Zen and the Art of Escape.

When your 13 year old son comes home from school in the middle of the day, you want it to be for a good reason. When he stops you while you are busy trimming a hedge and you are having one of those pleasant mornings with your youngest child, you want whatever caused him to leave school to be merely due to an over reaction. When you respond to him and he falls into your arms and starts to sob, you want to find the person who caused this and demand to know why? why would you cause this harmless child to have to limp home and sob on his fathers shoulder.

You want to defend him, cure him, ease whatever pain it is which has caused him to tremble. You want to find who is responsible and make things right; you want to show him that you have control, like you did when he was a toddler and he skinned his knee. When you find that your son is the cause of his pain you, naturally, want to know who pushed him to do what he did. You want that other child punished, you want the school to do something to keep your kid out of trouble.

You want the other kids parent to call you up and yell at you, while you stay calm...just to show who the better person is. You want to tell him, that "my son was just defending himself" and if his kid had any self-control or respect for others he would not be bleeding. You don't want your son to be the responsible one. (the other parent never calls)

When your child comes home in the middle of the day, interrupts your day, starts sobbing in your arms- you give him a glass of water, you hold him, tell him you love him--you want to be upset---you want it to be simple. When he tells you it was his fault. You want him to see what he did, you want him to apologize, you want him to see how he can change.
, you want things to be normal... you want him to go back to school and have all the other kids like him. You want to blame someone; his mother, his not having many friends during elementary school, his lack of freedom,----you want it to be about him and not you.

You want your day back.

Ahh Spring

It is really easy to imagine that being a student with kids and a family ( and all that, that implies) is more difficult than being a student without all those responsibilities. How many traditional students (that is opposed to non-traditional undergraduate---meaning over 25, with kids etc.) have their studying interrupted by a phone call from their middle-school kid's principle. (then put off all the studying because the situation really is more important than passing stats) If the statistics are to be believed, not many.

That is not to suggest that trad's ( I am saying this instead of kids) don't experience stress; some take on more than they can handle some become dis-illusion with school. Some do have to work full-time to get through school.

Not to belabor the point, this is not about their issues, this is about mine.

My first two terms were difficult but the classes were really interesting and I managed to pull through with good grades (ah the grail). I did this, while still taking care of the family (doing the ever present laundry) (I have help...but she does not do laundry)

Winter and Fall were great...then Spring hit.
Here is is one of the distractions traditional students don't have, which I do.

Spring by its very nature is distracting for everyone, especially single twenty year old students who are away from home. I know that if I had been in school when I was twenty if I were in a classroom, with windows, during the spring I am sure I would not have heard any of what anyone was saying; not excluding the instructor.

In some ways I was better off, at 19, than the average trad, college student. I worked the dinner shift in a hotel restaurant, full-time. My day's were filled, as were my weekends (often in the middle of the week) , with what I wanted to do. I read what I wanted to read, I listened to what I wanted to listen to, without having to explain myself. I could spend the day hiking as long as I returned home in time to get ready for work.
I spent many a Spring day hiking around the foothills and canyons around Salt Lake City before going off to work.

Now - with a family, a house and a darling wife who gardens (and is a farmer at heart) Springs distractions have nothing to do with hiking then spending an evening sitting at an outdoor table at a cafe or sitting on the grass reading a book of Gary Snyder poems.

This Spring, this term, my weekends do not include time for home work, as they did in the cold and dark days of Fall and Winter terms. No, my time goes to lending my DW a hand with projects in the Garden: digging holes, weeding and planting.

Here , with the direction I am headed, the temptation is to scapegoat my wife. No, the responsibility lies with me. My mind and heart are outside with her, the seedlings, weeds and the compost which needs turning. (And there have been some illicit bike rides by the creek)

Fall and Winter leave plenty of room for working out the symbolism of novels, wrestling with math problems and getting down to the fundamentals of what I am being taught.

When I regain focus in the fall, and I am working hard on some stats or a case study, maybe I will do it while eating some pickled beets we preserved from our harvest.

Middle-aged? man

I have been dealing with issues of age. Before I started school I thought of myself as being youngish still, of course most of my peers were around my age or older and with some of my friends I was the youngest. (most of the guys in the East bay dads, when I was there, were a good ten years older then me).

