An Open Letter to My Family, 0/1: Why?
Nov. 4th, 2004 04:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lwoodWelcome to the prologue to an open letter that I just wrote to my family, and will be dropping into the mail tomorrow morning for delivery to Missouri, Pennsylvania, Alabama, and Florida.
In election news, I didn't vote for him, I am rather upset, but Canada is a cop-out, and I don't cop out... which does tie into this, I suppose.
I've never told my family that I'm pagan, let alone heathen. This family knowledge of me or almost all of my friends is a fairly non-permeable barrier: I bet most of you didn't know until this moment that I have two brothers, Billy and Mikey, both younger than I, and an aunt, Tanya, who nearly qualifies as a sister as she's only six years older than I (surprise!). You might not even have known that my parents were divorced.
My father's family are all spiritual people, although my father himself was an aberration for many years, recently corrected. He's saved, now, and my brothers with him.
The bud of the soul need not take much encouragement to bloom, and opens to whatever sun warms it best.
Why didn't I tell them? I can come up with a thousand little excuses and justifications, although the idea of my father finding deprogrammers and setting them on me like hounds has a certain delightfully paranoid ring, doesn't it?
Mostly, I hadn't had That Talk because it would break my paternal grandmother's heart. Grandma, as I believe I've mentioned, is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest lady I have ever known. For her sake, I never condemn all Christians, or even all Fundamentalists, as essentially uncaring, intolerant individuals.
She absolutely dotes on me. I am her favorite granddaughter, and while we all agreed on the surface that that was because I'm her only granddaughter, I think she fancies me more than my brothers.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lferion tells me that Grandma would find "something" better than the "nothing" they think I believe. She may be right, and I suppose we're all about to find out.
To a certain degree, the rest of my family can go hang. If they accepted me, that's great. If they didn't, well, I'd made a life without them, scarred over the piece missing from my heart, and never mind that it wedged another little piece of ice in the wound every time I extolled the virtues of right relationships with kinfolk. I'd made kin of intent, wasn't that enough to replace the ones of blood with whom I could share next to nothing? I called them all on all the right holidays, that should do, right?
No, it doesn't. Of course it doesn't.
Long ago, I decided that the whole religion question would be a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. If asked, I would tell, but it'd have to be a fairly direct question: I'm good at dodging most leading questions. Mom has met DLP, and whenever Grandma's in town there is a very short list of friends whom I let to see her, but DLP andlferion are on it.
So, why tell now, when all the principals are safely several thousand miles away and contact is safely limited?
Well, as you all know, I'm not at all in any closet online. It's on my webpage, I host a dozen domains related to my faith, and so on. As my family's net literacy increased, the risk increased that one of them would Google on my name and Stuff would be Seen. I decided that that would be "asking," of course, at which point I'd have to start "telling," but this didn't come to a head until quite recently. They haven't quite been "asking," but they've been "hinting" broadly enough that "telling" is now, I feel in order.
Here's how we got to the telling part:
November, 2003: Constant Readers of these pages will know that my maternal grandmother, Na-Na, died in August. A year ago, she had a health crisis that made my mother call us all so we could come and say goodbye. I'd been out of contact with her for several years, not even calling her, in part because my stepgrandfather, Pa-Pa, is, simply, an obnoxious jerk. I believe I used the term "churlish boor" in my posts of the time; either way he's a right asshat.
Mom couldn't get a clear picture out of any of the sundry medical professionals, but my own internal compass, whatever poles it sights, was unerring: this was the time, this was the hour. Go now or never have the chance to rebuild that bridge, and if you won't rebuild that bridge what kind of heathen are you?
So I went. While there, I visited my father and brothers in Gainesville. While there, I took my youngest brother, Mikey, for a drive, and let him know I was pagan. We had a rather stilted, but mature, conversation where we accepted that I accepted his path and he believed I was wrong, all the way back. I asked his confidence on this, and he agreed.
A couple days later, while I was packing the car, with my suitcase in hand, Dad finally asked the question he must have been sitting on all weekend.
"Lorrie, when are you going to re-examine your roots and return to Christianity?"
Unfortunately, the answer that sprang to mind was immediately rejected as Right Out: "Well, Dad, I did re-examine my roots, and decided to dig right past Christianity... why do you ask?"
