.”

After a moment of this sinking into not just my psyche but also my spirit, I wept. I wept deeply.

What this family is doing is horrifying on multiple levels. Employing a merciful and forgiving God (who IS love) to wield and spew hate is appalling and grievous. To indoctrinate their children into this hate-filled perspective is shocking and frightening. To believe one is righteous whilst judging others is above all angering and embittering.

I wanted to scream, yet could only weep. I wept for those whom with words they were wounding; I wept for their children who will have a difficult time of ever finding their own way and who might never know what unconditional love is like; I wept for how they were condemning themselves to a life, and (if one believes in such a thing) an afterlife, of misery and coldness; and without knowing it at the time, I wept for the children of a family I grew up with who suffered a similar, though in many ways more insidious, form of tyranny.

I wrote for several hours about this, detailing many things: My perspective spiritually, and how I feel they are so far from knowing who God really is. My feelings about their position on sexuality in the context of spirituality. My heartbreak at their absolutism versus, the beautiful alternative of love and understanding regardless of agreement. My feelings about their role as parents. But what it came down to was my perspective on freedom.

You see, the thing that makes it most difficult for me to decide how I feel about this is that I truly abhor how parenting is controlled by media and popular society. For instance, the public floggings of the parents whom have encouraged their kids to go for their dreams even in youth are appalling to me. To the father who climbed Mount Everest with his 13 year old son – I applaud him for nurturing those dreams and allowing his son to go for it, and not only that but doing it alongside him. It’s not like the boy didn’t have to work very hard to get there. Yes it’s dangerous, but everyday life can be dangerous – and how much better will he be for understanding the effort and preparation and exertion it takes to achieve, but also how worth it the endeavor is?

The same with the 16 year old girl circumnavigating the globe non-stop alone via a sailboat. Or the 7 year old girl in 1996 who became a pilot. (Yes, in attempting to cross the U.S. she, her father, and her flight instructor crashed and died, but she was already better educated than most college graduates, knew her mind and pursued her dream.) How dare the media, the masses, whomever, ridicule and condemn those parents because they didn’t choose to coddle and ignore their child’s dreams and potentials. They listened and gave them wings. Just because our modern society says that protection is the absolute, the most important thing, does not make it so.

Whatever we think about these hate-filled parents, why do we think we have a right to tell them how to raise their children? That above all else bothers me... because, I assure you that if we do, it won’t stop with them. So how can I, then, condemn these parents teaching hate as I so desperately want to? Within my heart I fiercely defend the freedoms we enjoy here in America. I know they are fragile, and come with a great weight of responsibility that we as a nation don’t always handle very well, but I believe it would be an insidious kind of enslavement to have my government tell me how to raise my children (or worse, to have the world do so via the UN). Such a thing frightens me beyond measure, and as a fearless optimist, that's saying something.

To that end, I find it irritating that this news program put the story of the 16 year old sailor, the 13 year old climber, and an 11 year old toreador in the same light as this story of the 7 year old hater, making it seem that these parents are all the same. This is, to me, more of the media tainting and manipulating our perspective.

How do we find our way free of this control while still trying to keep children away from actual abuse? Because I believe that parents of the sailor and the climber, at least, did something magnificent in fanning the flames of their child’s dreams and guiding them as they worked for it... then letting them go to achieve when the time came, knowing whatever the outcome that their child would be profoundly the better for the experience of trying.

I liked what the young climber said, “I encourage other kids to discover their own Everest and go for it.” Magnificent. Incandescent. May we all find that kind of perspective, whatever our age!

What we know.

Memorizing. It’s not exactly a common past time any more, with the possible exception of stage actors. In our parent’s and grandparent’s generations it was valued as a way to share beautiful and important things. Now we just google and forget.

As for me, before I could read or write I had all the books of the bible memorized as well as a couple dozen scriptures. As a side note, this shows how deeply ingrained in my core faith is. However, as I grew, I got lazy. I did memorize scriptures now and then, but my mind was filled with all sorts of things: movies, television shows, school work… movies. In all that I lost the practiced habit of learning something by heart.

The other day I was working on yet another list diligently (yet somehow wondering if spending so much of my time on lists wasn’t wasteful) when I started to think about how I’d like to improve my spiritual life. I had chunked the sections of my life up to what I’d like to work on in larger sections, hoping that having a larger focus instead of the minutia of details would make it easier, and in truth more fun, to achieve. Regarding my self, there were the three areas of mind, body, and spirit for which I was considering how to improve. When it came to my spirit, memorizing came to mind.

As I processed this idea, I processed what was important to me spiritually. Though I cherish the Bible, I value more than it now, because my understanding of God is bigger than what it was in my youth. And, my spirit revels in words. So I started to think of the quotes from books I’ve read that have changed me, moved me so deeply that they changed how I lived. Those words, those wonderful thoughts, that’s what I’d like to have inside me to dwell on when I can’t sleep or when I’m struggling emotionally.

