In response to a question asked elsewhere, I wrote the following:
This is a key issue for me, not in the usual sense but in the sense that it has been battled at so furiously from all sides that my own position has had to be evaluated and re-evaluated numerous times. I've been on both sides of the debate and have believed both sides to be "the correct" one. Which is to say that my article here will be more of a discussion of reflections rather than an attempt to say "what is right." As if there were such a thing. As to what *I* believe? It will become more clear as you read on.
Individual choice in the matter is paramount. This ties in very closely with the idea that we can't or rather, shouldn't legislate morality. What is right for one person or even the majority in such an issue is irrelevant to the focal point of the matter, that focal point being, of course, the choice and option of the individual pregnant woman. Moral legislation such as this is founded almost entirely in emotion. But even that isn't a sufficient argument to keep this issue out of congressional debates and out of our courtrooms. Most laws are based on morals, for example, we aren't allowed to kill, we aren't allowed to cut of a man's hand when he steals an orange from the supermarket. The difference here is that abortion is a crime only because it is defined as such, not because there is a secondary harm to society, ie., no victim.
"Aha!" some may say. "The unborn child is a victim of MURDER!" That statement forces the argument of whether or not the embryo/fetus is a viable life form. Even scientists are at odds about this so I doubt that we as mere mortals can make the call. Personally, I think the embryo/fetus is a parasite to the mother and lives, not even symbiotically, but feeds entirely off the mother's body, relying wholly upon it for it's survival, beyond the womb, even. That's an exclusively biological view and leads to the conclusion that while it may be alive, it is only by the grace and permission of the mother. Even the hormonal changes forced on the mother leading to an emotional attachment to the unborn child are geared toward ensuring that the mother takes care of said unborn child. Still, it is a parasite.
Before you flame me, recall that such a statement of the status of the embryo/fetus is an emotionally detached biological statement, not one which is arguable in the least. It's simply an unemotional statement of what nature has done to propogate life in mammals.
Having said all of that, a pregnant woman can genuinely feel the life inside her quite early on in the pregnancy. But not immediately. The only immediate effects are the quiet realization that something is changing in her body. After a few weeks, movement can be felt and the mother's attachment to the unborn begins to solidify quite well.
At what point, though, is it a life? Even a parasite is alive so you can't even use the argument that a child which cannot survive outside the womb is not a life. Yet, I don't believe you can call it a human life immediately upon conception. It is not even recognizable as human unless you jump into the DNA itself. The few cells which make up my gall bladder are alive and have human DNA but they are not a viable human life. That the embryo can eventually become human is not an argument that at the moment, it IS human.
So when does life begin? Not at conception. Certainly before birth. When the heart starts pumping? When brainwave activity is apparent? When does life begin? All of the above is to present the argument that abortion BEFORE the start of life should be a non-issue. Yet, we have not come to an agreement about when life begins and therefore, we have to admit that by having this argument, we don't even agree on what life, over all, really is.
I'm opposed to late-term and partial birth abortions. In my pea brain, I believe there is no doubt that at that point, the fetus is viable, human, and a sustainable life, regardless of the fact that it's still living parasitically off the mother host. Partial-birth abortions are not, in fact, abortions, they are killings, pure and simple. I also find it truly amazing that a woman could go through her entire pregnancy of nine-months and decide at the last minute that she doesn't want the child. There isn't any difference between this method of baby-disposal and the dumping of a newborn into a nearby garbage dumpster. My opinion, of course.
As a birth control method, I'm opposed to abortion. There are far more effective ways to prevent the birth of a child. I'll agree, however, that sometimes other methods can fail and allow an unwanted pregnancy to occur. At that point, I think abortion is pretty much paramount, however, it needs to be effected right away in order to accomplish it before life truly begins. The sooner the better, of course. Women who are on birth control and have a failure of that birth control method should have an easy decision ahead of them. I'm always confused, therefore, about why people get in a sweat about abortion when they've been doing other things to prevent pregnancy in the first place. The other method failed, jump on this other last-ditch option and don't debate about it. Ahh, but the reality is, the emotional ties a woman has with the new embryo are part of biology's attempt to protect the child. Hence the change of heart when a woman gets pregnant "accidentally."
People are generally very irresponsible with their sexual behavior. If a person is going to have sex, they should decide up front if they want to have a baby or not. It isn't just about having a baby after 9 months, it's about having a child under your care for the next 9 months, PLUS eighteen or more years. All planning and thought and care should be given to this and it should be a conscientious decision, well in advance of the conception. A good financial backing, a good marital relationship, a strong support structure, etc. etc. Having kids willy-nilly is abhorrent. Yet I'm sure that the huge majority of all children are born without a thought from their parents about the future care. If a person doesn't want to have a baby, they need to be sure they take steps to make sure their sexual activity does not lead to an unwanted pregnancy or unwanted child. It's one reason I'm all but completely convinced that the huge majority of "accidental" conceptions are intentional.
Here's one which makes me laugh uproariously and painfully. I've heard this countless times when abortion is suggested as a way to undo one of these "accidental" pregnancies.
"But it's contrary to the laws of god."
"Waitaminnit. You're a believer in god's will? Christian, I presume?"
"Yeah."
"And it's against Christian beliefs to have an abortion?"
"Yeah!" And I refuse to participate in a practice which is against god's law!"
"Are you married?"
"Er, no."
"Then why are you having sex? Isn't THAT against god's law?"
"Ummmm, errr, uhhhh, well, gee."
"That's what I thought."
These are the same people who are the purveyors of unwanted children in our society. "No, we don't want abortions to ever happen," they say, but they also give woefully underenthusiastic support of helping unwanted children have a decent chance or opportunity in this life. Unwanted kids become the predators of our society and they lose out on the good things we have available, particularly in the devoped nations. Adoptions? Only perfect newborn infants get adopted with regularity and frankly, most mothers will keep their kids until they are just old enough to become unadoptable before they start to have second thoughts. At that point, while they aren't crowding around to drop the kids off at the orphanages, they do abandon them emotionally and for all intents and purpose, drop them off their radar and don't do what it takes to make sure those kids are viable members of society. Remember, the commitment to a child goes well beyond the womb.
The biggest double-whammy of these moralists is that they frequently are the same people who advocate little or no sex eduction for young teens who are starting to experiment with sex. They don't want sex ed in the classrooms because they believe that sex ed is the reponsibility of the parents. Ironically, that statement is absolutely correct, however, they fail miserably in its execution. Their failure, however, isn't enough to convince them that they should at least give the schools a chance to fix that problem, however inept the schools may be. Thus, hypocrisy is heaped up on hypocricy and once again, the end-all and be-all of solutions to society's problems becomes the cause and the exacerbator of those very same problems. I'm appalled, to say the least.
