i guess I should be flattered that my husband’s been reading my blog and retaining the information; in a fight just now he flung at me “Oh yeah! Let’s deal in
absolutes!”
Ouch. Since grey areas are on my mind today, I didn’t leave. My shoes are on, but I’m up here instead of gone, and I’m thinking about tradeoffs. I wrote recently about
the tradeoffs we/I made to send my child to public school-how it’s like, against my religion (link). My skin crawls at PTA meetings and I cover my ears and sing
“lalalalala” when I hear about how they lose recess when they’re bad and the treats they get when they line up. (like good little soldiers)
We left culture and diversity when we came here, we traded political activity and food and all kinds of things we were attatched to, for affordable housing, family,
and the opportunity for me to be home with the kids while they were young. I say we “left” all those things but really we left the environment where those things
existed-we couldn’t afford to DO anything cultural in LA, and we lived in a rough neighborhood that was getting rougher by the week. I don’t regret coming home, ever.
I see the ebb and the flow of our lives as a constant exercise in compromise. Not absolutes.
We came home though to red state, a town full of people completely at odds with us politicially, theologically, philisophically. I knew that coming in of course bcause
that suffocating blanket of fundamental conservatism is why I left. As I got older I convinced myself that we could subvert the culture from inside the house, like my
parents did with me. I mean, they’re a little pocket of dissent in a whole town of confederate flags and palin/mcain signs and I came out of here, so why not keep them
company for a few years?
Therefore I knew what to expect to a degree but I wasn’t prepared for how lonely it would be, even though right when we got here we found two non-religious, non-
republican young families within the first month we were in Florida. Six years later they’re the only ones, but it was quite a way to launch. So far my exercise in
grey areas is working. Public school for my teen is working-sort of. I mean, she had to sue with the help of the ACLU to get her GSA club going, and it took two years
for her to get the wrestling team to let her on, but she’s finally making some headway.
My family stopped asking us to attend chuch after the first couple of years but out of courtesy I still hold hands when they sing the blessing at holiday dinners, and
no one’s hands get burned when I do. I feel like the town has come to tolerate us and we them, sort of like Moses and the Blue Cat. They’ll never be mistaken as
friends, certainly. But they do occupy the same space, and on occassion you’ll find them on the same couch or bed. They don’t fight, that part of their relationship is
over- what’s the point? They tolerate. They coexist. There is room in the house for both of them.
But I’m not a cat and I have children, and I have a responsibility to mold their educational experience. Or, not. I go back and forth on this
topic which is why we tried unschooling for a while with Hannah. She hated it because she craves structure. I loved it, of course because if left me with no
resposibility or accountability for her actions. Perfect!
Sanity won out on the argument about school vs home, as if Avery would have ever allowed differently; she has been packing her backpack for school since she was three.
And that’s how long I’ve been prepping for the compromises that go along with kindergarten, which is a very different animal from the story time and crayons and wooden
blocks of my 5th year. I love being married to someone who works with her teacher, because now I don’t feel guilty that I don’t open her folder and look at the
worksheets and tests and report cards. I wouldn’t anyway-now there isn’t guilt.
Along with homework (I literally sneered as I wrote that) and other stepford child activities, I know my kid is exposed to other…forces outside my control. Children of
the corn (strike) fundies. Kids that get out of the trucks with the confederate flags. Children that hear the N word at dinner. Kids that have McCain/Palin pins. Kids that speak in
tongues. And they play together at recess, because my daughter wasn’t raised to fear and avoid these kids, and at such a young age these little soldiers in God’s army don’t know yet that they’re not supposed to like her. I know that. I….I made tradeoffs to be here. We decided that we were sure we could undo what was done to our kids during
the school day. We could re-educate them. De-brief them.
So, I tried to keep my face neutral this morning when Avery told me about how her friend (I’ll call her B. Isn’t that a convenient letter for her name to begin with?
B? B stands for B….eautiful Bouncing Buttercup!) has been chatting with her about Satan. Avery knows that we don’t believe in the Devil but Bai-I mean B has warned
Avery that the Devil will be coming for her mom and dad.
I put my child in public school so that I would not go insane, and a couple of weeks ago she was sick for 4 days and those four days nearly undid me from the inside
out and I renewed my commitment to public school and our compromise about the dangers of public school vs. my sanity. Therefore my voice was perky when I asked my
daughter to pass the message along to our friend Beautiful Bouncing Buttercup that she should tell her mother that Avery’s mother would like to speak with her as soon
as possible and may we have her phone number please.