I knew when I started that I was older than most of the students but I did not know what it meant and I still carried with me this idea that 38 is not that old. (ha you say tell that to a 20 year old)

One of my class mates commented to me that she knows me as this married guy with kids but found it interesting to imagine me as a 19 year old. I responded with "19...that was not so long ago....omg that was almost 20 years ago!" So, for all you baby boomers who I criticized for still being in the sixties (Yes, I did that when I was 19) I get it now.

My class mate went on. She imagined me, in a way, as most 20 year old college students are, excited about being on their own, learning new things, exploring careers...she even threw in "sort of a hippy."

For me that all happened in reverse order (or is it inverse) Anyway, when I was nineteen I was scared, and depressed about my future and as they say now days "emo." Now, like my younger peers at school, I am wide eyed and hopeful about what my post University future holds. "I was so much older then, I am younger than that now" (thanks mister Dylan)

Flexible

Over the past six years of being a stay-at-home parent I have heard and read many different views on the stay-at-home dad trend. It's a fad, men don't belong in the home, you should be at work once someone even said to me " personally I don't have anything against stay-at-home dads, but I can't imagine a woman marrying someone who wanted to be a stay-at-home parent. (nothing against stay at home dads...oh yes and I am sexist) I asked him how he imagined I became a father in the first place....he did not have an answer for me. Of course there is also the awkward silence from other parents (yes, I do have a chip on my shoulder about that.) when you are the only guy in the playground or class in the middle of the day.

Really, comments about what I, as man, should be doing besides taking care of my kids full time, are few and far between; they don't affect me much either. Such comments expose the commenter as being insecure about their place and an adherence to societal rules regardless of the circumstances of the person who is the recipient of the comment.

When I decided to take the the raising of youngun's I was not concerned about who would normally be staying home with the kids, I was not worried about fitting into playgroups, or being the odd man out at the park or story time.
No, it really had nothing to do with being on the edge, changing norms or being rebellious. It was a very pragmatic decision. I merely was responding to what was in front of me.

Memory

Memory is such a funny thing. Really, what is it for? other than to help us survive. You know, so you can remember how to get to the hunting grounds, remember that the good drinking water is over here, and remember that wal-murt is having a sale.

Sure, those are all the practical uses, the good things. Then there is the shadowy side of memory: Nostalgia. ( I capitalized it for the effect) Memory can color your past so that it is maybe more palatable. For example, in high school you were a depressed, self-absorbed nerd. (this isjust hypothetical) but twenty years later, you think of yourself as having been this sort of, avant garde hipster who was ahead of the curve. ( I guess that sort of sums up everyone who was into punk in the 80's then defined the nineties?)

Those memories can be kind of appealing, really you were very cool; you were just the only person who knew. And it is your memory, so hold on to it. This story has more of a point than that.
Let's say that you did not keep in touch with anyone you went to High school with, you lost touch the last day of classes your senior year. That is even better for your memories.
Only, one day it dawns on you that, "I was a really a self absorbed, depressed, nerd and not as cool as I thought" (this all comes to you a few years later, while you are making Latte's for the theater crowd, while listening to Eric Clapton's Unplugged album and one of the patrons suggests listening to something more...progressive. You sneer at him and say Eric Clapton is fuckin cool.)

So, then you think hey, if I still lived in the same town, not 800 miles away, I might be able to be in touch with those people. You are looking around you at the friends you have and realize that they have known each other since they were in grade school. And feel like you have not kept in touch with your past. Granted there are down sides to being that in touch but I digress. Sometimes in order to stay present I think it is good to have the past clarified. And when you keep in touch with those who grew up with you it can help.

A funny thing happened to me. In the past few months I have, on Facebook, gotten in touch with a few of the people who I spent my senior year of High school with. I have not seen or talked to them since the last day of classes in 1989. It was my most, up to that point, tumultuous year. (that is over stated) I don't need them to tell me what I already know, but it would be great if they can tell me what they were like.