Ultimately, however, the woman put the baby there, she should be able to do with it as she pleases. She should be able give birth and keep the child 'til it's a productive adult member of society. She should be able to give birth and neglect the child or raise it badly as it grows older. She should be able to give birth and put the child up for adoption. OR she should be able to abort it.
Personally, I'm opposed to abortion as a primary form of birth control and I think that if abortion is to be used at all, it should be as a last-ditch, we-did-everything-else-and-it-failed approach to preventing pregnancy. Or it can be used when the life the the mother is genuinely threatened or there is rape or incest. Even then, it should be up to the discretion of the mother. Yeah, some of those are holdovers from my days as a Right-Winger but after a lot of thought, I think those are valid reasons to have an abortion. Ultimately, what I believe is that it is up to the mother entirely. In fact, it always has been up to the mother anyway so I'm still uncertain as to why we still have to bring it up as a political issue every time we have an election. The only thing the right-wingers will accomplish if they succeed in outlawing abortions is they will create an underground network of illicit abortion clinics wherein peoples lives are destroyed. Much as they have done with many others of society's ills.
"What's the candidate's/Party's stand on Abortion," is always a key question. Some people don't even vote unless this question is answered and it is the only issue for these voters. Psychotic. What's also psychotic are the people conducting violence against abortion or even in the name of abortion rights. They are NOT generating sympathy from me and they frequently do their cause a great deal of damage. The guy who murders abortion doctors because he claims he was told to by god has ensured that I and many many others want nothing to do with his god.
If people believe abortion is against the commandments of god, they should be letting god sort it all out after we all die. How arrogant are we to think we can legislate people into obeying god's will when all he has to do is solve the problem himself? This is, again, a victimless crime, more than less, and if god has a problem with it, let's allow him to solve it. Nobody is his agent here on earth to deal with this debate for him. We rarely or never legislate adultery as a crime any longer, why abortion?
--Wag--
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Friday, October 15, 2004
Masturbation + Mormonism + Guilt = Suicide
A new acquaintance asked me for this story. He is a Clinical Sexologist in Ogden, UT. If you need his name, e-mail me and I'll forward your e-mail to him.
Below is my e-mail to him.
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Dear Mark,
You asked me to tell my story, the story about how Mormon-instilled taboos about masturbation led me to the point of attempted suicide. That I failed at killing myself is a good thing to truly understate the obvious!
Here's my story, as best as I can remember it. As I started to write it, it really brought back a flood of memories and it fleshed out with more detail than I originally thought it might. Feel free to use it any way you wish, and when you do, sign me or credit me as . . .
--Wag--
------------------------------
As an 18- or 19-year old Mormon man, I was getting ready to go on a mission. I was engaged in the regular and frequent practice of masturbation and felt guilty about it all the time. I had gotten started early at the age of seven. Of course, in Mormonism, masturbation is considered a major sin, major enough to keep people out of the temples and certainly off of a mission. In any case, while getting ready for my mission, I had confessed it to my bishop and he made the decision to keep me off my mission for a while until I could stop masturbating for a sufficient length of time.
At some point in there, I got truly despondent and took about three quarters of an economy-sized bottle of Tylenol, believing whole-heartedly that I would be dead within a couple of hours. Little did I know that it would have no effect on me and that it could have easily wiped out my kidneys. I didn't find that out until later that there are probably NO OTC meds which are potent enough to kill an adult human. I'm lucky in the sense of being alive and more lucky I didn't roast my internal organs in the process. I never told a soul about it at the time. I still genuinely believe that my intent in the attempt was two-sided. One, I was tired of life but Two, and more importantly to me at the time, was I wanted to cause pain to my parents. I really thought it would be highly embarrassing to them to have their oldest son commit suicide. I even thought that a couple of my siblings might follow in my footsteps and that pleased me even more. At some base mental level, I even thought my parents were depressive enough to follow my lead, too.
Bear in mind, however, that as I had grown up, I had been infused with a very low self-esteem and felt I was not worth the clothes on my back. I was never good enough, I was always guilty of something and never had I done something which deserved a compliment from anyone, particularly my parents from whom I should have had the most support in doing good things. I was ruled by fear and guilt levied thick upon me by my parents primarily, followed closely by the church and its representatives. Furthermore, as I was the oldest of ten children, I was supposed to be the example to the rest of my siblings and lo and behold, frequently, I was accused of being the cause of various of their delinquencies as well. A more complete mantle of guilt couldn't possibly have been conceived or executed.
There were many things which occurred during my life to destroy any sense of self-worth I might have had. Positive things were ignored at best, pushed down at worst The talent and potential I had was never recognized by my parents and therefore left unrealized. For example, when I was seven years old, I was in the third grade. My reading and comprehension was tested at a second-year university level and I was naturally reading at 1200 wpm. I'm not even sure I can still do that now! But I was never recognized for it and I never got any additional training to focus me on a path which would take advantage of those skills.
Another example is that when I was eight years old, my parents started me with piano lessons. For a while I enjoyed it, but soon I didn't want to practice any more, probably 'cause my buddies were teasing me about it. My parents forced me to continue because the piano teacher I had insisted I had talent. Actually, I just had brains and piano was not difficult to figure out. So, for about four or five years, I was forced to take piano lessons and threatened with whippings if I didn't perform well. Lo and behold, I started to get pretty good. Much to my surprise, I started to enjoy it. Then, my teacher moved and my parents ran me through a couple of other teachers but very soon, the became unavailable for some reason. I was content for a while to not have to practice any more.
But I surprised myself by actually beginning to enjoy playing, especially since I could play what I wanted to play. After a couple of years of guiding myself at the piano, I asked my parents for lessons again and they refused. That was the time when I could have really used lessons, too. I didn't make a big issue out of it and continued to play on my own and progressed to some degree. Very little, in retrospect but at the time, ignorance was bliss. I tell that as an example of how I was not given the support of my parents for the good things I was able to do and wasn't recognized for doing well. Years later, I took lessons from a concert pianist at my own initiative and made light years of progress in a very short time.
As a child, I generally got nearly perfect grades. That was because of the fear of getting my ass whipped by my old man. I was a smart kid, but it was because I didn't dare be otherwise. Indeed, as a near straigt-A student all through Junior High and High School, I can't remember once ever being told by either of my parents that I had done a great job. I do remember, however, a couple of times where I just screwed around in class and got a "D" or an "F" as a H.S. Freshman and all hell broke loose. I had gotten bored with how easy school was and it was no challenge for me, there was no motivation for me to do well. I had forgotten, however, the wrath of my old man.
That was the way it was for me as a child in my household. Keep your nose clean and never step outside the realm of perfection that my parents establish with the Mormon Church as their guide to it all. We were to be good little Mormon kids, never embarrass our parents and do everything right. Our opinions didn't matter and we were not allowed to speak outside the religious dogma that was thrust upon us. To do so was to risk the wrath of my parents, most especially my father.