So I decided to start with one of my very favorite quotes, an excerpt from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. In point of fact, the first two I want to keep trapped in my brain in order to seep into my spirit are both from that outstanding book. Here’s the first:

“I hate a Roman named Status Quo,” he said to me, “Stuff your eyes with wonder,” he said, “Live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. Ask no guarantees, ask for no security, there never was such an animal. And if there were, it would be related to the great sloth that hangs upside down in a tree all day every day, sleeping its life away. To hell with that,” he said, “shake the tree and knock the great sloth on his ass.”

I know that what inspires is very personal, and most of my friends I’ve shared this with liked the idea of it, but didn’t have the bonded sort of reaction that I did. I know my perspective is rather uncommon, and likely considered uncouth at times, but for me embracing this philosophy is to embrace my nature. My desire to purge and be free of stuff is tied into it. That’s me making sure I’m not so bound by things that I don’t have the energy to shake the tree.

The second quote is quite as vital to my being; to that for which my brain and heart longs.

We’ll just start walking today and see the world and the way the world walks around and talks, the way it really looks. I want to see everything now. And while none of it will be me when it goes in, after a while it’ll all gather together inside and it’ll be me. Look at the world out there, my God, my God, look at it out there, outside me, out there beyond my face and the only way to really touch it is to put it where it’s finally me, where it’s in the blood, where it pumps around a thousand times ten thousand a day. I'll get hold of it so it’ll never run off. I’ll hold onto the world tight some day. I’ve got one finger on it now; that’s a beginning.

It goes to my character and how I want to live my life. There are other quotes, many by the great authors of past generations, that speak to me. And I do hope that I find my way to memorizing them as well. It was likely unorthodox to memorize these two first… but then, that rather sums me up. I have great faith, but it is anything by orthodox. It’s vast and ever-expanding and with it comes a drive to understand and embrace the people and cultures of the world, and in doing that also growing from how they experience and honor God. This is my passion. To know not just these words, but the world - by heart.

How to be.

People of the blogosphere take note: courtesy should not be optional.

When a nice lady is on the tale end of a rather long walk, whilst still recovering from both ankle surgery and plantar fasciitis, finds your stray dog, cleverly and with some effort corrals him, and then walks him about a mile back to his home while slumped over in agony because she is holding firm to the collar, and she shows up, bright red from exertion and the day’s heat, holding said dog while you are on the phone she tried to call and was not allowed to leave a message on, maybe offer her a seat… some water… don’t simply take the dog in and never return.

Seriously – I had to ASK if I could sit for a moment on the retaining wall, I was panting so hard. YOU try walking a mile hunched with a dog pulling you faster, get a blister doing it, get your nice clothes all sweaty, then don’t get more than a half-hearted “thank you,” and tell me you wouldn’t be annoyed. The neighbor from far away was more thoughtful and considerate than the owner. By the way, that neighborhood hasn’t house numbers related to the actual long drives that go up, so I went down the wrong ones until that neighbor directed me. And yes, they are more like estates.

I just think something is wrong with our society when someone extends a kindness, and common courtesy, much less gratitude, is not shown in return. What happened to manners? When did being polite become unusual?

I say all this knowing it’s more likely that all dogs will learn to carry their leashes with them when escaping than for our society to remember how to and then regularly practice courtesy. I’m not jaded, I’m just mournful of such a great loss.

Wanting more.

So all day today I’ve been going through Stephen Fry withdrawals. If you’ve been reading here long (or if you’ve actually looked at my sidebar), you’ll know I love Craig Ferguson. But Stephen Fry is a whole other level of respect and adoration. Well, last night Craig Ferguson interviewed Stephen Fry old school style – no audience, just the two of them talking for the entire show. It was fantastic. I mean, it wasn’t the usual hilarity Craig brings every night, but it was endearing and smart and wonderful. And I want more.

The interview, or really the conversation, touched on some very interesting things. And what I found in the midst of it was that Mr. Fry and I have an great deal in common when it comes to perspective.

For one thing, I’ve always felt that it was so odd that one word can be a “bad” word, whereas a word that means the same thing is acceptable. I also found it odd just what the words meant that were considered bad… not hater or killer or abuser, but fucker. Hmm. Here’s Mr. Fry’s words on the topic:

If an alien was looking down on us and inspecting our language, they would see that the worst that we do on this planet is that we torture, we kill, we abuse, we harm people. We’re cruel. And those are the things in which we should be ashamed. Amongst the best things we do is we breed children, we raise them, and we make love to each other. We adore each other; we’re affectionate and fond of each other. Those are the good things we do.

And they would say how odd that the language for the awful things is used casually all the time. “Oh the traffic was agony - it was hell - it was cruel. Oh it was torture waiting in line.” You use words like torture – that’s the worst word! And yet if we use the “F” word which is the word for generating our species, for showing physical affection one to another, then we’re taken off air and accused of being wicked and irresponsible and a bad influence to children. Now we’re part of this culture so we often don’t question it. But if you think of someone outside of it, it is very strange.

As always, most cleverly put.

