One of these kids is doing their own thing, I hope

I had some free time yesterday and I ended up at the computer while our new CD was playing, Celldweller.   We found it in a fashion that suits us: my husband spent a lot of time surfing on Amazon and I periodically wandered into the room and listened to the on-line samples of the stuff he’d already screened-- thanks, hon. “I’m not sure but I think this Klayton guy used to be known as Scott Albert,” he said, which put me in the way-back machine to some really good music in the early to mid ‘90s. I said something really profound like, “Hum, well, it sounds good either way.” And thus a CD comes into the collection (I definitely have the better end of this deal).

I got on the internet to track how the artist went from Brainchild and Circle of Dust to his current moniker and had the opportunity to read an interview about why he took Circle off a Christian label. I remember in the ‘90s, when my husband worked in a Christian book and music store, that we would discuss (rant about) the apparent desire on the part of both the music industry and the church to reward the most lyrically bland and musically talentless of the offerings and punish the rest. And it seems that when Klay felt punished enough, he took his talent and found people who were interested. I don’t blame him. Though I will say the good artists and even the ‘lets make an evangelistic tool’ groups did help expand the Christian playlist.  Thank you.

But really, this is not only about the past for me, nor is it academic. I love to write, especially science-fiction and fantasy. Lately, I’ve had this story in my mind, the kind that will make a lot of Christians cranky. Which only matters because I want to continue being part of that community.  The story has a redemption theme (I don’t try for it, I just believe that people can be brought back from the brink and get their life turned around). But people who need redemption have problems, and their path isn’t always a perfect straight line. Which means some Christians will question my 'right' to continue being acknowledged by the Christian community because of the questionable content.  

So here I am, writing something ‘controversial’ and ‘inappropriate’ without a clue in the world what I will do with it. I love writing the tale, it just flows. I was surprised the other day to realize it was 5 am-- I’d totally lost track of the time. I tell myself to just keep writing, and it nearly writes itself, so I continue. Yet, when I imagine the possibility of it being published, the word “pillory” comes to mind. Obviously, there is no guarantee that it would find a publisher anyway but I know someone will ask how it can be godly to even write such a work. I have many good reasons and biblically sound arguments but those miss the point, because the real reason is that I don’t think I can live at peace with myself and not write the story.

It is a novel, and those take a long time. Maybe long enough to tell myself what I would tell my child if he were in a similar situation. ‘It is humility and wisdom to listen to and consider the advice of others; and then to remember that you can not live out the convictions of your neighbor.’  Hopefully, when I finish, I will be clear on what I can live with.

It's MY lollipop

My husband told me I had to come and take a look at something he read on the Glenn Beck web site.  I was relaxing, so I waited until the commercial break and came up to look.  Beck had a bit about this ad campaign that some Islamics are using in Australia. They want all women to be in burkahs all the time (apparently women should be neither seen nor heard). The ad shows a covered lollipop and then one unwrapped and covered with flies. Beck’s guest could read the Arabic text and was able to confirm that the meaning of the ad was, to put it crudely, ‘if we see you, we will rape you.’  I wasn't relaxed anymore.

I understood the ad without the translation. Offended? Yes. My mind started constructing an argument. I imagined an electronics store with a DVD player sitting in a display window. If an Islamic man smashes the window and steals the player, he is a criminal and a coward. The same thing is true with women, whether the model is on display or in a box in the back of the store, violently stealing from her is still criminal and cowardly.

Scrolling down the web page, Beck offers his own response: a picture of a fly swatter. Good thinking.  No matter what your politics, I’m glad that some people in the media are clear that we won’t accept that crap.

But was I surprised? No. There is little ambiguity in Islamic law about who they think is at fault in a rape.  Apparently, women are so incredibly powerful that we can induce men to act like psycho lunatics with the smallest flash of skin.  Personally, I think we ought to work on these special abilities so that we can get some sort of a useful result.  But I doubt my phrasing would find agreement with the average follower of Islam.

Intellectually, I saw the flawed thinking. I recognized the blunt attempt to control and cow women.  But my emotions were stirred up.  It was a direct threat of violence and violation.  So I stewed for a while.  In one way this is far away and abstract. No one is trying to change the laws around me and no one is directly threatening me. But, misogyny is real, and while it is deeply embedded in Islam, they don’t have an exclusive on it.  

I’m sometimes fascinated by the casualness of how some men can suggest rape as a control.  They seem unbothered by this gross exploitation of women’s sexual vulnerability. Could you imagine a similar campaign against men? ‘Cover yourself from head to toe, only your eyes can be seen (and that’s only because we’re tired of having you bump into things). If you don’t, we’ll cut it off.’

I think men’s physical vulnerability should give them a bit more mindfulness towards women. But in some men, it causes fear. And fear seems to breed violence.

Substitutions

“I can’t get it out of my head,” my son wails. He is in bed, the lights are out, story time is over, his songs are playing and he is melting down. “It’s too scary and I can’t stop thinking about it!”
This time it’s about a boy who uses a time machine to meet his sixty-one year-old-self and thus seemed to get old all of a sudden, which is the scary part. Note, ‘this time.’
He insists that sleep is impossible and that I have to stay with him, growing more and more upset. I intervene with the usual, “Honey, honey. Relax.” To me it represents a combination of ‘I care about you’ with ‘I want this to stop now’. “Listen, if I say ‘Don’t think about oranges’ then the image that comes to mind is of oranges.” My son looks at me as if I’m crazy, maybe I am. But I carry on, embellishing. “Really, don’t think about the lively color of oranges, don’t remember the fresh citrus scent of oranges, don’t imagine the juicy burst in your mouth when you eat oranges.” I am definitely in an orange zone, now both of us crave them. “In order to stop thinking about oranges, we have to think about something else, like apples, or going swimming.”
He laughs at my story and how silly it is becoming and I shift gears to the idea that in order to get away from one thought you have to substitute a new one. This brings a whole new round of “but I can’t stop thinking about it!”
I choose not to mention that he was just laughing and that he had stopped thinking about it for a moment or two. Instead we talk about what would be a good thing for him to think about from his list of interests.
I walk away from my son’s room and I’ve convinced him to at least be quiet, even if he’s sure this won’t work. He inherited the tendency to fixate on things from me, so I know what he’s dealing with. I regularly think about pleasant things so the news shows don’t prevent me from sleeping (they are the scariest things I see on TV). As I’ve gotten older, I use much more subtle substitutions with the hope of improving my character. But my most recent personal pet peeve has hit a snag, and thinking about oranges or apples isn’t helping.
Lately, I’ve been feeling quite self-conscious. I often have a child with me-- I know what to do with and for the child, I feel comfortable. I understand how to use most situations to help the child’s development and how to manage the kinds of social interactions generated by cute kids. But I feel conspicuous when it’s just me. What do I substitute for self-consciousness? Other-consciousness? Obviously, when I’m conscious of a child in my care, I’m fine. When I’m alone, though, other-consciousness makes me more aware of the other people who I already feel self-conscious around. So that isn’t working.
As I remember those moments, I have the nervous feeling of others watching me and I’m trying to understand what they are seeing and what it might mean to them. ‘And I can’t stop thinking about it!’ So I tell myself to relax, and I try to figure out what I can focus on instead. I’m not sure, but perhaps the key is here. In those moments, I feel observed and I start observing myself (yes, it does require a strange sort of flexibility) rather that focusing on what I’m doing. Maybe if I choose not to be so flexible and simply focus on the task at hand, I won’t notice. I don’t know. But I’ve convinced myself to be quiet, even if I’m not sure this will work.