And now I would like to write a short open letter to my readers with small children who attend church: Just like my children hear and mimic my foul language, your
children hear and mimic the parables in your book except they think that it’s real and they bring that hateful ghost story to the playground and present it to other
children as fact. They threaten children who are not familiar with your fairy tales, with in this case, images of the devil coming for a 5 year old’s parents. Because
that is what your religion has taught your children: that if I don’t beleive your book, that the devil will come for me- has come for me- that the devil has already
got me, because I don’t believe your book.
Please corral your children, and I will ask that my children don’t teach your children to say Jesus Fucking Christ when they stub their toe. Thank you ever so much.
I guess I should be flattered that my husband’s been reading my blog and retaining the information; in a fight just now he flung at me “Oh yeah! Let’s deal in absolutes!”
I swear sometimes I compromise.
I see the ebb and the flow of our lives as a constant exercise in compromise. We came home to red state and a town full of people completely at odds with us in pretty much every way. I knew that coming in because that suffocating blanket of fundamental conservatism is why I left. As I got older I convinced myself that we could subvert the culture from home, like my parents did for me.
We left culture and diversity when we came here. It feels like we traded political action and food and all kinds of things we were attached to for affordable housing, a large family, and the opportunity for me to be home with the kids while they were young. We believe the trade-off was worth it, mostly.
When my fifth grader asked my “what’s a Dyke?” because that’s what the kids called her when she made her own Valentine’s Day cards, and when she told me the teacher made them pray before lunch at their party, I knew we were in for some controversy. That year, my husband’s first year as a teacher, I kept my mouth shut even though her school was violating the law. Later, the gloves came off. She’s on the wrestling team, too.
My family stopped asking us to attend church after the first couple of years but out of courtesy I still hold hands when they sing the blessing at holiday dinners, and no one’s hands get burned when I do. That’s probably because I was once in the fold, and rumor has it once Jesus is in your heart he’s pretty hard to eradicate. I decided pretty quickly that church wasn’t for me because the dress code was whack and I refused to believe that my parents were going to hell. Oh yeah, and hell isn’t a place and the devil isn’t real. I was raised in a home of tolerance and respect though, so I left quietly and at family dinners I don’ t laugh when my relatives think they’re thanking an actual being for the food they eat.
Kindergarten is a different animal from the story time and crayons and wooden blocks of my 5th year. I love being married to a teacher, because now I don’t feel guilty for not participating in the parental conditioning. He reads all the papers that come home in school backpacks. And I just put my earmuffs on when I hear about how they get punished or rewarded for lining up (like good little soldiers) or sitting quietly at their desks. Luckily we drew one of the teachers that doesn’t sing or read about Jesus in the classroom.
I know my 5-year old is exposed to other…forces outside my control. Children of the fundies. Kids that get out of the trucks with the confederate flags. Children that hear the N word at dinner. They play together at recess, because my daughter wasn’t raised to fear and avoid these kids, and at such a young age these little soldiers in God’s army don’t know yet that they’re not supposed to like her. We’re sure we can undo whatever is done to our kids during the school day. We can re-educate them. De-brief them. This might be a good time to mention that the superintendent of schools in this county does not believe in evolution.
So, I tried to keep my face neutral this morning when my youngest daughter told me about how her friend (I’ll call her B. Isn’t that a convenient letter for her name to begin with? B? B stands for B….eautiful Bouncing Buttercup!) has been chatting with her about Satan. Avery knows that we don’t believe in the Devil but Bai-I mean B has warned Avery that the Devil will be coming for her mom and dad.
My voice was friendly when I asked my daughter to pass the message along to our friend Beautiful Bouncing Buttercup that she should tell her mother that I would like to speak with her as soon as possible and may we have her phone number please. And now I would like to write a short open letter to my readers with small children who are being taught to spread your fundamental vitriol on the playground:
Just as my children may hear and mimic my foul language, your children hear and mimic the parables in your book except they think that it’s real because you think that this monster is a real thing and they bring that hateful monster to the playground. They threaten children who are not familiar with your monster. In this case your daughter threatened my 5-year-old with images of the devil coming for her parents to take her to hell. Because that is what your religion has taught your children: that if I don’t believe your book, that the devil will come for me- has come for me- that the devil has already got me, because I don’t believe your book. Please corral your children, and I will ask that my children don’t teach your children to say Jesus Fucking Christ when they stub their toe. Thank you ever so much.
*I know that I have readers who are Christian, and please know that I’m not disparaging your faith in this post. What I’m angry about is the frightening all or nothing imagery attached to it, and that children are threatening parents with a monster they’ve learned about in church, a place where supposedly people are taught to act with grace and empathy toward fellow human beings.
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