Journey, and Zen

I was sitting during sesshin a few weeks ago, cultivating nothing, well trying to cultivate no- mind. (seriously, how can you really cultivate nothing? Maybe there are more advanced Zen folks out there who can explain that) So, I was sitting there on my little cushion staring at a wall, bringing about no mind when I hear this " Just a city boy/born and raised in south detroiooit/he took the midnight train/goin anywhere"

I managed to calm my mind a bit then " When the lights/ go down in the citay/and the moon shines on the baaayaa/ooh I wanna be thereyaya in my citay/ ooohoohooh"

Followed by more no mind and more Journey songs; I think all from the same album which, I have never owned or heard.

Really, it gave me hope that maybe enlightenment was looming before me. And, just like the pain in my knee, my stuffed up nose and my sleeping leg I needed to make room for Journey and not try to push them away so, the next time Steve Perry's voice manifested itself in my head with " oh the wheel in the sky keeps on trunin/oh I don't know where I'll be tommoroooohooh" I just sat with it and relief came around. Not no mind relief but " It's the end of the world as we know it/and I feeel fiine"

The Wisdom of Ignorance

I remember vividly how it felt to be an expectant father for the first time. It was scary. I was 25 and still trying to get over my troubled adolescence; how would I be able to process my shit while trying to raise a child? I was not afraid of changing diapers or feeding this little being; the fear I had originated in my emotional instability and that all my prejudice, scars and fears would get transferred onto him.

The step I took, which is probably the best thing any new parent can do, is to admit that I was ignorant then, I started reading every handbook on parenting and father hood I could get my hands on. I worked at a great bookstore....shameless plug.....called Sam Weller's, at the time, so had access to several titles, bad and good, about parenting.

At the time I was reading almost anything with the words Zen, Buddhism, and meditation in the title so, when a book with a title that was something like; Zen and the Art of Fatherhood came into my view I read it. I hated it. I did not get it at all. Now, twelve years, three kids and a couple of years of Zazen practice, I might have a better understanding of what he was trying to say. (I know it might be helpful if I could maybe give a glimpse of the contents of that book but it has been almost thirteen years since I last saw it, and that I hated it is what I remember.)

From what I remember the premise of the book was: that you don't know what you are getting into but don't worry, if you are aware you will know what to do, and you will notice when you have messed up.

I was much more aware of my lack of knowledge back then, my first child benefited from my state of mind, I was much more engaged; even now as I am trying to shift to parenting a 12 year old I am still more involved with him than I am with the younger ones.

The challenge for me is to keep remembering that, despite what I know about taking care of kids, I still need to pay attention to them as if they both are my first. (my kids are now, this second, trying to get my attention from my all important blogging...sigh. Don't they know that writing about my philosophy of life is so much more important than living it? Durn kids.)

Ruthie and Chaz Model Citizens?

The two little ones and I were at a cafe this morning. They, the 2 year old and the four year old, were eating muffins and sharing a croissant with me. There were only two other people in the cafe, two middle aged women eating croissant with egg and reading the paper.

The little people sat there contentedly eating for, a long time, by child standards. Just as I went to get another cup of coffee Chaz (the two year old) was, obvious to me, starting to lose his contentedness.

I commented that, getting another cup of coffee, was not a good idea since I could tell that the kids would soon get restless.

One of the women said that they sure were good kids, and that they sure were patient. Whenever anyone says that my kids are good I always agree with them, but, generally I find that what they see as good and what I see as good are different.

After our brief conversation it was clear to me what she meant by good. He was not running around screaming in the cafe. Of course, I knew what she meant, if your toddler is running around screaming that is not "good" cafe behavior, you might as well take your stuff and leave. You won't enjoy being there and neither will the other customers.

It is a given that there is good behavior and bad behavior, for certain situations. If Chaz is having a tantrum it is much easier for me to handle if I am not in a nice restaurant; if I am at home or even at a grocery store I am less embarrassed. It all comes down to how I feel, and how I think me and my child are being perceived by other people.

I have accepted that a two year old throwing a tantrum is neither bad nor good. Every two year old has tantrums, at least all three of mine have. As they grow and their communication skills become more sophisticated tantrums become less frequent.

So, my comment to the other cafe customer was; he is being pleasant now, but an hour ago he was screaming.

Absent Kids

For the first ten years of my older sons life we were rarely apart for long; a month at the most. The two days of the week, plus the weekends, that he would spend with his mother seemed like an eternity at times. When he was with us I would just get to feeling like a normal family; normal as in the constant reminding him to "pick up your socks" or " no computer until you have finished your homework" normal. Then I would whisk him away to his moms.

