in addition to the incident

Another minor incident occurred along with the Mormon movie incident. Since it plays a part in how I ended up talking to my sister-in-law about it, I report that incident here.

On Sunday, when I was just beginning to suspect my son had just watched The Testaments, but I wasn't sure, my not-quite-baptized nephew asked, "Why don't you go to church?" I looked at the DVD in his hands. It was The Testaments.

"What?" I asked, not sure I had heard him right. Or perhaps I was simply wishing I hadn't heard him right. Something was stirring in me. Shock, swiftly becoming anger, that my son had seen that movie.

"Why don't you go to church?" Was it just me, or was I detecting something other than innocent questioning? Had they been discussing us? Does he already have it in his head that people that don't go to church are somehow bad?

I wasn't prepared to answer this question from a child. With an adult, I could go into things, but a child?

"Well." I paused. "Husband and I think it's not the best place for us to be right now."

"Why?" he pressed.

Dammit. "Um," I stalled as I tried to think of something safe for a child, his mother, and all the other children in the room. Something about it making some people happy, but we're happier without the church.

His mom let me off the hook with, "Everyone gets to make their own choice. That was their choice." She said it very kindly. I'm sure she meant it. But behind it, I saw the Mormon teaching that, sure, we made that choice, but it was The Wrong One.

Between that, and the fact that my son had just been shown that awful movie was sinking into me, I wasn't in the mood to talk anymore, and we left quickly afterward.

more on the indoctrination incident

I don’t need ALL religious talk avoided. We talk with my other sister- and brother-in-law about Mormonism quite often (too often?) in front of our son. Hell, we’ve even argued heatedly about whether or not Joseph was a pimp-daddy, my son sitting quietly on my lap. It think it’s unavoidable, and not necessary to avoid, saying things like, “Church starts at eleven,” or “Dad has church meetings tonight,” or even, “My church teaches me that I shouldn’t drink coffee.” But with my family, it goes beyond that. We’ve got nephews telling my husband it’s bad to smoke when he showed up with an empty pipe for a costume party. We’ve got our son coming home and saying things like, “Sunday is a break day. We shouldn’t swim on Sunday.” We’ve got his cousin telling him coffee is bad. And now Sunday morning screenings of Mormon propaganda. And that’s just what I noticed.

Writing it down like that makes it seem so trivial. But it’s the attitude behind it. The attitude that their way is The Way, and that we’re just doing it wrong. The attitude that let’s them say, “Coffee is bad” instead of “I don’t drink coffee, because I believe God doesn’t want me to. But other people think it’s okay. Scientists say it's okay for your body.” The attitude that lets them say, “That’s how Heavenly Father made things,” instead of “Isn’t nature beautiful?” The attitude that colors everything they say with “This is how it is,” instead of “This is how I do it.”

So I never bothered to talked to them about it, and it ended in this movie. Instead, I selectively choose babysitters. My sister is a good choice, because I’ve had many conversations with her about things, and she doesn’t just assume things about me. For example, she asked me, “So how do you want me to handle it when I say prayers with my son and your son is around?” It meant so much to me that she was aware enough to ask. No one else has. I explained to her that we’ve told our son that he needs to be quiet while other people pray, but that he doesn’t have to close his eyes, bow his head, or fold his arms—even if someone asks him to. No one has, though. Which makes me think they are at least somewhat aware. Which lulled me into a false sense of security, I suppose, and I never had The Boundaries discussion with anyone.

So it’s time to discuss with her, and with others. What to what point? How? Do I lay it all down, give them my exit story (edited, likely), tell them I resigned? Say it plainly and clearly that I’m an atheist and that I’ll be raising my son secularly, thank you very much. I hate having to bring it up, because I know it hurts them. I hate bringing it up, because it shows them how much further “gone” I am than they let themselves think. It’s never easy to start up such a conversation. I fear I am incapable of doing it without getting emotional, without raging and ranting, without making them think I’m a bitter ex-Mormon. My family, in general, avoids talking about anything that brings up unhappy feelings. Contention is of the Devil, you know. And confusion, fear, negativity, anger, jealousy, cognitive dissonance, making waves...