No, instead I had to make a cop-out answer, because I was already running late to Sarasota.
On 14 August,walkyrja married her E, and my baby brother Mikey married his girlfriend. I couldn't afford either, Mikey couldn't repay me the favor I'd done him by flying him out to my wedding, so I stayed home.
At 2AM on 15 August, my mother's mother died. Mom tells me that Na-Na wasn't thinking or speaking clearly, so even if I'd been there there wouldn't've been any there there. That didn't hurt as much as I'd thought it would, actually, as I'd gotten sufficient closure in the past November.
My parents' divorce was more cool than amicable, and Mom was in no state to talk to Dad, leaving me to deal with that side of the phone tree.
First, I called Grandma. I told her, we said the proper words to each other, and I sent her to deal with Mom. Grandma's active in her church in several of its ministries, visiting prisons and nursing homes. I'd trust her ecclesiastical skills any day, especially for grief counselling.
When I called my father, he was very careful to tell me that he was very proud to have raised children who think for themselves, even if it's something he wouldn't necessarily agree with.
I thought that meant he'd read a couple select pages, but wasn't pressing the issue. DLP thought so, too, but we made nothing more of it at the time.
Mid-October: A Birthday Letter
Grandma loves writing letters. I'm terrible at them (as my e-mail box will attest), but she writes anyway, and I call her sometimes, and so she's the strongest connection I have left.
It rambles about sundry persons for a couple pages, but then there's this:
...oh, dear.
I decided, right then, that as my cover was essentially blown, I'd better take it the rest of the way off myself. No more hiding, no more dodging. Lay as many cards down as they could stand.
What I wanted to do has a name that's been rather misappropriated in modern English: I wanted to write an apology, and no, I'm not sorry about a damn thing.
Apology is a bit of theological jargon I picked up in grade school. It comes from the Greek apologia, and means "a systematic defense." In context, "of one's religion."
I let the idea percolate for several days before laying fingers to keyboard. I knew already, from dealing with internal heathen politics and with speaking with others outside my faith (including a couple interviews!), that there were things to do and things not to do.
My tone should be warm and welcoming; a defensive posture will lessen the chance of a favorable response.
I should avoid negative definitions: I should not define what I am by what I am not. E.g., opening the letter with, "first, you should know I'm not a Satanist!" violates both of these. Use of the word "cult" is RIGHT OUT.
My audience consists of a wide range of ages and levels of education. Therefore, my words should reflect spoken English rather than written, and furthermore not use all the fine theological jargon I've accumulated in my usual spoken English, like "animism," "apology," "omniscient," and "polytheism."
Emphasize points of common ground between heathenry and evangelical Christianity. Yes, Virginia, these exist! In particular, I can have a nice long discussion about the value of family, my personal relationships with the Powers That Be, and other good solid virtues and values.
Emphasize respect for their beliefs and for the ties that bind us.
I sat down, wrote four pages in half a fugue state, and passed it around to a few people the next morning. The thing that tripped me most often was pitching it to my audience, mostly in vocabulary. The second draft had far fewer revisions, although the most notable was from Mr. DLP, who recommended that "I've become friends with a young gentleman from a local seminary" might lead an audience to certain assumptions, particularly if they've read, say, Regency romances, which made DLP,lferion, and I giggle until I changed it to "I met a seminarian." (Hi, urbanbard!).
So that's why I wrote what I wrote, and how I came to write it. It went into the mailbox Tuesday, so I'm committed now. I sent copies to six different family members so that they'd all have heard it from me directly, instead of secondhand. I'm sure they'll all talk about it and say what they like, but this way, well, they'll have my words in front of them, dammit, for all of them to see.
I'm scared. So many ways they could interpret it...
I've done what I can. Where the volley lands and how it is returned... I'll know when it happens.
My next post will be the letter itself.
-- Lorrie
In election news, I didn't vote for him, I am rather upset, but Canada is a cop-out, and I don't cop out... which does tie into this, I suppose.
I've never told my family that I'm pagan, let alone heathen. This family knowledge of me or almost all of my friends is a fairly non-permeable barrier: I bet most of you didn't know until this moment that I have two brothers, Billy and Mikey, both younger than I, and an aunt, Tanya, who nearly qualifies as a sister as she's only six years older than I (surprise!). You might not even have known that my parents were divorced.
