When I created this blog, I decided not to make it too "politics-heavy". I did, however, decide that I would integrate a series of statuses that I posted on my Facebook profile throughout last year. These statuses consist of lessons and/or philosophies I have either learned or developed in the last three years--particularly during 2008, which was indeed a learning experience. But before I start those discussions, I need to vent something that has been on my chest for, well, my entire adult life.
Context. What is context? According to Merriam Webster Online at , the word has two definitions: 1)The parts of a discourse that surround a word or passage and can throw light on its meaning, and 2)The interrelated conditions in which something exists or occurs. Basically, context is meant to govern our interpretation of a line of discourse, whether verbal or written. The context of a discussion actually affects the discussion itself, simply because it indicates the purpose of that discussion.
For example, the 2008 elections included the controversial Proposition 8 bill. As many people are aware, this California amendment that would ban gay marriage received substantial support from members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. As a result of this substantial support from LDS church members, the LDS Church has seen its share of persecution. Protests have been staged outside of LDS temple grounds and threatening letters have been sent to leaders and ordinary members, etc.
Well, on Facebook, someone created a group calling for the end of this persecution. The creator of this group didn't agree with the LDS Church's position on gay marriage, so this group was obviously not meant as a political forum for discussion on gay marriage. But that is exactly what it became. People from both sides of the debate joined the group in an effort to vocalize their opinions on the matter. Some of them were polite, others not so polite. Either way, their purpose for joining the forum was irrelevant to the purpose--or context--of the forum itself. Some even assumed the creator of the group was anti-gay marriage simply because she created it!
My question to that is, since when does defending one person or group's civil rights equate with agreeing with the position or actions for which their civil rights are being violated? To me that is no different from persecuting those that contributed to the conviction of Jack Ruby, who shot JFK assassin Lee Harvey Oswald while Oswald was being transferred from police headquarters to the county jail. Persecuting the LDS Church would be like accusing those people of sympathizing with Oswald just because they didn't let his killer walk. If we were to do that, we would be taking things out of context by forgetting the actual reason for Ruby's arrest--the fact that he broke the law by killing somebody. The creator of the aforementioned Facebook group was not against gay marriage, but she was against persecuting anyone for exercising their rights as a U.S. citizen.
Now I could attribute this lament to my background in English, but in truth, I have been this way for as long as I can remember. I remember taking a Political Science course during my second semester at USU. One day, our professor was discussing Presidential elections through the years and the demographics on who voted for whom. He brought up the interesting fact that even though there are more female voters than male voters, we have yet to elect a female President. "Why?" he asked. Well, my mother didn't raise a fool, so I was perfectly aware that female voters over the age of 50, many of whom were part of the Baby Boom generation and therefore made a vast contribution to the female majority, had grown up in the 19th Amendment's infancy. By infancy, I mean the first 50 years. The way I see it, it takes much longer than that to eradicate a mindset that has characterized both male and female thinking for thousands of years: the idea that men are more capable leaders than women.
Long story short, I raised my hand and offered that explanation. I believe my words were something to the effect of, "Because many women still believe that men are more capable of running the country than women." Everyone in the room gasped as soon as I said that. The guy sitting behind me said, "That was the wrong thing to say." You'd have thought that I had said, "Men are more capable leaders than women." That was not the case at all! For the record, let's use some common sense. Women in the U.S. have only had voting rights since 1920, and while there were a few women here and there who had run for public office before then, most of them were write-in candidates. Since then, only two women have represented the two major parties in the Presidential elections: Geraldine Ferraro in 1984, and most recently, Sarah Palin. Both of them were Vice-Presidential candidates, so we have yet to break the Presidential candidate barrier. Can you think of a better explanation for that phenomenon?
Now I don't have an exact figure, so one might say that while there are more female voters than male voters, the Democratic and Republican conventions that nominate their candidates are mostly male, but that just substantiates my point. Why aren't there more female politicians to nominate female candidates? Could it be lack of interest? Maybe, but I believe that a person's lack of interest in something is often fostered by a belief in their ability to succeed at it. I don't like science, partially because I don't think I have a brain for it. I used to hate the game Settlers of Catan until I became good at it. But I digress. My statement was a valid one, as acknowledged by my professor. There may be other explanations that I didn't think of at the time, but the point is that because my statement was taken out of context, I was for a brief moment being labeled as a sexist. I suppose that is why I utterly despise the act of taking things out of context.