My mother was a master of manipulating me through guilt me. I remember one particular occasion just after my father had lost his butt big time in his first business venture. I was about 15 and hadn't played the piano for quite a long time. My mother came to me one day and said, "Louis, your father finds a great deal of comfort when you play the piano and would very much like it if you would play once in a while." Hmmmmmm. I was a little taken aback and I said, "Okay," and moved on. However, my initial reaction inside, which I didn't dare show, was one of feeling empowered. I could finally pay back my old man! I had power, all of a sudden to cause him grief in return for the grief I had lived with all my short life. Internally, I refused to play. But in a matter of a few weeks, the drive to be accepted by my old man AND my mother, for that matter, and starving for compliments, I gave in and started playing again. And the guilt? Very much a part of my decision to play again. Never heard much more about it, though. Once in a while, I recall my father saying he liked a particular song but it was more about him controlling what I played than about giving me a compliment. He never did say that I played well.
I remember only two compliments I got from my father. There may have been more, but I don't remember them at all. Which means they were likely never given, quite frankly. One compliment was the only compliment I ever got on my grades. I had pulled straight A's on one report card and he patted me on the back and said, "Good job." That was it. The other time "I" got a "compliment" from my father was on a Monday night at Family Home Evening. He stood in front of all of us kids and said, with tears of happiness in his eyes, "Your mother and I really appreciate that you kids are well-behaved and you don't cause us any problems. We get complimented all the time by other people about how well you all behave when you're not at home." At the time, we were bubbling over about it and we felt the warm fuzzies etc. etc. Now, it just turns my stomach. My parents were saying that to them it was more important for us to keep from embarrassing them than anything else.
There are plenty of other stories to be told but I think the picture is rather clear, thus far. To automatically link the first of my suicide attempts directly to masturbation might be a little bit of a stretch. However, there can be no doubt that since the age of 12 when a bishop first asked me if I masturbated and told me it was a bad thing to do, it has been a factor. My father lectured me on it soon after that and told me it was a bad thing to do. When I was 17 or 18, my grandfather even told me it was a bad thing to do. I was 13 or 14 and was in attendance via satellite at the LDS Priesthood session when Mormon Apostle, Boyd K. Packer first delivered his infamous "Little Factory" speech. It was later printed in a little pamphlet called, "For Young Men Only." That way, I could carry the guilt around with me at all times, if I so desired. Even my younger brother once accused me of committing "adultery" though it was apparent he really didn't know what the term meant. *I* knew what he meant, however. In our home, all seven of us boys shared one bedroom and I suppose I wasn't quite as quiet as I had always thought.
So, adding the onslaught of all the masturbation guilt with a daily suppression of any positive reinforcement to my sense of self worth, I naturally became very depressed about life, felt very "unworthy" as defined by Mormonism, and as my mission approached and I battled the masturbation "problem," my depression grew exponentially in that last few months before my mission. I was told by my bishop that it was just Satan working to keep me off my mission. He even told me I should consider breaking up with my girlfriend just to make sure we didn't "do anything" to keep me off my mission.
I was successful at abstaining from masturbation for about seven or eight months before my mission. It was during the second or third month that I attempted suicide with the Tylenol. I wasn't happy in life, even as I started to succeed at suppressing my sexual urges and stopped masturbating. My bishop was pleased and I told him I was happy, just to make him more pleased. He gave me a hug and told me he was proud of me but I felt empty inside. Not because I couldn't masturbate and feel good about it, I don't think, but because I was at the bottom of a whirlpool of despondency.
So, the bishop sent in my papers for a mission and I waited for the call. I actually started to get a little excited about it. I hoped to finally get a testimony and was studying the scriptures obsessively, looking for a testimony in it's pages. I fasted and prayed often, knowing that a testimony from God would be forthcoming soon, possibly even before my mission call arrived. I had hopes of going to a foreign country. I had tested off the charts for language aptitude and I just knew I would be sent to Japan or some place equally challenging. I looked forward to it and genuinely started to get excited. Naturally, given my household environment, I didn't express my desire to go to a foreign country but kept it to myself.
The envelope came. My mother called me at work to tell me it was waiting for me at home and completely ruined the rest of my day. I was virtually useless to my employer up to quitting time. When I got home, it was late at night, my mother had gone to bed and hadn't told me where she had put the letter and I couldn't find it in any of the usual places. I didn't dare wake her up. And I didn't sleep for a very long time, naturally. I just knew I was being sent on a mission to Japan. The next morning, I finally fell asleep and slept past all my siblings leaving for school and my father leaving for work and I didn't wake up until nearly noon that day. I went looking for my mother and couldn't find her and so I started looking in the daylight for the mission call. I saw it right off on the kitchen table where we never kept mail. Oh, well, I was still excited and I opened the letter. I didn't even read it, I just scanned it quickly to see where I was going to go. Arcadia, California. Where the heck is Arcadia, CA? I dug out an atlas and found it on a map next to Pasadena. I was highly disappointed. I took the time to read the letter through and didn't learn anything really important except that I was going to be speaking English on my mission. Double whammy. I wouldn't even be learning another language.
(I should mention, in retrospect, that nearly all of the missionaries I know who went to foreign countries had really lousy experiences so from that standpoint, I'm glad I went stateside. It was bad enough as it was.)
I was somewhat depressed by the "call" and getting more depressed by the moment. My mother came in at some point in there and asked me, rather excited, where I was going to go.
"Arcadia, CA, Mom."
"Where's Arcadia, CA?"
"Right by Pasadena."
"Oh, I know where that is."
She perused my letter for a moment and went about her day without further comment. My dad held a special family home evening that night to gather all the kids around and everyone revered my mission call. I was very disappointed and over the next couple of weeks, I nearly pulled the plug on my mission. To this day, I wish I had done exactly that. Well, utlimately, I did meet my wife on my mission so that was a good thing but still, I should have been true to my self and stayed off my mission. Why did I go then? I was still feeling the pressure, generated from within and founded on years of brainwashing, the pressure of being the oldest son and having a responsibility of setting an example for my siblings. THAT was why I went on a mission in the first place, that was why I didn't pull the plug when I found out I was going on a stateside mission.
I went on my mission and through the MTC, still abstaining from masturbation. I got out into the field and made some new friends and had a rather enjoyable time. A month into my mission, however, I woke up from a wet dream one morning, with a raging erection. I suspected that the least little touch to it would bring me to orgasm. I couldn't even pee so I jumped in the shower and finally managed to pee as the warm water relaxed me just enough to do so, but it did nothing to eliminate the "problem" I had between my legs. Add to that, the fact that the images from my very erotic and hard-core sex dream were still rolling through my mind.
I tried Packer's suggestion and was singing just about every church song I knew, all at once, and rehearsing scripture after scripture in my mind.