How do I word it? How do I say it? Do I talk in person? Do I email? Do I keep it to a minimum, or go all out? I want to do it without making my SIL feel like I’m blaming her. I know I need to talk to them, but my tact so far has been Avoid the House. And that's just lame.

the indoctrination incident

On Sunday morning, when I went to pick up my son after an overnight baby sit, I saw that he and his cousins had just finished watching The Testaments. The Testaments. Mormon propaganda-missionary tool that tells a story about Jesus coming to America and killing all the non-believers.

And you know what my young son gleaned from the movie? He couldn’t tell me what it was about, but he did retain that the Bad Guy was killed by a wall falling on him. And what made him bad? "He said there was no God." He was an evil atheist worthy of death because of his beliefs. You don’t show that movie to a child of atheist parents. Can I put that in all caps? Because I sure want to.

YOU DON’T SHOW THAT MOVIE TO A CHILD OF ATHEIST PARENTS.

It wasn’t my understanding sister that showed it to him; it was my sister-in-law. I was mad. So mad I could barely eat. So mad I was practically shaking. I find I can’t be that mad at my sister-in-law, though, because, in all fairness, I’ve never told her anything about my beliefs more than “My path is away from the Mormon church right now.” She had no idea we’re atheists. She has no idea that her showing that movie to my son is the equivalent to me showing her kids the Godmakers.

I’m mad at myself for never setting the boundaries.

I’m mad at Mormonism for influencing her to think the way she must: that exposing my son to Mormon ideas can only be a good thing. It’s pompous; it’s ignorant; it’s conceited. But for her, it’s totally normal. I doubt it occurred to her to at least call us first and ask if it’s okay (the answer would have been no). I seriously doubt she consciously thought that she needed to go behind my back to teach my son the Truth. She wasn’t being devious or manipulative about it. Her world view told her it was fine and right, that it was hardly worth thinking about it. I should assume that it was just outside her thought process at the time to think maybe it wasn’t okay.

But I can’t assume that. Because I remember how I thought about my nephews who are not being raised Mormon. I remember how I thought it would be great to expose them to the church. I remember how I went with my Christian sister-in-law and her son to see Legacy years ago, hoping it would soften her heart and get her son curious about the church. (Talk about karma coming back to bite me--but at least my nephew's parents we with him!) I remember what’s it’s like to hope, deep in my heart, that they’d convert someday. I remember what it’s like to truly believe my way was the best way, the Only True Way.

And I know that it never occurred to me that that was pompous, conceited, and ignorant.

to be continued...

the problem with babysitters

Since we’ve been in Utah, we’ve gotten family members to baby sit. Since all of our family in Utah are faithful, devout Mormons, we’ve been very choosey about who to have baby sit out son. The sister-in-law we’re staying with is great; the sister-who-actual talks to me is fine; I even asked the sister-whose-husband-left-the-church. I’ve never asked the most natural choice, my mom. She’s grown suspicious about why that might be and thinks I must hate her (that’s her low self-esteem and depression talking, unfortunately). Everyone is a capable babysitter, surely, all being parents themselves.

But there’s this little problem of them being Molly Mormons and Peter Priesthoods. Of being so engrained in the Mormon social life and culture, that they don’t even realize they are talking, acting, thinking Mormon when they are. For this reason, my husband suggested we lay down some boundaries with potential babysitters about what we consider crossing the line. I knew this was a good idea, but it also made me extremely uncomfortable. You see, to talk to them about it would mean we needed to talk to them about it. That they are ignorant enough, uncaring enough, unaware enough, that we’d have to point things out to them.

I felt like having to sit down and tell them, “Listen, don’t bring up religion around my son; don’t tell him how Heavenly Father is God and Jesus is alive, don’t tell him that Joseph Smith is second only to Jesus” would be the equivalent of them telling me, “Listen, you can only baby sit our kids if you promise not to tell them there is no God and that Joseph Smith was a liar.” That would just be insulting and misguided, because I would never say that to their kids. I don’t even say that to my own kid. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt; I wanted to be hopeful that saying those things would be unnecessary. That we’d all be aware and nice enough to respect each other’s religious choices and how we want to raise our own kids.