As another example, I used to do volunteer tutoring in Roslindale, just a few miles west of downtown Boston. Most of the students are Hatian and therefore black. One time, as my student was wandering off from our table, I said, "Hey Jeff, what are you doing, boy?" I don't know why I added that last word, but he is a boy--a boy of 13, to be exact. However, I don't think I need to tell you the potentially dangerous misunderstanding that could have caused. Fortunately, the students who heard me just laughed, and they laughed at my reaction when I realized what I had just said. Imagine, though, what could have happened if they had decided that my comment was meant as a racial slur.
I hope I don't sound irritable in this post, or worse, arrogant and hypocritical. I am in nowise perfect in this regard, so sometimes I have to back up and consider the discussion taking place and whether my interpretation of the topic is how the instigator intended it. We need to listen to each other more, and not try so much to formulate our arguments in response not to what the other person said, but what we wish they had said. So many people in the aftermath of Prop 8 wanted an excuse to discuss their views, so when they saw that Facebook Group, all they saw in the title was Proposition 8. In a Political Science class, feminism is always a popular topic, so my classmates removed the quotation marks from my statement and simply attributed it to me. It is during these serious and potentially volatile situations that I abhor the idea of taking someone's words or actions out of context to further one's own agenda and completely ignore the context itself, which oftentimes validates those words or actions. When we do this, we are irresponsibly putting someone's reputation at risk.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
My Summer
So it has been nearly four months since my last post, which probably explains why I have only two followers, neither of whom is my mother, so that's pretty bad. However, I know she reads it because she asked me a couple of months ago when I was going to post again. Then again, she may have been using those annoying maternal powers of revelation--the very same that told her I was playing nintendo when I should have been doing yard work during summer vacation as a kid, thus prompting her to call from work and check on me--to trick me into thinking that I have a third follower, albeit unofficial.
Unapologetically, I have consumed the entire summer without so much as a quickie on this blog of mine, simply because not too many events of a significant nature have occurred, at least nothing significant in my life or here in Boston. I don't intend to bore you with my vacation exploits, unless something spectacular occurred in the process, such as finding myself at the beach like my friend Chris Alexander...seriously, I saw the photos on his blog, and he met a kid at the beach who looked exactly like he did 15 or 20 years ago! The closest I've ever come to that was three years ago, when my friend Ruthann set me up with a girl in her ward who looked more like me than my own sister. But I digress.
Some important things did happen since my last post. First, in early April, my friend Rob Briggs and I performed in the LP2 Ward Talent Show. We performed in it last year as well, singing Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive". We received high accolades then, and this year was no different. We performed Sister Hazel's "All for You", one of my favorites from high school. I still wonder if the end started to deteriorate in quality, as I could feel both hands start to weaken as they pressed and strummed the strings during the last verse. No matter, because Rob's lead part came in soon after and stayed dominant for the rest of the song. Rob is a gifted guitarist, and since I started playing with him when I first came to Boston, he has helped me become a better musician just by example.
Sadly, he has left me for Rexburg, Idaho. He actually left the day after the talent show, so we had a going away party for him at someone's house in Allston. He drove all the way out there, and it seems to have paid off for him. He has since joined some sort of guitarist publicity organization at BYU Idaho, and he has made it into every talent show he has auditioned for. Since he left, I haven't really found anybody to jam with, though I have been busy anyway.
I moved. I finally left the Back Bay. Thanks to the ugly parking situation in Downtown Boston, I decided I could live without having a Radio Shack, a Boston Market, a pharmacy, and a Post Office right across my street. I actually moved a total of three times. I first stayed with the Briggs' in Lexington for a couple of weeks because the original place I had found didn't work out, and I had already found a replacement. It was a fabulous two weeks, stocked with cooked meals, easy parking, and cable TV. I then moved into an apartment in Brighton with one other roommate, Andrew Hansen from the Charles River Ward -- the 31 and older ward. I was replacing my former "hometeachee", Devin Mackay, who had just gotten married. I was taking the tail end of his lease and was prepared to renew the lease when it expired at the end of July. The place was roomy, boasting the coveted living room that had eluded me during my months in the Back Bay, as well as a kitchen big enough for me to turn on the stove and then turn around without bumping into the refrigerator. Andrew is also a minimalist and is very clean. Besides, we had the spiritual benefit of living above the sister missionaries. And of course, I was living less than a mile away from Stephanie and Jan Marie. What could be better?