Nothing. I still had a raging erection which demanded attention. I continued soaping myself up avoiding my penis for the moment because I knew what was next if I grabbed it to lather it up. I actually felt fear of it, as I recall. But I finished with the rest of me and it was all that was left. Still as hard as iron. I grabbed hold to lather up quickly and at that point, I think my body just took over and I automatically began masturbating. I was a couple of strokes into it before I orgasmed in the shower for the first time in over 8 months. It felt really super good but immediately, the programming of the Mormon Church and the brainwashing of it started to do its job. Guilt set in right away, followed very closely by depression. What I remember now, but didn't notice then, was the extreme relief my body felt at having gotten that out of my system. I should have been relieved and glad but noooo. I was going to have a spiralling depression about it.
I called my mom on the phone that same morning which was a big no-no for missionaries but at the time I didn't care. I was calling to tell her I was coming home because I felt like a complete and utter failure. She didn't understand why I wanted to "quit." (Her word, with all it's implications to my character. Mom was the master of guilt.) I still hadn't told her why at this point but during the course of our conversation over the next few minutes, I told her what was up. It was embarrassing to talk to my mother about my masturbation "problem" though in a "normal" mother-son relationship, I see no reason why it should be. At the time, I was mortified but I was doing things to prove that I had a reason to leave my mission. She didn't know what to say and she was just as embarrassed as I was. Her words of encouragement consisted of telling me to keep fasting and praying and God would help me so I could stay on my mission.
I hung up the phone and plodded through my day. The self-imposed trauma of it all was enough to keep me from masturbating for a couple of weeks and I started to feel confident again, like the fasting and praying was working. I didn't talk to my mission president about it at the time and thought I had the tempation pretty well conquered. I went about another four months without masturbating.
I was in a different area and again, same scenario: Wet dream, shower, masturbation. Only this time I was completely devastated by it, moreso than before, if that's possible. I really thought there was something wrong with me. I really believed I was the only man my age that was masturbating, in or out of the Mormon Church. I genuinely didn't think other guys did it and I was feeling very dirty, very worthless, very useless. I really believed God couldn't possibly love me and I for sure didn't love myself. The next morning, I jumped in the shower with a razor blade and slashed my wrists. I waited. And waited. They bled for a while and stopped. It hurt, so I didn't do it again right away. A couple of days later, I did it again, same result. The day after that, I did it again and again, same result. I couldn't even kill myself right. I found out later I had done it wrong but I won't belabor that here. In hindsight, I'm VERY glad I failed at it.
For whatever reason, in my letter to the mission president that week, I told him about it to some degree. Not in great detail because I never believed he was reading my letters first. I always figured the AP's read everything first if my letter got read at all. Somehow though, he read it and I got a call from his secretary requesting that I come in for an interview. He sent me to a psychologist who didn't have the brains of a mechanical pencil but at least she realized she wasn't adequately equipped to do anything for me. So she sent me to a psychiatrist who was able to prescribe an anti-depressant to me. He was also the first person who I told about the Tylenol attempt on my life and he was the one who told me of the potential damage it could have done to my kidneys.
He explained things really well. He said that sometimes the body gets in the habit of being depressed and the brain gets in the mode of producing "depressive" chemistry too frequently. The brain just doesn't know any better after a while and "forgets" how to make the upbeat chemistry. The anti-depressant drugs are focused on kicking the brain back into gear and into producing normal chemistry again.
I had told him about the masturbation "problem" but he never discussed it with me even though we was a Mormon psychiatrist, paid by the Mormon church. I wonder, sometimes, if he believed the depression was causing masturbation, not the other way around and that if he could cure the depression, he would cure the masturbation "problem" as a result. If so, he never told me that. In any case, about three months later, I was dutifully taking my Merital and was feeling pretty good about life. Wasn't masturbating, few or no wet dreams, nothing I couldn't dismiss in any case. In about the fourth month, the makers of Merital pulled it from the market because it was causing some kind of fatal anemia in some patients and so I didn't have my drug anymore. But I felt fine and I've never looked back, never had to get on another anti-depressant. The psychiatrist and his Merital had done the trick.
A few months later, I started masturbating again, finally, but the guilt I felt about it was very mild. I was no longer seeking a strong testimony and I was content to merely move along through my mission without worrying about it.
Looking back, I have in the past, greatly resented Mormonism and my parents for having imposed that guilt on me so traumatically and so thoroughly. According to Mormonism, the "Natural Man" is an enemy to God and I was that natural man. Somehow, somewhere along the way, I had made the connection and, being unable to overcome that natural man within me, I was an enemy to God and therefore, not worth the ground I walked on.
In retrospect, I can look back without any further anger. I'm making up for lost time now and thanks to a psychiatrist who prescribed a medical solution to a medical problem and didn't blame me for being the cause of the problem, I was able to become exactly what I am: A Natural Man, with natural and good desires and drives. There are no longer any restraints falsely posing as guides, no longer any cages falsely posing as places of serenity. No longer any guilt, no longer any pain. Nothing but freedom remains for me and my loving wife.
The only good thing that ever came out of Mormonism for me was my wife. I met her and her family while I was on my mission and while I never had an interest in her then, a time came after my misison when I went to visit them and fell in love with that same girl. She was an angel then and she is more of an angel now.
And depression? For me, it is a thing of the past. Masturbation? A thing of the present and never again the two shall meet.
Below is my e-mail to him.
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Dear Mark,
You asked me to tell my story, the story about how Mormon-instilled taboos about masturbation led me to the point of attempted suicide. That I failed at killing myself is a good thing to truly understate the obvious!
Here's my story, as best as I can remember it. As I started to write it, it really brought back a flood of memories and it fleshed out with more detail than I originally thought it might. Feel free to use it any way you wish, and when you do, sign me or credit me as . . .
--Wag--
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As an 18- or 19-year old Mormon man, I was getting ready to go on a mission. I was engaged in the regular and frequent practice of masturbation and felt guilty about it all the time. I had gotten started early at the age of seven. Of course, in Mormonism, masturbation is considered a major sin, major enough to keep people out of the temples and certainly off of a mission. In any case, while getting ready for my mission, I had confessed it to my bishop and he made the decision to keep me off my mission for a while until I could stop masturbating for a sufficient length of time.
At some point in there, I got truly despondent and took about three quarters of an economy-sized bottle of Tylenol, believing whole-heartedly that I would be dead within a couple of hours. Little did I know that it would have no effect on me and that it could have easily wiped out my kidneys. I didn't find that out until later that there are probably NO OTC meds which are potent enough to kill an adult human. I'm lucky in the sense of being alive and more lucky I didn't roast my internal organs in the process. I never told a soul about it at the time. I still genuinely believe that my intent in the attempt was two-sided. One, I was tired of life but Two, and more importantly to me at the time, was I wanted to cause pain to my parents. I really thought it would be highly embarrassing to them to have their oldest son commit suicide. I even thought that a couple of my siblings might follow in my footsteps and that pleased me even more. At some base mental level, I even thought my parents were depressive enough to follow my lead, too.