Also, I felt that asking them to avoid religion talk would be like asking them to chop off their own arm. They just couldn’t do it. It’s not just church—it’s daily life, daily conversation, their way of understanding and negotiating the world. I honestly feel that if I asked my mom to avoid religious talk around my son, she’d say, “How I am supposed to do that?”

to be continued...

living arrangements

We were invited and chose to live with my husband's sister and her husband during our stay in Utah. This decision came in large part because this sister and her husband have been able to be quite open with us when it comes to discussing our disaffection. I've never put down my argument for why I think Joseph Smith was faking it, but we talk about atheism versus believing, drinking beer, how it strains relationships, etc. She'll be my designated driver, even. It's comforting and refreshing. It's the only place where I can really be myself.

After a week or so of staying here, though, we noticed a definite strain in my sister-in-law from the conversations. After one such discussion, we went to bed. As we lay there, we could hear my sister-in-law crying to her husband. We couldn't make out the words, nor did we want to, but we knew she was obviously upset. Whether or not it had to do with us, it still concerned us, especially my husband.

"Listen," he said to me in the dark. "I think we should just avoid all Mormon talk with her from now on. I think it's too much for her."

"Yeah, okay," I responded.

But inside, I had just died. I had just lost my ally, my safe haven. The one place I could talk about it with believing family members. Gone. I wanted to cry.

seeing grandpa again

My grandpa died a few years ago, when I was still a devout, believing Mormon. He'd had a rough life, what with being a Mormon alcoholic. Sometimes, I didn't see him for years at a time. There were even times I didn't know if he was still alive. But he'd always show up again, bringing gifts. I loved him; everyone loved him. We all just wished he'd stop drinking. Sometimes now I wonder how much of an alcoholic he really was. I could see my mom defining "alcoholic" as someone who got drunk sometimes. But thinking back, realizing he couldn't keep a job, got DUIs in the middle of the day, and called from jail now and then, I believe he really had a problem.

I now wonder how badly his problem was exacerbated by Mormonism. Not that Mormonism worsened his alcoholism, but that it made the guilt horrendous, and it strained his relations with his devout children even more. They saw his alcoholism not only as a physical challenge, but a spiritual one, too. For him, I imagine, managing to drink only one was an accomplishment. To my family, it was a failure. He could never please them.

The last few years of his life he settled in a town not too far away, so we got to see him more often. To everyone's happy astonishment, he "cleaned up" long enough to get a temple recommend again and visit the temple. Within months, he had died, alone in his bed.

I had seen him two months before he died, but his death was traumatic for me. He was my first grandparent to die, and he was my favorite, too. It took at least a couple days before the landlord realized he was dead, and a few more days before the death was not ruled a suicide. The autopsy showed he died slowly, in pain. It was not an open casket funeral, so I felt cheated of that last visit. As weird and disturbing as viewings can be, I believe they help with mourning.

I wanted so bad to see him again. I'd heard of a relative who reports she sees the spirits of the deceased at their funerals, every time. Everyone talked about it as her spiritual gift. At the funeral, I hoped that might work for me. I had faith that I could. I let myself think that maybe that thing I saw out of the corner of my eye was him, contacting us from the spiritual world. But really, I knew it was just the light, streaming in through the stained glass. I saw nothing, and was disappointed in my own lack of faith.

Soon after, I went to the temple. Surely, I thought, I could see him there. I mustered up all my faith, telling myself I knew I could see him. In the chapel, in the endowment room, in the celestial room, I thought about him, willing the heavens to open up and let me catch just a glimpse. Of course, I saw nothing. I lost him all over again.

sweet pleasures

I stopped by BYU campus today, because I needed an in-hard-copy-only article from the library. Driving up the hill, I couldn't help but notice the new Hinckley building, recently dedicated. It's prominently placed on the edge of the hill near the Tanner building, and not too bad looking. Certainly better looking than the buildings built in the 1970s. I wondered if the Hinckley building is the only one to be named after a prominent church leader while he was still alive. (I guess he preferred a worldly building to a mansion laid up in heaven, eh?)