But it was not to be. Shortly after moving into Brighton, I was searching the LDS housing website for the Boston area just for kicks and giggles. Scrolling down the Gentleman section, the entries of which are curiously almost always expired by the time I read them, I came across an entry with a familiar address: 580 High Street, Medford, Massachusetts. Why was this address familiar? I am not ashamed to say that not only were there sisters in the singles wards living there at the moment (that's not the 'not ashamed to say' part), but I had also been there on three different occasions because I had been on dates with two of the sisters that lived there (that's the 'not ashamed to say' part).
Trent Ostler, a former LP2 member who had been going to law school at BYU, was looking for three guys to move with him into the place. I remembered what the place looked like, so I was immediately interested. I then called Anna, one of the sisters I knew there, to inquire about the place. I assumed the girls were all moving out, but while that was true, she told me that Trent was advertising for the downstairs unit. A week later, I went out to look at the place and almost immediately fell in love. It had a hardwood main floor and a carpeted, finished basement level, a kitchen and bathroom on each level, and tons of spacious rooms. Most importantly, it was a house! I had wanted to live in a house ever since I had left the Briggs' house last year, and the dream was finally coming true. Not only that, the rent was super cheap. I immediately decided that I would not be renewing my lease in Brighton. Even though I would be leaving LP1 to return to LP2, it wasn't that big of a deal. I have learned my way around Boston over the past year and feel like I can get around no matter where I'm living. I don't need to live close to a T or even close to my friends to have easy access to the social scene. In fact, Trent and I have already agreed that our place in Medford will be the social scene!
Long story short, I have since moved into Medford, and I love it! After figuring out some logistics and buying supplies for the place, I'm pretty much loving life. There aren't as many grocery stores or restaurants close by like there were in Brighton, but I definitely have sufficient for my needs. I also have easy access to a freeway that will get me to church in just 15 minutes at the new Stake Center in East Cambridge. If I want to spend the evening in downtown Boston, I have only to take the 94 bus into Davis Square and take the Red Line right into Park Street, or I can simply park my car at the meters close to the church in East Cambridge--meters which are free after 6:00 p.m. as opposed to the rest of Cambridge, where the hours have recently been extended to 8:00 p.m.--and make a quick jaunt over to Central Square, from where I can also take the Red Line. As for my friends in Brighton, these days a 20-minute drive doesn't seem so long.
Interestingly enough, one of the primary factors in my decision to move into Medford was that it would be closer to work. Indeed, since it is right by I-93, it would be just a 30-minute drive up to Tewksbury. In Brighton, I was currently driving 40-45 minutes, so of course Medford was the better deal. Ironically, just a week after deciding to move to Medford, I was transferred to the Raytheon facility in Sudbury, about 20 miles west of Boston, and more importantly, 20 miles southwest of Medford. Who knew? Technically I did, but they had been talking about sending me to Sudbury for months, and it just wasn't happening. I suppose, however, that it was a good thing I hadn't decided to move to Andover, a town right next to Tewksbury, like I had briefly considered while still in the Back Bay. It just goes to show that things rarely go as planned, at least not perfectly.
Just to be clear, Sudbury is geographically closer to Medford than Tewksbury is, as it is to Brighton as well. But no matter where in the greater Boston area you're coming from, you can count on a peaceful, leisurely 40 mph drive down Rt. 20 during the last nine miles of your commute. This is because the closest freeways are I-95--which runs north-south and has an exit onto Rt. 20 in Weston, still nine miles east of Sudbury--and I-90, which is three miles south of Rt. 20 by the time you get that far west. Therefore, your commute will always be however long it takes to get to Weston, plus 15-20 minutes depending on traffic. Medford is a good 10 or 11 miles from Weston, so I wasn't counting on making it there in 10 minutes.