Bear in mind, however, that as I had grown up, I had been infused with a very low self-esteem and felt I was not worth the clothes on my back. I was never good enough, I was always guilty of something and never had I done something which deserved a compliment from anyone, particularly my parents from whom I should have had the most support in doing good things. I was ruled by fear and guilt levied thick upon me by my parents primarily, followed closely by the church and its representatives. Furthermore, as I was the oldest of ten children, I was supposed to be the example to the rest of my siblings and lo and behold, frequently, I was accused of being the cause of various of their delinquencies as well. A more complete mantle of guilt couldn't possibly have been conceived or executed.
There were many things which occurred during my life to destroy any sense of self-worth I might have had. Positive things were ignored at best, pushed down at worst The talent and potential I had was never recognized by my parents and therefore left unrealized. For example, when I was seven years old, I was in the third grade. My reading and comprehension was tested at a second-year university level and I was naturally reading at 1200 wpm. I'm not even sure I can still do that now! But I was never recognized for it and I never got any additional training to focus me on a path which would take advantage of those skills.
Another example is that when I was eight years old, my parents started me with piano lessons. For a while I enjoyed it, but soon I didn't want to practice any more, probably 'cause my buddies were teasing me about it. My parents forced me to continue because the piano teacher I had insisted I had talent. Actually, I just had brains and piano was not difficult to figure out. So, for about four or five years, I was forced to take piano lessons and threatened with whippings if I didn't perform well. Lo and behold, I started to get pretty good. Much to my surprise, I started to enjoy it. Then, my teacher moved and my parents ran me through a couple of other teachers but very soon, the became unavailable for some reason. I was content for a while to not have to practice any more.
But I surprised myself by actually beginning to enjoy playing, especially since I could play what I wanted to play. After a couple of years of guiding myself at the piano, I asked my parents for lessons again and they refused. That was the time when I could have really used lessons, too. I didn't make a big issue out of it and continued to play on my own and progressed to some degree. Very little, in retrospect but at the time, ignorance was bliss. I tell that as an example of how I was not given the support of my parents for the good things I was able to do and wasn't recognized for doing well. Years later, I took lessons from a concert pianist at my own initiative and made light years of progress in a very short time.
As a child, I generally got nearly perfect grades. That was because of the fear of getting my ass whipped by my old man. I was a smart kid, but it was because I didn't dare be otherwise. Indeed, as a near straigt-A student all through Junior High and High School, I can't remember once ever being told by either of my parents that I had done a great job. I do remember, however, a couple of times where I just screwed around in class and got a "D" or an "F" as a H.S. Freshman and all hell broke loose. I had gotten bored with how easy school was and it was no challenge for me, there was no motivation for me to do well. I had forgotten, however, the wrath of my old man.
That was the way it was for me as a child in my household. Keep your nose clean and never step outside the realm of perfection that my parents establish with the Mormon Church as their guide to it all. We were to be good little Mormon kids, never embarrass our parents and do everything right. Our opinions didn't matter and we were not allowed to speak outside the religious dogma that was thrust upon us. To do so was to risk the wrath of my parents, most especially my father.
My mother was a master of manipulating me through guilt me. I remember one particular occasion just after my father had lost his butt big time in his first business venture. I was about 15 and hadn't played the piano for quite a long time. My mother came to me one day and said, "Louis, your father finds a great deal of comfort when you play the piano and would very much like it if you would play once in a while." Hmmmmmm. I was a little taken aback and I said, "Okay," and moved on. However, my initial reaction inside, which I didn't dare show, was one of feeling empowered. I could finally pay back my old man! I had power, all of a sudden to cause him grief in return for the grief I had lived with all my short life. Internally, I refused to play. But in a matter of a few weeks, the drive to be accepted by my old man AND my mother, for that matter, and starving for compliments, I gave in and started playing again. And the guilt? Very much a part of my decision to play again. Never heard much more about it, though. Once in a while, I recall my father saying he liked a particular song but it was more about him controlling what I played than about giving me a compliment. He never did say that I played well.
I remember only two compliments I got from my father. There may have been more, but I don't remember them at all. Which means they were likely never given, quite frankly. One compliment was the only compliment I ever got on my grades. I had pulled straight A's on one report card and he patted me on the back and said, "Good job." That was it. The other time "I" got a "compliment" from my father was on a Monday night at Family Home Evening. He stood in front of all of us kids and said, with tears of happiness in his eyes, "Your mother and I really appreciate that you kids are well-behaved and you don't cause us any problems. We get complimented all the time by other people about how well you all behave when you're not at home." At the time, we were bubbling over about it and we felt the warm fuzzies etc. etc. Now, it just turns my stomach. My parents were saying that to them it was more important for us to keep from embarrassing them than anything else.
There are plenty of other stories to be told but I think the picture is rather clear, thus far. To automatically link the first of my suicide attempts directly to masturbation might be a little bit of a stretch. However, there can be no doubt that since the age of 12 when a bishop first asked me if I masturbated and told me it was a bad thing to do, it has been a factor. My father lectured me on it soon after that and told me it was a bad thing to do. When I was 17 or 18, my grandfather even told me it was a bad thing to do. I was 13 or 14 and was in attendance via satellite at the LDS Priesthood session when Mormon Apostle, Boyd K. Packer first delivered his infamous "Little Factory" speech. It was later printed in a little pamphlet called, "For Young Men Only." That way, I could carry the guilt around with me at all times, if I so desired. Even my younger brother once accused me of committing "adultery" though it was apparent he really didn't know what the term meant. *I* knew what he meant, however. In our home, all seven of us boys shared one bedroom and I suppose I wasn't quite as quiet as I had always thought.
So, adding the onslaught of all the masturbation guilt with a daily suppression of any positive reinforcement to my sense of self worth, I naturally became very depressed about life, felt very "unworthy" as defined by Mormonism, and as my mission approached and I battled the masturbation "problem," my depression grew exponentially in that last few months before my mission. I was told by my bishop that it was just Satan working to keep me off my mission. He even told me I should consider breaking up with my girlfriend just to make sure we didn't "do anything" to keep me off my mission.
I was successful at abstaining from masturbation for about seven or eight months before my mission. It was during the second or third month that I attempted suicide with the Tylenol. I wasn't happy in life, even as I started to succeed at suppressing my sexual urges and stopped masturbating. My bishop was pleased and I told him I was happy, just to make him more pleased. He gave me a hug and told me he was proud of me but I felt empty inside. Not because I couldn't masturbate and feel good about it, I don't think, but because I was at the bottom of a whirlpool of despondency.
So, the bishop sent in my papers for a mission and I waited for the call. I actually started to get a little excited about it. I hoped to finally get a testimony and was studying the scriptures obsessively, looking for a testimony in it's pages. I fasted and prayed often, knowing that a testimony from God would be forthcoming soon, possibly even before my mission call arrived. I had hopes of going to a foreign country. I had tested off the charts for language aptitude and I just knew I would be sent to Japan or some place equally challenging. I looked forward to it and genuinely started to get excited. Naturally, given my household environment, I didn't express my desire to go to a foreign country but kept it to myself.