I would drop him off, and drive away reminded that this was not what I considered "normal."

I was used to it, so was he.

This situation had its perks, my wife and I never had to find a babysitter if we wanted to go out; until the little ones were born.

When we moved to Eugene, I knew it was drastic, it would be a change that we all had to adjust to. I knew it would be hardest on him.

For the second year he spent winter break with us. Two weeks of 11 year-old boy. Light-saber fights, stinky socks, wet towels on the floor, one or two days of emotional turmoil.

Me, resenting that he wants to spend more time playing with his neighborhood friends than with his step-mom and two, drastically younger siblings. (he assured me that this was not the case, and I adjusted to his need.) We all had a great time with him, most of all his two younger siblings; who worship him.

His last day came. After I ordered him for the....millionth time...to please get your stuff together and pack; his step-mom found him sitting against his bedroom door sobbing. He did not want to leave.

Later on that day, at a pizza place in Portland, we talked about how temporary his whole situation is. Only six years and he will be able to settle where he wants, visit who he wants. We talked about the difficulty of our situation and who has it harder, him or me?

We both have it hard and the reasons are numerous.

My Grandfather passed away last Thursday (November 29th). My wife had stayed home to help with a sick child when I heard the news. We went from quiet morning to trying to pull off a last minute trip to Salt Lake City.

I am not a really stoic person. I am not uncomfortable about crying but, if there is stuff to be done, I will do it, even if I have tears in my eyes. I will mow the lawn and sob instead of sit on the couch and sob. So, there I was on Thursday making plans to travel, taking care of kids, wife, house, cats, chickens and trying to manage a flood of emotions, and memories of my Grandfather.

One of the thoughts I had, that I became fixated on, was something that I am sure other exmormons might be able to relate to; how to go to an L.D.S. funeral and pay tribute to a beloved relative without getting all hung up on how you disagree with all the dogma.

It was a real concern, I pictured myself sitting there in the chapel listening to one of my relatives talk about the afterlife while I cringe. Over the next couple of days I convinced myself that I could sit there in that pew without cringing.

This was my Grandfather after all. If he were in my position how would he have dealt with it? He would put aside his prejudices and just do it, and he would do it while being kind to everyone around him. I always felt valued by him, regardless of how freaky I looked when I was a teenager. Sure, he made comments about my ripped black jeans and my spiky hair, but he betrayed his true feelings by the hug he always gave me and the way he would smile when I would show up at family gatherings; gatherings I often did not want to be at because of the awkwardness.

Naturally, this awkwardness increased for me when I left the Mormon church. I know that it was disappointing for him to not see his first Grandson go a mission, even then, he did not let on how disappointing it was. If I could give him that satisfaction in return for the respect and love he that he has shown me and my wife and kids over the years I would put aside my disbelief and go just for him.

What I did for him, instead, was bring my family to Salt Lake for his memorial. And at the funeral, when prayers were offered I bowed my head and listened, when hymns were sung, I sang; when my mom and two uncles talked about seeing him in the heaven, I did not engage in an imaginary debate, with them about whether heaven is a pretend place or a real place.

Not only did this exercise make it easier to be at the funeral but it made it easier for me to talk to my relatives no matter how brief the exchange was.

It feels like a small token; somehow too me just being civil with my aunt, uncle's and cousins does not seem like enough. We all have lives of course, for more than one of us, those lives are vastly different and only intersect when someone passes away. Frankly, I do wish it were not like that, I would not mind having relationships with them that are as easy as they were when we were all kids playing in the woods on a camping trip.

And wouldn't it be a fitting memorial to a grandfather who cared about his grand kids to have them all talking to each other?

Goodbye Grandpa, I miss you.