I spent six weeks driving from Brighton to Sudbury, and that drive wasn't ideal. True, Rt. 20 goes right through Brighton, but the stretch that runs through Watertown and Newton can be kind of tumultuous. Mind you, you're still in Greater Boston, so you're subject to crazy intersections of the worst kind. Besides the place in Newtown where they randomly placed a stoplight for pedestrians (no intersection, just a crosswalk accompanied by a stoplight), there were at least two crooked intersections--you know, intersections where the road on the right doesn't align with the road on the left. We had one back in Logan, and the remedy was simple: Make it a four-way stop. Here in Boston, the solution was to add two separate stoplights. You can imagine the traffic congestion that tends to cause, especially since once you're through one stoplight, you're already facing another. Translation: A 40-minute commute. I suppose it could have been worse. Once you get to Weston, the traffic coming into Boston is much, much worse. The traffic is almost always bumper-to-bumper. The opposite is true at the end of the day. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Medford has proven to be different. Despite adding five miles to my commute, if I leave no later than 7:00, I can get to I-95 within 10-15 minutes, after which it takes me just five minutes or so to get to the Weston exit. Translation: I can easily make it to work within 30-35 minutes! For once, GoogleMap got it right and my GPS can take a hike. And I should point out that included in my transfer was a switch in positions. I am no longer writing, but editing. This has since broadened my exposure to the different projects Raytheon is working on, as I perform quality reviews on manuals from several different programs. Both my former Team Lead and my former Supervisor felt this would be a nice fit for me, and it has. At first there was some confusion determining process when it comes to quality reviews, but that has since been cleared up, and I feel like I have been doing this job for years.
So why am I telling you all this? Probably because in retrospect I feel like my decision to move to Medford was inspired. One might attach simple logic to the equation, as the rent is cheaper, the parking is easier, and at the time, the commute to work was shorter. But why do logic and inspiration have to be mutually exclusive? I feel God doesn't expect us to make inspired decisions that are illogical. Sometimes the logic just takes a while to present itself. I should point out that I left Lexington last year for the same considerations that I disregarded when I moved to Medford. I wanted to be closer to a T, I wanted to be closer to my friends, I wanted to be closer to Boston. Those all seemed like logical considerations at the time, and yet they led me into a very illogical situation in the Back Bay. Logic on its own seems to have failed me in the past from time to time.
Besides, I ended up getting transferred, and things have still worked out in better ways than logic could have conjured up. My previous concerns seem so petty and unimportant, and I feel happier--perhaps because I am starting to focus on the more important things in the eternal perspective and less on those temporal things that have often left me feeling empty and disappointed. Medford life is much calmer than the Back Bay anyway--so calm that when I went out to my vehicle this morning and found that someone had broken my sideview mirror (just the glass), I felt very little frustration. Of course that means I'm going to start parking in our driveway--rather than on the side of the busy street in front of our house, but that's probably why I'm calm. Frustration arises when bad things happen that we don't feel we can control, and in the Back Bay I didn't feel in control of very much at all. It was a last-second choice after the deal in Somerville fell through, and it was a choice I didn't feel good about. But I felt good about Medford, and I feel that because I acted on those feelings, I have more control, more choices. Honestly, God gives us what we can handle, and I can handle what I have been given.
Unapologetically, I have consumed the entire summer without so much as a quickie on this blog of mine, simply because not too many events of a significant nature have occurred, at least nothing significant in my life or here in Boston. I don't intend to bore you with my vacation exploits, unless something spectacular occurred in the process, such as finding myself at the beach like my friend Chris Alexander...seriously, I saw the photos on his blog, and he met a kid at the beach who looked exactly like he did 15 or 20 years ago! The closest I've ever come to that was three years ago, when my friend Ruthann set me up with a girl in her ward who looked more like me than my own sister. But I digress.
Some important things did happen since my last post. First, in early April, my friend Rob Briggs and I performed in the LP2 Ward Talent Show. We performed in it last year as well, singing Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive". We received high accolades then, and this year was no different. We performed Sister Hazel's "All for You", one of my favorites from high school. I still wonder if the end started to deteriorate in quality, as I could feel both hands start to weaken as they pressed and strummed the strings during the last verse. No matter, because Rob's lead part came in soon after and stayed dominant for the rest of the song. Rob is a gifted guitarist, and since I started playing with him when I first came to Boston, he has helped me become a better musician just by example.