As I walked across a quad toward the library, I noticed the clean-shaven, short-haired men, and the modest women, sometimes in 3 shirts (cute, low-cut or spaghetti strap shirt; a chemise to cover up the garment top; and the garment top). Overly dressed for the 100 degree weather. I'm no fashion guru, to be sure, and I know the layered look is "in" this summer, but a spaghetti strap shirt does not look good with a white T-shirt underneath. It just doesn't. That Mormon version of the fashion came in to style in my high school, years ago. When I saw it, I turned to my friend and said, "Promise me that if I ever even consider thinking about possibly wearing one of those, beat me up until I've had some sense knocked into me. Please." That said, I myself used to take pains to keep my wardrobe garment-friendly, but I did so by simply not buying things that didn't cover my garments. Low-cut, sleeveless, midriffs, etc., were just not a part of my wardrobe. Sorry, but I'm not going to put on 2 extra shirts when it's freaking hot outside, just so I can wear the latest fashion. But that's just me. Sorry to anyone who did or does that. Off my soapbox now. (My favorite shirt is a spaghetti strap. I feel so scandalously not frumpy when I wear it.)

On campus, I smiled at myself that I was walking around as a non-LDS person, but an alumna. My dirty little secret, with no one the wiser. I went into a computer lab to look up the call number of the book I needed, and was happy that BYU, unlike my current university, allows alumni to keep their log-in privileges. While online, I remembered that BYU, unlike my current university, restricts which websites students can access. As a little jab, and out of curiosity, I googled the ex-Mormon discussion board, FLAK, and was pleased to find that BYU didn't restrict it as An Evil Site Spawned by the Devil. Maybe I should have googled "hot chicks" just to see if I would be banned from ever logging in again. Later, I passed by a set of bathrooms on the second floor of the library, and thought fondly of c.l.hanson, and her little way of rebelling as an non-believer at BYU.

Walking back to the car, I smiled nostalgically that while at BYU, I became more liberal, politically and religiously. I then drove to a Barnes & Noble in Orem. I perused a couple atheist books, slightly surprised that the store carried them and didn't even make them hard to find. Then I ordered a coffee at the Starbucks there, and read the article I'd just copied at the library. I noticed the others in the cafe: long-haired, goateed, body pierced, tattooed, coffee drinkers. And, once again, I smiled, and wished I were wearing a sleeveless shirt to let them know I was one of them. But then I remembered I had a cup of coffee in front of me, and that was just as effective at announcing my status.

Ah, the sweet pleasures of life.

science

I was quite mistrustful of science when I was a kid. Actually, until I left the church. I liked science, I was interested in it, and I did really well in science classes. But I never truly trusted science. Why? It didn't mix well with church teachings. And I gave church teachings precedent. If there was a discrepancy, I generally adjusted science to church teachings, rather than the other way around.

The biggest issues were evolution and the age the earth. By ninth grade biology, I was learning evolution (yes, in Utah), but the focus, as I remember it, was on micro-evolution. You know, Darwin's finches and those moths that micro-evolved from mostly white to mostly black during the Industrial Revolution in England. I was cool with micro-evolution; the evidence was right there and quite clear. But the evidence, you see, only showed changes within species, and not changes from one species into new ones. That way, I could still believe the Bible's "each after its own kind."

Eventually, I came to think of evolution as God's way of creating the earth. Seven days didn't really mean seven days. Seven days could really mean billions of years. Or something. But, really, I didn't trust it. Outwardly, I would talk about the age of the earth, about geological time, about dinosaurs, about human activity that occurred long before 6000 years ago. But inwardly, I was confused about how Adam and Eve fit into that. Was the timing just off? If it was, was it just the timing of the Bible that was off, or the timing of carbon dating? The scientists must think things are much older than they really were.

Also, I didn't like science because it made so many mistakes. It seemed like every twenty years, a new theory came out, and they eventually threw out the old theories. Like ether, the four humors theory of health, how the continents move, breast milk is bad for babies, miasma theory of disease transmission, etc. There were so many mistakes! How great could science be if they just keep changing their minds? They could be soooo sure about something, then be sooo sure about something totally different 50 years later. I thought that was just messed up. I thought that in a 100 years, no one would be talking about evolution anymore, except to say how stupid we were back then. Ultimately, this was just a way for me to still believe in church teachings that contradicted science.

At the time of my epiphany, when I stopped believing the Bible was anything but a collection of old stories, when I stopped believing Joseph Smith had no more connection to the supernatural than I do, science suddenly clicked. All the great barriers that kept my religious sanity collapsed, and I had a great "Ah-hah!" moment.