Alfred Carl Nielsen
Alfred Carl Nielsen 1917 ~ 2007 Alfred Carl Nielsen passed away on November 29, 2007 in Salt Lake City, Utah at the age of 90.He was born on November 9, 1917 in Castle Dale, Utah to Alfred C. Nielsen and Mabel Ruth Steele. He married Lucy M. Springer on March 13, 1945 and was later sealed in the Salt Lake Temple on November 15, 1945. He served in the Pacific in the Navy during World War II. He then joined the Army Air Corps later the Air Force and served in the Korean War. He retired from the Air Force on June 1, 1965. Alfred was active in the LDS church. He served a mission in California and later with his wife in England. He served in numerous callings including branch presidencies and bishoprics, Temple Square Host, the Church History Museum, and as an ordinance worker in the Salt Lake Temple. He was always willing to help those in need. Alfred is survived by his wife of 62 years, Lucy M. Springer, children: A. Carl (Elizabeth), Marion Wilson, Larry (Marsha), Sheryl (Marc) Atkinson, Bryon (Julie), Robert (Lisa); sister, Ella Hoskins, 27 grandchildren and 35 great grandchildren. He is preceded in death by his parents and two brothers, Grant and Ross. Services will be held on Monday, Dec. 3, 2007 at 12 noon at the Brickyard Ward, 1111 E. Charlton (2800 So.), Salt Lake City, Utah. The family will receive friends on Sunday, Dec. 2, 2007 from 6-8 p.m. at Wasatch Lawn Mortuary, 3401 S. Highland Drive, Salt Lake City, Utah and before the services from 10:30-11:45 a.m. Interment will be held at Wasatch Lawn Memorial Park.

Us and Them

After spending the last ten years sort of practicing meditation I finally decided to become more serious and start attending services at a Zen temple. So far, I have been happy with the choice I made.

There have been times ,though, that I wonder why it is so important to me to belong to a religious community and to even explore "spirituality" ( I really don't like using this term; mainly because it seems to be so vague. What the heck is spirit any way and what do all these various practices have to do with it.)

I always just put it up to my L.D.S upbringing. I was so concerned for so long that I adhere to all of the commandments, directions and prophets; that even after leaving the L.D.S. church it was inevitable that I continue to want to perfect myself. Figuring out what God is and what God wants seemed to be the way to go in order not to go to Hell.

Recently, I decided to take the next step in Zen and commit myself to it as full-time practice. I feel that I have done this already, now I am making it official. What is odd for me is, now, in my little un-enlightened lizard brain, I have recognized the us and them mentality. I had this before, it just was not as prevalent. The challenge of course, and the Buddhists emphasize this, is to take on the path and learn that there is only us.

The L.D.S. church seems to emphasize that there is an us and there is a them and we must work to make the them an us. Not being much of a salesman, this mentality made me pretty uncomfortable, so much so, that when it came time for me to put my Missionary papers in, I split.

I learned over the years, or told myself, that everyone is OK how they are and it is totally up to the individual how they conduct themselves. I still have this lingering thought though, that if everyone wants to be happy they should all become Buddhists.

Why I left Mormonism

I admit it, I am sure this will clear everything up once and for all why I am no longer L.D.S. (Latter Day Saint). It was "Plan 10 From Outer Space" that really did it.

If you have never seen it even this review won't really explain it, so here is a link to IMDB
Note: read the comments.

It was plan 10 that really illustrated to me how silly Mormonism is (just writing this makes me squirm). The belief that god lives on a planet called Kolob is a belief that many mainstream "Saints" might not be aware of. Sure, even when I considered myself a faithful saint I thought this Idea of Kolob was a little strange, like something out of a Star Trek movie.

After seeing this very campy, yet funny in a off-kilter sort of way, Science Fiction take on some of the odd Mormon beliefs. I realized how much some of my beliefs were off kilter, funny and science fictiony things. And could I, this cynical, Urbane, kid who wears black, is very cool oh so serious and not nerdy(I did not play dungeon and dragons, am not an out of the closet Trekkie) in anyway, really hold religious beliefs that seem strangely like Lord of the Rings and the old Battle Star Galactica. The answer is no.

As is predicted by many a True believer in the Mormon Church once you harbor the first doubt it is impossible to turn back; this did happen with me. The further you get away from the church, the more doubts you harbor, eventually it becomes impossible to go back.

I started looking for a religion I could take seriously. I read Buddha's first noble truth: "Life is suffering." Whoever said that was serious, I remember thinking. They even wear black to worship in. According to my standards that meant that they were not joking around.

Boy, was I wrong.

(Those Monks are Tibetan; I think they may laugh more than Zen monks. )