Sadly, he has left me for Rexburg, Idaho. He actually left the day after the talent show, so we had a going away party for him at someone's house in Allston. He drove all the way out there, and it seems to have paid off for him. He has since joined some sort of guitarist publicity organization at BYU Idaho, and he has made it into every talent show he has auditioned for. Since he left, I haven't really found anybody to jam with, though I have been busy anyway.
I moved. I finally left the Back Bay. Thanks to the ugly parking situation in Downtown Boston, I decided I could live without having a Radio Shack, a Boston Market, a pharmacy, and a Post Office right across my street. I actually moved a total of three times. I first stayed with the Briggs' in Lexington for a couple of weeks because the original place I had found didn't work out, and I had already found a replacement. It was a fabulous two weeks, stocked with cooked meals, easy parking, and cable TV. I then moved into an apartment in Brighton with one other roommate, Andrew Hansen from the Charles River Ward -- the 31 and older ward. I was replacing my former "hometeachee", Devin Mackay, who had just gotten married. I was taking the tail end of his lease and was prepared to renew the lease when it expired at the end of July. The place was roomy, boasting the coveted living room that had eluded me during my months in the Back Bay, as well as a kitchen big enough for me to turn on the stove and then turn around without bumping into the refrigerator. Andrew is also a minimalist and is very clean. Besides, we had the spiritual benefit of living above the sister missionaries. And of course, I was living less than a mile away from Stephanie and Jan Marie. What could be better?
But it was not to be. Shortly after moving into Brighton, I was searching the LDS housing website for the Boston area just for kicks and giggles. Scrolling down the Gentleman section, the entries of which are curiously almost always expired by the time I read them, I came across an entry with a familiar address: 580 High Street, Medford, Massachusetts. Why was this address familiar? I am not ashamed to say that not only were there sisters in the singles wards living there at the moment (that's not the 'not ashamed to say' part), but I had also been there on three different occasions because I had been on dates with two of the sisters that lived there (that's the 'not ashamed to say' part).
Trent Ostler, a former LP2 member who had been going to law school at BYU, was looking for three guys to move with him into the place. I remembered what the place looked like, so I was immediately interested. I then called Anna, one of the sisters I knew there, to inquire about the place. I assumed the girls were all moving out, but while that was true, she told me that Trent was advertising for the downstairs unit. A week later, I went out to look at the place and almost immediately fell in love. It had a hardwood main floor and a carpeted, finished basement level, a kitchen and bathroom on each level, and tons of spacious rooms. Most importantly, it was a house! I had wanted to live in a house ever since I had left the Briggs' house last year, and the dream was finally coming true. Not only that, the rent was super cheap. I immediately decided that I would not be renewing my lease in Brighton. Even though I would be leaving LP1 to return to LP2, it wasn't that big of a deal. I have learned my way around Boston over the past year and feel like I can get around no matter where I'm living. I don't need to live close to a T or even close to my friends to have easy access to the social scene. In fact, Trent and I have already agreed that our place in Medford will be the social scene!
Long story short, I have since moved into Medford, and I love it! After figuring out some logistics and buying supplies for the place, I'm pretty much loving life. There aren't as many grocery stores or restaurants close by like there were in Brighton, but I definitely have sufficient for my needs. I also have easy access to a freeway that will get me to church in just 15 minutes at the new Stake Center in East Cambridge. If I want to spend the evening in downtown Boston, I have only to take the 94 bus into Davis Square and take the Red Line right into Park Street, or I can simply park my car at the meters close to the church in East Cambridge--meters which are free after 6:00 p.m. as opposed to the rest of Cambridge, where the hours have recently been extended to 8:00 p.m.--and make a quick jaunt over to Central Square, from where I can also take the Red Line. As for my friends in Brighton, these days a 20-minute drive doesn't seem so long.
Interestingly enough, one of the primary factors in my decision to move into Medford was that it would be closer to work. Indeed, since it is right by I-93, it would be just a 30-minute drive up to Tewksbury. In Brighton, I was currently driving 40-45 minutes, so of course Medford was the better deal. Ironically, just a week after deciding to move to Medford, I was transferred to the Raytheon facility in Sudbury, about 20 miles west of Boston, and more importantly, 20 miles southwest of Medford. Who knew? Technically I did, but they had been talking about sending me to Sudbury for months, and it just wasn't happening. I suppose, however, that it was a good thing I hadn't decided to move to Andover, a town right next to Tewksbury, like I had briefly considered while still in the Back Bay. It just goes to show that things rarely go as planned, at least not perfectly.
