Those who know me personally are probably aware that I’ve been in the habit of sort of “adopting” various kids and teenagers. I’ve been happily married twice—which sounds funny, until I reveal that I was widowed at a relatively young age. Both of these good men were previously married, and had children that I came to know and love as if they’d been mine—even though they weren’t in my house full-time. I’ve step-mothered a grand total of seven kids: four girls, three boys. I also have an almost-three-year-old little girl with my husband.
When my first husband died, I only got to see his kids twice more: at the funeral, and when they came to get stuff from our home. This wasn’t by my choice, but because their mother had never liked me, had spent the years of my marriage systematically belittling her ex and his “fat wife” to not just the children, but to anyone whose social circles might happen to overlap with both of ours. Any attempt on my family’s part to communicate with the children after their father’s passing was met with hostility and barely-veiled threats.
To contrast, my second husband’s ex-wife has only ever been kind to me and about me to everyone, openly encouraging her children to love me and be happy about their father’s remarriage. We aren’t best friends, we don’t always agree on everything; but we are friendly, and we can come to an agreement on tough issues without animosity. The effect on these children’s mental health and self-concept is monumentally different than in the first case.
Why the background? It’s certainly not to air past grievances, though if you want to hear some wild “I thought that kind of thing only happened as a dramatic ploy in movies” stories, give me a shout. What this is about is, you might say I’ve become rather good at parenting other people’s children.
This is compounded by the fact that, by profession, I’m a teacher. It’s not the best-paying job for a person with a master’s degree, but I love it. I work at a school that is almost smack-dab in the center of Salt Lake County, Utah. I teach high school Spanish, but I’m also privileged to teach improv comedy theatre and coach an amazing team of comedic actors. I don’t expect Spanish to be everyone’s favorite class. It wasn’t mine when I was a teenager. But I build a rapport with my teenaged students that improves my life, and I believe it improves theirs. A lot of people that age don’t feel comfortable talking with their parents about their problems—not because of something wrong with the parents or the kids, but because they’re stretching into the independence of adulthood. I’ve become the trusted adult confidante for some vibrant adolescent people going through things nobody would want to.
I’ve taught in four different schools across two states: both public and charter, in Florida and Utah. I’ve taught at a high school, middle school, a K-8, and a K-12 (though the latter two have had me teach secondary kids only). I’ll be the first to admit, large groups of small children scare me. I adore my sass-bucket of a toddler, and have real love and affection for many children of friends and family members, but once you gather more than five of the really young ones together, I’m looking to skedaddle. My favorite group to teach is high schoolers, followed by middle schoolers. I personally believe that decent people who teach elementary school deserve a free pass straight to heaven.
With my high schoolers, they prefer for me to discipline with humor, even good-natured sarcasm. Yes, it exists. The secret is that they have to recognize that the snark is said with genuine affection and concern for their well-being. Because I have developed an easy-going balance of individuality, respect, and classroom rules that prevent violations of either, I rarely have large discipline issues crop up.
Being a teacher in Utah, which is the well-known capital of mormondom, comes with some interesting variations from the norm I came to know in Florida. In the interest of full disclosure, I am LDS, and have been my whole life. I was raised in a combination of states, birth through age 12 on the East Coast, then junior high through college in Utah. I remember living in the Bible Belt in my later childhood, and meeting people who’d never known a Mormon. My own sister had a close friend once that, when her family found out we were LDS, basically dropped all connection with us. I’ve had friends of other Christian faiths (yes, I do see myself as Christian, and no, I don’t accept your classification of me as not) who have sheepishly told me that their pastors have said some nasty things about my faith over the pulpit. Other friends whose primary knowledge of Mormons come from jokes on South Park, binge-watches of Big Love or Sister Wives, or the Book of Mormon musical. Of course, none of these accurately portray LDS doctrine, and mostly focus on lampooning the culture that has grown up around the religion.
But, bypassing the issues I have with entertainment that purposefully mischaracterizes anybody’s faith, there’s something that’s been on my mind as a student, and much later, a teacher in the Beehive State. When I moved here as an almost-teen, I had some major culture shock, HAVING GROWN UP MORMON. It was strange being one of many Mormon kids at school, hearing others in the halls talk about mutual or going to the temple, or any number of things at school. It was off-putting to me to see some of the same kids who were all mormony at church turn around and say and do some very non-mormony things at school. I often managed to find open-minded friends who were not really judgmental towards others (yeah, I write this after just passing judgment—my whole thing is, whatever you claim to believe, act it, and don’t be a jerk about it). Even as a young teenager, though, it BOILED MY BLOOD when people I knew excluded the non-LDS kids because they weren’t Mormon. And I totally called them on it when I saw it. Because I lived on the other side of that. My mom had it worse, and sometimes told me childhood stories of how kids at her school in South Carolina asked to feel her horns. I mean, our own Sunday School lessons often rehashed the histories of the early members of our faith being verbally abused, physically assaulted in various painful and dehumanizing ways, driven out of a string of places, and even martyred for being different. I wanted sometimes to just scream at people for being so sanctimonious that they couldn’t see how counterproductive it was to our claim of Christianity.
Calm down, Meg. It still makes me really angry, though I like to think it’s more along the lines of Jesus chasing the money-lenders out of the temple than along the lines of Herod being miffed at another king happening and ordering deaths as a result.
Back to the school where I teach. Overall, there have been a few factors that seem to have reduced bullying there greatly from the average school of that size. It still exists: wherever you have teenaged people on the path to self-discovery, you’ll find some whose insecurities drive their mean behavior towards others. But I have seen much less of it in our specific student population. We are also more diverse than your average Utah school. In many areas of the state, a visit to school will show you a bunch of white faces, with a tiny sprinkle of other other groups. This isn’t to say I don’t like white people or any other people, but having lots of different racial, cultural, and religious backgrounds represented is fun and fascinating to me. Humanity is this gorgeous mosaic, and the presence of so many shades of skin and eyes and hair, the scents of foods we call “comfort” and those we deem “exotic”, the songs inherent to the accents of the languages of the Earth...they all make it more beautiful.
I’ve heard kids of both LDS and non-LDS backgrounds bemoan ill treatment from the other side, and rightfully so. I’ve personally overheard some kids making the blanket statements of “all Mormons are...” That being said, it’s not nearly as common as the numerous stories of “they were my friends until it became clear I wasn’t interested in coming to church” from both students AND adults of my acquaintance.
It breaks my heart to think back on this week, hearing a mother recount to me how her daughter, a bright, talented, kind young woman, has been repeatedly marginalized by people who should be her friends on grounds of shared values, not passing acquaintances because she worships differently. Just like any mother, her tears were deep-seated, thinking back on the pain her beautiful child has endured from people who regularly consider themselves to be some of the nicest people in the world.
This is NOT a religious thing. It stands against all doctrine of which I’m aware. By being exclusive, by all these series of small unkindnesses, by being dismissive of those who don’t share ALL beliefs and values, you become for others what we’ve always denounced in the mobs that persecuted the early members of the church.
I’m a believer in the doctrine. The culture we’ve created surrounding it still needs work. I’m an LDS mother, but many of the kids I’ve “adopted” into my tribe as a teacher are not of my faith, and I’m asking you to take and apply Elder Uchtdorf’s words. Stop it. Please love “my” kids as friends for yours as much as you do those of our faith.
They are not a number to be added to our millions. They are not a problem to be solved. They are children of God who deserve to be loved, befriended, and accepted in their beliefs as much as your own children do.
And because I can’t end a blog post without something pulled from one of my fandoms, I’ll leave you with the quote from Yoda, one that I feel applies to all of us: “Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.”