My father's family are all spiritual people, although my father himself was an aberration for many years, recently corrected. He's saved, now, and my brothers with him.
The bud of the soul need not take much encouragement to bloom, and opens to whatever sun warms it best.
Why didn't I tell them? I can come up with a thousand little excuses and justifications, although the idea of my father finding deprogrammers and setting them on me like hounds has a certain delightfully paranoid ring, doesn't it?
Mostly, I hadn't had That Talk because it would break my paternal grandmother's heart. Grandma, as I believe I've mentioned, is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest lady I have ever known. For her sake, I never condemn all Christians, or even all Fundamentalists, as essentially uncaring, intolerant individuals.
She absolutely dotes on me. I am her favorite granddaughter, and while we all agreed on the surface that that was because I'm her only granddaughter, I think she fancies me more than my brothers.
lferion tells me that Grandma would find "something" better than the "nothing" they think I believe. She may be right, and I suppose we're all about to find out.To a certain degree, the rest of my family can go hang. If they accepted me, that's great. If they didn't, well, I'd made a life without them, scarred over the piece missing from my heart, and never mind that it wedged another little piece of ice in the wound every time I extolled the virtues of right relationships with kinfolk. I'd made kin of intent, wasn't that enough to replace the ones of blood with whom I could share next to nothing? I called them all on all the right holidays, that should do, right?
No, it doesn't. Of course it doesn't.
Long ago, I decided that the whole religion question would be a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. If asked, I would tell, but it'd have to be a fairly direct question: I'm good at dodging most leading questions. Mom has met DLP, and whenever Grandma's in town there is a very short list of friends whom I let to see her, but DLP and
lferion are on it.So, why tell now, when all the principals are safely several thousand miles away and contact is safely limited?
Well, as you all know, I'm not at all in any closet online. It's on my webpage, I host a dozen domains related to my faith, and so on. As my family's net literacy increased, the risk increased that one of them would Google on my name and Stuff would be Seen. I decided that that would be "asking," of course, at which point I'd have to start "telling," but this didn't come to a head until quite recently. They haven't quite been "asking," but they've been "hinting" broadly enough that "telling" is now, I feel in order.
Here's how we got to the telling part:
November, 2003: Constant Readers of these pages will know that my maternal grandmother, Na-Na, died in August. A year ago, she had a health crisis that made my mother call us all so we could come and say goodbye. I'd been out of contact with her for several years, not even calling her, in part because my stepgrandfather, Pa-Pa, is, simply, an obnoxious jerk. I believe I used the term "churlish boor" in my posts of the time; either way he's a right asshat.
Mom couldn't get a clear picture out of any of the sundry medical professionals, but my own internal compass, whatever poles it sights, was unerring: this was the time, this was the hour. Go now or never have the chance to rebuild that bridge, and if you won't rebuild that bridge what kind of heathen are you?
So I went. While there, I visited my father and brothers in Gainesville. While there, I took my youngest brother, Mikey, for a drive, and let him know I was pagan. We had a rather stilted, but mature, conversation where we accepted that I accepted his path and he believed I was wrong, all the way back. I asked his confidence on this, and he agreed.
A couple days later, while I was packing the car, with my suitcase in hand, Dad finally asked the question he must have been sitting on all weekend.
"Lorrie, when are you going to re-examine your roots and return to Christianity?"
Unfortunately, the answer that sprang to mind was immediately rejected as Right Out: "Well, Dad, I did re-examine my roots, and decided to dig right past Christianity... why do you ask?"
No, instead I had to make a cop-out answer, because I was already running late to Sarasota.
On 14 August,
walkyrja married her E, and my baby brother Mikey married his girlfriend. I couldn't afford either, Mikey couldn't repay me the favor I'd done him by flying him out to my wedding, so I stayed home.At 2AM on 15 August, my mother's mother died. Mom tells me that Na-Na wasn't thinking or speaking clearly, so even if I'd been there there wouldn't've been any there there. That didn't hurt as much as I'd thought it would, actually, as I'd gotten sufficient closure in the past November.
My parents' divorce was more cool than amicable, and Mom was in no state to talk to Dad, leaving me to deal with that side of the phone tree.