The envelope came. My mother called me at work to tell me it was waiting for me at home and completely ruined the rest of my day. I was virtually useless to my employer up to quitting time. When I got home, it was late at night, my mother had gone to bed and hadn't told me where she had put the letter and I couldn't find it in any of the usual places. I didn't dare wake her up. And I didn't sleep for a very long time, naturally. I just knew I was being sent on a mission to Japan. The next morning, I finally fell asleep and slept past all my siblings leaving for school and my father leaving for work and I didn't wake up until nearly noon that day. I went looking for my mother and couldn't find her and so I started looking in the daylight for the mission call. I saw it right off on the kitchen table where we never kept mail. Oh, well, I was still excited and I opened the letter. I didn't even read it, I just scanned it quickly to see where I was going to go. Arcadia, California. Where the heck is Arcadia, CA? I dug out an atlas and found it on a map next to Pasadena. I was highly disappointed. I took the time to read the letter through and didn't learn anything really important except that I was going to be speaking English on my mission. Double whammy. I wouldn't even be learning another language.
(I should mention, in retrospect, that nearly all of the missionaries I know who went to foreign countries had really lousy experiences so from that standpoint, I'm glad I went stateside. It was bad enough as it was.)
I was somewhat depressed by the "call" and getting more depressed by the moment. My mother came in at some point in there and asked me, rather excited, where I was going to go.
"Arcadia, CA, Mom."
"Where's Arcadia, CA?"
"Right by Pasadena."
"Oh, I know where that is."
She perused my letter for a moment and went about her day without further comment. My dad held a special family home evening that night to gather all the kids around and everyone revered my mission call. I was very disappointed and over the next couple of weeks, I nearly pulled the plug on my mission. To this day, I wish I had done exactly that. Well, utlimately, I did meet my wife on my mission so that was a good thing but still, I should have been true to my self and stayed off my mission. Why did I go then? I was still feeling the pressure, generated from within and founded on years of brainwashing, the pressure of being the oldest son and having a responsibility of setting an example for my siblings. THAT was why I went on a mission in the first place, that was why I didn't pull the plug when I found out I was going on a stateside mission.
I went on my mission and through the MTC, still abstaining from masturbation. I got out into the field and made some new friends and had a rather enjoyable time. A month into my mission, however, I woke up from a wet dream one morning, with a raging erection. I suspected that the least little touch to it would bring me to orgasm. I couldn't even pee so I jumped in the shower and finally managed to pee as the warm water relaxed me just enough to do so, but it did nothing to eliminate the "problem" I had between my legs. Add to that, the fact that the images from my very erotic and hard-core sex dream were still rolling through my mind.
I tried Packer's suggestion and was singing just about every church song I knew, all at once, and rehearsing scripture after scripture in my mind.
Nothing. I still had a raging erection which demanded attention. I continued soaping myself up avoiding my penis for the moment because I knew what was next if I grabbed it to lather it up. I actually felt fear of it, as I recall. But I finished with the rest of me and it was all that was left. Still as hard as iron. I grabbed hold to lather up quickly and at that point, I think my body just took over and I automatically began masturbating. I was a couple of strokes into it before I orgasmed in the shower for the first time in over 8 months. It felt really super good but immediately, the programming of the Mormon Church and the brainwashing of it started to do its job. Guilt set in right away, followed very closely by depression. What I remember now, but didn't notice then, was the extreme relief my body felt at having gotten that out of my system. I should have been relieved and glad but noooo. I was going to have a spiralling depression about it.
I called my mom on the phone that same morning which was a big no-no for missionaries but at the time I didn't care. I was calling to tell her I was coming home because I felt like a complete and utter failure. She didn't understand why I wanted to "quit." (Her word, with all it's implications to my character. Mom was the master of guilt.) I still hadn't told her why at this point but during the course of our conversation over the next few minutes, I told her what was up. It was embarrassing to talk to my mother about my masturbation "problem" though in a "normal" mother-son relationship, I see no reason why it should be. At the time, I was mortified but I was doing things to prove that I had a reason to leave my mission. She didn't know what to say and she was just as embarrassed as I was. Her words of encouragement consisted of telling me to keep fasting and praying and God would help me so I could stay on my mission.
I hung up the phone and plodded through my day. The self-imposed trauma of it all was enough to keep me from masturbating for a couple of weeks and I started to feel confident again, like the fasting and praying was working. I didn't talk to my mission president about it at the time and thought I had the tempation pretty well conquered. I went about another four months without masturbating.
I was in a different area and again, same scenario: Wet dream, shower, masturbation. Only this time I was completely devastated by it, moreso than before, if that's possible. I really thought there was something wrong with me. I really believed I was the only man my age that was masturbating, in or out of the Mormon Church. I genuinely didn't think other guys did it and I was feeling very dirty, very worthless, very useless. I really believed God couldn't possibly love me and I for sure didn't love myself. The next morning, I jumped in the shower with a razor blade and slashed my wrists. I waited. And waited. They bled for a while and stopped. It hurt, so I didn't do it again right away. A couple of days later, I did it again, same result. The day after that, I did it again and again, same result. I couldn't even kill myself right. I found out later I had done it wrong but I won't belabor that here. In hindsight, I'm VERY glad I failed at it.
For whatever reason, in my letter to the mission president that week, I told him about it to some degree. Not in great detail because I never believed he was reading my letters first. I always figured the AP's read everything first if my letter got read at all. Somehow though, he read it and I got a call from his secretary requesting that I come in for an interview. He sent me to a psychologist who didn't have the brains of a mechanical pencil but at least she realized she wasn't adequately equipped to do anything for me. So she sent me to a psychiatrist who was able to prescribe an anti-depressant to me. He was also the first person who I told about the Tylenol attempt on my life and he was the one who told me of the potential damage it could have done to my kidneys.
He explained things really well. He said that sometimes the body gets in the habit of being depressed and the brain gets in the mode of producing "depressive" chemistry too frequently. The brain just doesn't know any better after a while and "forgets" how to make the upbeat chemistry. The anti-depressant drugs are focused on kicking the brain back into gear and into producing normal chemistry again.
I had told him about the masturbation "problem" but he never discussed it with me even though we was a Mormon psychiatrist, paid by the Mormon church. I wonder, sometimes, if he believed the depression was causing masturbation, not the other way around and that if he could cure the depression, he would cure the masturbation "problem" as a result. If so, he never told me that. In any case, about three months later, I was dutifully taking my Merital and was feeling pretty good about life. Wasn't masturbating, few or no wet dreams, nothing I couldn't dismiss in any case. In about the fourth month, the makers of Merital pulled it from the market because it was causing some kind of fatal anemia in some patients and so I didn't have my drug anymore. But I felt fine and I've never looked back, never had to get on another anti-depressant. The psychiatrist and his Merital had done the trick.