Early on Craig said when they knew each other years before how he always felt that Mr. Fry had it all together. His response was so true to the nature of the human psyche.

This is sort of a truth about all humans… You arrive at a party and everyone, in your mind, is armed with a club and all you have is a little Q-tip behind your back. And you think somehow everybody else was at a lesson at school where they learnt some life trick that you will never know because you missed that lesson and you will never catch up... and they think the same as you.

Isn’t that just the way of things, especially in our youth? We think somehow we are missing the punch line to THE joke; the secret ingredient to life, but everyone else knows it and isn’t sharing. I think the wisdom that comes of experience can change this perception, but indeed, not always... or rather, not everyone gains this wisdom in life.

The whole of the show held such insights, but as a whole it was simply captivating. Because of the unique style of this show, two friends talking without an audience, I rather felt like I was the one chatting with Steven Fry. It’s quite disconcerting to find I can’t enjoy a cuppa and a conversation with him again sometime.

Speaking of cups, I did notice that for the first time ever, I believe, Craig gave his guest THE SAME rattlesnake mug as he uses. He’s given the smaller version on rare occasions, but never “the real thing.” That’s some respect right there!

I wanted to end with the W.H. Auden line that Mr. Fry quoted in response to Craig’s tattoo which reads “Live free or die,” because again it is to the heart of my philosophy…

“We must love one another or die.”

**********

Addendum: Yes, I know I referred to Craig Ferguson informally as “Craig,” and to Stephen Fry as “Mr. Fry,” but when you think of each of them and how we know them… can you blame me??

The wondrous spectacle.

“…in what other place does the queen of silence show us more splendour…” - François-Xavier Garneau

With all lights out, I sat in front of a giant LCD LED HDTV with the surround sound turned up to decibels never before reached in this household to fully experience the festivities of the opening ceremonies of the 21st Winter Olympic Games. I mean, this is a one-night-only live show on which was spent 35 million dollars and the likes of which New York and Las Vegas shows can’t compare. With this killer system, it was nearly like being there… except I was in my robe instead of one of those white poufy parka-mini-skirts the help had on! And I didn’t get to bang a drum, darn it.

The lead up to the event included a wonderful reflection on Canadian-American relations and a lovely segment about carrying the torch near the arctic circle. Even the premier of the new version of the song “We Are the World,” recorded to benefit Haiti relief, was moving. But the main event was just getting underway!

I loved the visuals and the lead in with the sights of Canada and the snowboarder heading down the mountain and… into the arena. Really a great way to showcase the country’s beauty. One observation I had early on was when the Royal Canadian Mounted Police were carrying in the Canadian flag. I was slightly surprised and not a little impressed that of the eight holding the flag, five were women. It’s not the typical idea of an RCMP, but rather an exciting one I think. What an honor to be chosen, too, regardless of sex.

Watching all the athletes in their procession, I observed that there really are a lot of beautiful people in this world. Really. I thought the colorful giant paisley print pants of Azerbaijan get the award for most daring outfit, far outstripping the Bermuda shorts of the (duh) Bermuda delegation. I thought Russia’s jackets were by far the nicest looking. (But then, if you don’t yet know, I adore red!) I was excited that there was a woman competing for Iran for the first time in the Winter Games – AND she carried their flag.

But most of all I was moved when the dancers stopped and the audience gave a standing ovation for the entrance and procession of the Georgian delegation. Such a truly tragic – and horrific – thing to loose such a young teammate (21) the day his dreams were to come to fruition. Kudos to both the Chilean and Croatian delegations for wearing the black armbands as a sign of respect. How sad that none of the bigger countries, or at least all the other lugers, didn’t follow suit.

As to the ceremonies themselves, I was delighted. So many things stand out. That 16 year old Nikki Yanofsky singing their national anthem – wow! The entire fiddling & tapping sequence was outstanding, exciting, and inspiring – fully my kind of thing, and so much energy! k.d. lang was utterly amazing singing Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” (I’ve never been a fan of hers, but that one performance caused me to want to be one.) And that slam-poet Shane Koyczan was phenomenal. Made me wish I was Canadian. Nearly. “…Don’t let your luggage define your travels – each life unravels differently…” Fantastic!

And then there was the torch lighting. But it’s a little hard for me to comment on it, as I was watching it via DVR (so as to skip commercials all night), so it cut out during the extended delay they had waiting for… I don’t know what. I missed it entirely – and was incredibly irked about it! Four and a half hours, and I miss the finale! I’m hoping it will eventually be posted online, but no luck so far.

I know it’s a bit silly to go on about this, but really it’s so thrilling to this child-like soul. I love the competition and the sport. I love the stories of overcoming personal struggles to just BE there. (Like that athlete from Tajikistan who didn’t qualify, but they let come be a part of it just for the experience – he won’t compete. He’s that country’s only athlete.) I love the spotlight on a city and country – in this case one of my favorite cities to which I’ve ever been. And I do love the pride of country that comes forth. It’s going to be a great two weeks.