First, I called Grandma. I told her, we said the proper words to each other, and I sent her to deal with Mom. Grandma's active in her church in several of its ministries, visiting prisons and nursing homes. I'd trust her ecclesiastical skills any day, especially for grief counselling.
When I called my father, he was very careful to tell me that he was very proud to have raised children who think for themselves, even if it's something he wouldn't necessarily agree with.
I thought that meant he'd read a couple select pages, but wasn't pressing the issue. DLP thought so, too, but we made nothing more of it at the time.
Mid-October: A Birthday Letter
Grandma loves writing letters. I'm terrible at them (as my e-mail box will attest), but she writes anyway, and I call her sometimes, and so she's the strongest connection I have left.
It rambles about sundry persons for a couple pages, but then there's this:
Your father tells me you're studying a new religion. Your brother knows but won't say, says he's sworn to secrecy. So when are you going to tell me what religion you are studying???
...oh, dear.
I decided, right then, that as my cover was essentially blown, I'd better take it the rest of the way off myself. No more hiding, no more dodging. Lay as many cards down as they could stand.
What I wanted to do has a name that's been rather misappropriated in modern English: I wanted to write an apology, and no, I'm not sorry about a damn thing.
Apology is a bit of theological jargon I picked up in grade school. It comes from the Greek apologia, and means "a systematic defense." In context, "of one's religion."
I let the idea percolate for several days before laying fingers to keyboard. I knew already, from dealing with internal heathen politics and with speaking with others outside my faith (including a couple interviews!), that there were things to do and things not to do.
My tone should be warm and welcoming; a defensive posture will lessen the chance of a favorable response.
I should avoid negative definitions: I should not define what I am by what I am not. E.g., opening the letter with, "first, you should know I'm not a Satanist!" violates both of these. Use of the word "cult" is RIGHT OUT.
My audience consists of a wide range of ages and levels of education. Therefore, my words should reflect spoken English rather than written, and furthermore not use all the fine theological jargon I've accumulated in my usual spoken English, like "animism," "apology," "omniscient," and "polytheism."
Emphasize points of common ground between heathenry and evangelical Christianity. Yes, Virginia, these exist! In particular, I can have a nice long discussion about the value of family, my personal relationships with the Powers That Be, and other good solid virtues and values.
Emphasize respect for their beliefs and for the ties that bind us.
I sat down, wrote four pages in half a fugue state, and passed it around to a few people the next morning. The thing that tripped me most often was pitching it to my audience, mostly in vocabulary. The second draft had far fewer revisions, although the most notable was from Mr. DLP, who recommended that "I've become friends with a young gentleman from a local seminary" might lead an audience to certain assumptions, particularly if they've read, say, Regency romances, which made DLP,
lferion, and I giggle until I changed it to "I met a seminarian." (Hi, urbanbard!).So that's why I wrote what I wrote, and how I came to write it. It went into the mailbox Tuesday, so I'm committed now. I sent copies to six different family members so that they'd all have heard it from me directly, instead of secondhand. I'm sure they'll all talk about it and say what they like, but this way, well, they'll have my words in front of them, dammit, for all of them to see.
I'm scared. So many ways they could interpret it...
I've done what I can. Where the volley lands and how it is returned... I'll know when it happens.
My next post will be the letter itself.
-- Lorrie
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 06:21 am (UTC)(Only marginally related note: I seem to have been carrying around one of my hand-carved runes in my purse for a while. It's the only one that escaped my rune bag when I stashed it in there briefly, and I tucked it into a side pocket of the purse rather than put it away. It's sowilo. Should I put it back with the rest the next time I get the chance, d'you think?)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 12:35 pm (UTC)Hm. Well, the rune sowilo, of itself, can mean the sun, or victory, or proceeding along the path thereof. I'd probably put it back with the rest to make sure you don't lose it, but if you wanted to exercise a little runic fu on your pocketbook, a fehu (short definition: portable wealth) is generally considered a good idea. That's the one that looks like an F with its arms pointing up.
-- Lorrie
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 12:36 pm (UTC)-- Lorrie
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 09:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 12:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 11:41 am (UTC)Like I will.
--Ember--
no subject
Date: 2004-11-04 12:36 pm (UTC)-- Lorrie
no subject
Date: 2004-11-05 05:40 pm (UTC)