Evolution? It makes sense.

The development of the stars, planets, solar systems over eons? They make sense. And what is more, it is absolutely, astoundingly amazing and beautiful.

And the scientific method, all those changes in theories? That's a good thing. A great thing, in fact. It means that science recognizes its own fallibility, and makes adjustments to old theories when there is new evidence. That, I now see, is what is beautiful about science. It what makes me trust science more than religion now. Religion says Adam and Eve were the first humans and lived about 6000 years ago; Mormonism says that they lived in Missouri. Religion says this despite the fact there is no evidence to support that, and there is plenty of evidence that contradicts it. Science (and Bible scholarship) says Adam and Eve are a creation myth just like any other. Granted, many liberal religious people have adjusted their thinking about the first humans to scientific evidence, but there are many who still insist that the myth is Truth. And that's scary. Especially since I used to think so, too.

a little too young for pg-13

Okay, not really a Mormon-related post, but, well, you'll see...

On a last minute whim, we went to see Blades of Glory with my sister- and brother-in-law, and we took our little FTA along. I realized the movie was pg-13 before we went, and we've been quite choosy about what movies little FTA sees. But I figured since it was a comedy, the only moments that made it pg-13 would be some bawdy comments that would go over his head anyway, and he'd laugh at the physical humor.

The film went well enough for him, until we realized there was a bedroom scene coming up. In a panic, my husband and I looked at each other, trying to decide whether or not the scene would be worth me taking our son out to the lobby for a while.

I bent down to little FTA, "Hey, we gotta go out."
"Why?" he asked, his eyes glued to the screen.
"'Cause this is a bad part; you don't need to see it," I explained poorly.
I huge smile crept across his face. "I don't care." He tried, but failed, to suppress the smile.
That little stinker, I thought. He knows. He knows what's coming, and he doesn't want to miss it.
I looked at my husband and shrugged in a way that said, It's not like anything is going to happen on the screen. He whispered, "Just take him out."

I grabbed little FTA, knowing he wouldn't walk willingly, and shuffled to the end of the aisle. He immediately started protesting loudly, and physically. He legs kicked against my thighs, and I struggled to keep him propped up on my hip. BAM! His little fist hit my head. He's hitting me. SLAM! A right jab to the left temple. Everybody in the theater is watching us. FLASH! I saw a rush of light when his hand hit my in the eye. The hilarity of the situation struck me, and I start chuckling. JAB! Another fist hit my forehead. This would make a great blog post. WOMP! He pummeled me in the ear. I can't admit this on my family blog, though. It'll have to be the Ashes blog. I laughed harder at the idea that I think of life as potential blog posts.

By this time, we were in the lobby, and he was still hitting me. I let him slide down my side to the floor, and I broke out in a full laugh. With all the passion he could muster, he yelled, "It's not funny!" I laughed, "Oh, but it is, honey, it is." I bought him a treat to make up for the missed sex scene (great parenting advice: buy your kids treats as punishment for when they pummel you), and returned to the theater door to find another parent out there with his 6-year old daughter. I gave him a knowing smile, relieved that I wasn't the only parent stupid enough to bring a little kid to this movie.

I took him back in, and he almost immediately wanted to go out again. Why?

The bad guy was scary.

relationship

In June, I invited my parents and my mother-in-law to a museum with me and their mutual grandson. For a while, we got separated, and I wondered around looking for them. I found them eventually, and thought nothing of it. The other day, I heard second-hand that their little disappearance had a purpose: to talk about my disaffection.

I didn't get much information out of the grapevine, but I did hear this: My parents stay really hands off, because "the relationship is the most important thing." Upon hearing that, I immediately felt a surge of love for my parents. I realized how much they pay attention to what they say, to how they interact with me. It struck me that I am being petty to be bugged that I can't drink coffee in front of them. It made me wonder if I was just being selfish to complain about sleeveless shirts and never having a glass of wine at a family dinner. I reminded myself to worry more about them and their comfort, to worry about keeping our relationship good, than to worry about myself.

(While keeping a balance so I'm not pandering, selling myself out, or hiding my true self.)