A few months later, I started masturbating again, finally, but the guilt I felt about it was very mild. I was no longer seeking a strong testimony and I was content to merely move along through my mission without worrying about it.
Looking back, I have in the past, greatly resented Mormonism and my parents for having imposed that guilt on me so traumatically and so thoroughly. According to Mormonism, the "Natural Man" is an enemy to God and I was that natural man. Somehow, somewhere along the way, I had made the connection and, being unable to overcome that natural man within me, I was an enemy to God and therefore, not worth the ground I walked on.
In retrospect, I can look back without any further anger. I'm making up for lost time now and thanks to a psychiatrist who prescribed a medical solution to a medical problem and didn't blame me for being the cause of the problem, I was able to become exactly what I am: A Natural Man, with natural and good desires and drives. There are no longer any restraints falsely posing as guides, no longer any cages falsely posing as places of serenity. No longer any guilt, no longer any pain. Nothing but freedom remains for me and my loving wife.
The only good thing that ever came out of Mormonism for me was my wife. I met her and her family while I was on my mission and while I never had an interest in her then, a time came after my misison when I went to visit them and fell in love with that same girl. She was an angel then and she is more of an angel now.
And depression? For me, it is a thing of the past. Masturbation? A thing of the present and never again the two shall meet.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Driving Test, Part III
Okay, so I failed the damn DMV Motorcycle Driving skills test a month ago. Last weekend, I took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation http://www.msf-usa.org/ Basic Safety Course. For California locations, look here: http://www.ca-msp.org/ And no, I don't represent these guys, just saying what I did. FWIW, however, I took the course with U-Ride in Costa Mesa and while I don't represent them either, I WILL recommend them as being right on top of things. Kip was a great range instructor and I can't for the life of me, remember the name of the classroom instructors. They did a great job too.
That was all last weekend. I had my DL-389 skills test waiver by Wednesday, went and got my license endorsement on Friday last week and put 400+ miles on the bike over the weekend! Ahhhhhhh. Feels good!
--Wag--
That was all last weekend. I had my DL-389 skills test waiver by Wednesday, went and got my license endorsement on Friday last week and put 400+ miles on the bike over the weekend! Ahhhhhhh. Feels good!
--Wag--
Evil T.V. Beautiful Books
As a small child, younger than five, I'm sure, I recall my father getting pissed off about something he saw on television and yanking it from the wall, marching it out to the curb and dropping it in the trash can. I was later told it was because of some filth or other he had seen on there.
Bear in mind, this was before 1970.
It made a huge impression on me. From that point on, until I left home at 17, Mom and Dad were at least conscientious about keeping books in the home for us. Bought encyclopedias for us, read to us at night before bed, the works. We had a very good collection of books for as long as I can remember. My grandparents, being professional eductors also contributed to our library and it was rather substantial and of rather high quality and diversity. Their efforts instilled a love of reading within me at a very young age. I suspect that part of it was a desire to escape the misery of the real world in a Louis L'Amour book, but that's beyond the scope of this text. There are only a very few things which my parents gave to me which are of value and this is probably the biggest and the best favor they ever did for me.
As I grew up and got good at reading, I spent a majority of my time in the library at school, reading everything I could get my hands on. At 7 years old while I was in 2nd grade, I was testing for reading and comprehension ability. As the test was evaluated, I was told I was at a second year university level on both counts. Can we say, "high potential?" I was reading 1,200 wpm which, I've been told, is pretty good. I've never tested for these traits since that time.
NOT having a T.V. was a stigma to us growing up. All of our friends thought we were weird or that our parents were. The latter had pity on us and we took frequent occasion to ask to spend Friday nights at these various friends' homes so we could watch cartoons on Saturday mornings. Summer afternoons were often wasted away watching T.V. shows like "Star Trek" and "Lost in Space." None of these shows really appealed to me since they couldn't compete with the visualizations I created while reading. It was too tough to suspend disbelief with visual effects that, well, sucked. That is, until Star Wars came out. But, since that was only a movie, I couldn't very well watch it every day, either.
Reading seems to have been a positive influence on me in several ways. Back then, I read a lot of fiction which was probably not as good for me as one might think. However, it was a good way for me to learn to spell rather well, to read fast, read well and comprehend readily. I also learned to write fairly well, though I couldn't begin to tell you what a dangling participle is or any other grammatical structure beyond nouns and verbs! Basically, I imitate other people and go with what sounds good. Here, I have to give very high credit to my grandfather who taught me more about writing in one year than most people learn in a lifetime.
By reading mostly fiction and fantasy, however, I missed out on a lot of the classics of literature. To this day, I haven't read Moby Dick, Shakespeare, etc. etc. The classics people normally speak of still have no part of my reading history. I did start to read Harper Lee's, "To Kill a Mockingbird," but it got really boring so maybe I'm just not quite smart enough for the "classics."
Back to television, to round this off, I find that it's a prime waste of time. There was a time early in our marriage when my wife and I bought a T.V. Granted, there are things like the news which have SOME redeeming qualities, SOMEtimes. I loved things like the History Channel, Discovery Channel, Animal Planet, etc. etc. Very good programming most of the time. But even now, I just find that I'd rather put in some time reading a good book or working at the piano. T.V. is a total distraction and unnecessary at that.
When we did have a T.V., I was appalled one day to notice I was scheduling my life around the programming. "No, we won't be able to make it to your party on Friday because we have other plans." The plans were, laughably, watching "Cheers" among other things. How pathetic is that?!! Well, maybe it was just us. But at some point, when we realized we were addicted to it and were doing nothing else productive in our lives, we got rid of the T.V. and to this day, we still don't have T.V. in the home. Well, that is to say, no cable, no antennae, no signal. We do watch a lot of DVD's at home on a decent T.V. but no programming.
The evils of T.V.? Well, for one thing, I think T.V. causes or at least exacerbates ADD/ADHD. Think about it: T.V. has about 6 minutes of a "show" during which the scenes change, probably every 30 seconds or so. Then you have 5 or 6 minutes of commercials where the commercial itself changes every 30 to 60 seconds and within those short time slots, the scenes change in rapid-fire style. Then, another 6 or 8 minutes of T.V. program, more commercials and on and on for as long as you're sitting there watching the show. If you get a T.V. movie, the first block and the last block are sometimes 20 or 30 minutes but they definitely make up for the lost time by using longer commercial breaks for the remainder of the movie.
So picture a kid there watching all this crap and having to tune in to an idea for an instant, then tune into something else for another instant, then something else, then something else, then something else, etc. etc. Is it any wonder that it's difficult for a kid to learn to focus on any one thing for very long?
Of course, there is the complete lack of physical activity, the loss of time which could be spent learning to play the piano or build airplanes or just ride bikes or something else which is actually productive. The "passiveness" of T.V. is simply destructive. Rest assured, there are plenty of kids who, if school weren't "required," would spend their entire days in front of the damn thing and probably do during summer breaks. Parents too, for that matter.
And parents. They make a sad case for T.V. when they frequently say, "But it's such a good babysitter!" Well, okay, I can see using it on occasion when you need a break or need to get some work done without kid distractions. But often enough, it seems parents are using it more as a crutch day by day rather than as an aid from time to time. I don't know. I don't have kids but it seems there HAS to be a better way to discharge your responsibility as a parent as opposed to letting the kids watch T.V. so much and taking the risk of ruining their mental and physical health in the process.
T.V. has provided for the pacification of people in many ways. I think a great many people are plenty content to be happy as long as they have "Sports Center," "CNN" or "General Hospital" available whenever they want it. Who gives a rat's ass about politics when you can be titillated by the MUCH more exciting "Apprentice?!" Why bother writing to a senator or other representative about your opinion when your opinion is being dictated to you by a nameless source on T.V.?
People have been squashed by it. Not to be a dire predictor of doom, but it seems we have allowed T.V. to become our new god, in spite of whatever religion we may profess to believe in. "I heard it on T.V." will become the 11th commandment if it hasn't already!
--Wag--
Bear in mind, this was before 1970.
It made a huge impression on me. From that point on, until I left home at 17, Mom and Dad were at least conscientious about keeping books in the home for us. Bought encyclopedias for us, read to us at night before bed, the works. We had a very good collection of books for as long as I can remember. My grandparents, being professional eductors also contributed to our library and it was rather substantial and of rather high quality and diversity. Their efforts instilled a love of reading within me at a very young age. I suspect that part of it was a desire to escape the misery of the real world in a Louis L'Amour book, but that's beyond the scope of this text. There are only a very few things which my parents gave to me which are of value and this is probably the biggest and the best favor they ever did for me.
As I grew up and got good at reading, I spent a majority of my time in the library at school, reading everything I could get my hands on. At 7 years old while I was in 2nd grade, I was testing for reading and comprehension ability. As the test was evaluated, I was told I was at a second year university level on both counts. Can we say, "high potential?" I was reading 1,200 wpm which, I've been told, is pretty good. I've never tested for these traits since that time.
NOT having a T.V. was a stigma to us growing up. All of our friends thought we were weird or that our parents were. The latter had pity on us and we took frequent occasion to ask to spend Friday nights at these various friends' homes so we could watch cartoons on Saturday mornings. Summer afternoons were often wasted away watching T.V. shows like "Star Trek" and "Lost in Space." None of these shows really appealed to me since they couldn't compete with the visualizations I created while reading. It was too tough to suspend disbelief with visual effects that, well, sucked. That is, until Star Wars came out. But, since that was only a movie, I couldn't very well watch it every day, either.
Reading seems to have been a positive influence on me in several ways. Back then, I read a lot of fiction which was probably not as good for me as one might think. However, it was a good way for me to learn to spell rather well, to read fast, read well and comprehend readily. I also learned to write fairly well, though I couldn't begin to tell you what a dangling participle is or any other grammatical structure beyond nouns and verbs! Basically, I imitate other people and go with what sounds good. Here, I have to give very high credit to my grandfather who taught me more about writing in one year than most people learn in a lifetime.
By reading mostly fiction and fantasy, however, I missed out on a lot of the classics of literature. To this day, I haven't read Moby Dick, Shakespeare, etc. etc. The classics people normally speak of still have no part of my reading history. I did start to read Harper Lee's, "To Kill a Mockingbird," but it got really boring so maybe I'm just not quite smart enough for the "classics."
Back to television, to round this off, I find that it's a prime waste of time. There was a time early in our marriage when my wife and I bought a T.V. Granted, there are things like the news which have SOME redeeming qualities, SOMEtimes. I loved things like the History Channel, Discovery Channel, Animal Planet, etc. etc. Very good programming most of the time. But even now, I just find that I'd rather put in some time reading a good book or working at the piano. T.V. is a total distraction and unnecessary at that.
When we did have a T.V., I was appalled one day to notice I was scheduling my life around the programming. "No, we won't be able to make it to your party on Friday because we have other plans." The plans were, laughably, watching "Cheers" among other things. How pathetic is that?!! Well, maybe it was just us. But at some point, when we realized we were addicted to it and were doing nothing else productive in our lives, we got rid of the T.V. and to this day, we still don't have T.V. in the home. Well, that is to say, no cable, no antennae, no signal. We do watch a lot of DVD's at home on a decent T.V. but no programming.
The evils of T.V.? Well, for one thing, I think T.V. causes or at least exacerbates ADD/ADHD. Think about it: T.V. has about 6 minutes of a "show" during which the scenes change, probably every 30 seconds or so. Then you have 5 or 6 minutes of commercials where the commercial itself changes every 30 to 60 seconds and within those short time slots, the scenes change in rapid-fire style. Then, another 6 or 8 minutes of T.V. program, more commercials and on and on for as long as you're sitting there watching the show. If you get a T.V. movie, the first block and the last block are sometimes 20 or 30 minutes but they definitely make up for the lost time by using longer commercial breaks for the remainder of the movie.
So picture a kid there watching all this crap and having to tune in to an idea for an instant, then tune into something else for another instant, then something else, then something else, then something else, etc. etc. Is it any wonder that it's difficult for a kid to learn to focus on any one thing for very long?
Of course, there is the complete lack of physical activity, the loss of time which could be spent learning to play the piano or build airplanes or just ride bikes or something else which is actually productive. The "passiveness" of T.V. is simply destructive. Rest assured, there are plenty of kids who, if school weren't "required," would spend their entire days in front of the damn thing and probably do during summer breaks. Parents too, for that matter.
And parents. They make a sad case for T.V. when they frequently say, "But it's such a good babysitter!" Well, okay, I can see using it on occasion when you need a break or need to get some work done without kid distractions. But often enough, it seems parents are using it more as a crutch day by day rather than as an aid from time to time. I don't know. I don't have kids but it seems there HAS to be a better way to discharge your responsibility as a parent as opposed to letting the kids watch T.V. so much and taking the risk of ruining their mental and physical health in the process.
T.V. has provided for the pacification of people in many ways. I think a great many people are plenty content to be happy as long as they have "Sports Center," "CNN" or "General Hospital" available whenever they want it. Who gives a rat's ass about politics when you can be titillated by the MUCH more exciting "Apprentice?!" Why bother writing to a senator or other representative about your opinion when your opinion is being dictated to you by a nameless source on T.V.?
People have been squashed by it. Not to be a dire predictor of doom, but it seems we have allowed T.V. to become our new god, in spite of whatever religion we may profess to believe in. "I heard it on T.V." will become the 11th commandment if it hasn't already!
--Wag--
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