Just to be clear, Sudbury is geographically closer to Medford than Tewksbury is, as it is to Brighton as well. But no matter where in the greater Boston area you're coming from, you can count on a peaceful, leisurely 40 mph drive down Rt. 20 during the last nine miles of your commute. This is because the closest freeways are I-95--which runs north-south and has an exit onto Rt. 20 in Weston, still nine miles east of Sudbury--and I-90, which is three miles south of Rt. 20 by the time you get that far west. Therefore, your commute will always be however long it takes to get to Weston, plus 15-20 minutes depending on traffic. Medford is a good 10 or 11 miles from Weston, so I wasn't counting on making it there in 10 minutes.
I spent six weeks driving from Brighton to Sudbury, and that drive wasn't ideal. True, Rt. 20 goes right through Brighton, but the stretch that runs through Watertown and Newton can be kind of tumultuous. Mind you, you're still in Greater Boston, so you're subject to crazy intersections of the worst kind. Besides the place in Newtown where they randomly placed a stoplight for pedestrians (no intersection, just a crosswalk accompanied by a stoplight), there were at least two crooked intersections--you know, intersections where the road on the right doesn't align with the road on the left. We had one back in Logan, and the remedy was simple: Make it a four-way stop. Here in Boston, the solution was to add two separate stoplights. You can imagine the traffic congestion that tends to cause, especially since once you're through one stoplight, you're already facing another. Translation: A 40-minute commute. I suppose it could have been worse. Once you get to Weston, the traffic coming into Boston is much, much worse. The traffic is almost always bumper-to-bumper. The opposite is true at the end of the day. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Medford has proven to be different. Despite adding five miles to my commute, if I leave no later than 7:00, I can get to I-95 within 10-15 minutes, after which it takes me just five minutes or so to get to the Weston exit. Translation: I can easily make it to work within 30-35 minutes! For once, GoogleMap got it right and my GPS can take a hike. And I should point out that included in my transfer was a switch in positions. I am no longer writing, but editing. This has since broadened my exposure to the different projects Raytheon is working on, as I perform quality reviews on manuals from several different programs. Both my former Team Lead and my former Supervisor felt this would be a nice fit for me, and it has. At first there was some confusion determining process when it comes to quality reviews, but that has since been cleared up, and I feel like I have been doing this job for years.
So why am I telling you all this? Probably because in retrospect I feel like my decision to move to Medford was inspired. One might attach simple logic to the equation, as the rent is cheaper, the parking is easier, and at the time, the commute to work was shorter. But why do logic and inspiration have to be mutually exclusive? I feel God doesn't expect us to make inspired decisions that are illogical. Sometimes the logic just takes a while to present itself. I should point out that I left Lexington last year for the same considerations that I disregarded when I moved to Medford. I wanted to be closer to a T, I wanted to be closer to my friends, I wanted to be closer to Boston. Those all seemed like logical considerations at the time, and yet they led me into a very illogical situation in the Back Bay. Logic on its own seems to have failed me in the past from time to time.
Besides, I ended up getting transferred, and things have still worked out in better ways than logic could have conjured up. My previous concerns seem so petty and unimportant, and I feel happier--perhaps because I am starting to focus on the more important things in the eternal perspective and less on those temporal things that have often left me feeling empty and disappointed. Medford life is much calmer than the Back Bay anyway--so calm that when I went out to my vehicle this morning and found that someone had broken my sideview mirror (just the glass), I felt very little frustration. Of course that means I'm going to start parking in our driveway--rather than on the side of the busy street in front of our house, but that's probably why I'm calm. Frustration arises when bad things happen that we don't feel we can control, and in the Back Bay I didn't feel in control of very much at all. It was a last-second choice after the deal in Somerville fell through, and it was a choice I didn't feel good about. But I felt good about Medford, and I feel that because I acted on those feelings, I have more control, more choices. Honestly, God gives us what we can handle, and I can handle what I have been given.
My Stepbrother
I also want to talk about something else that happened this summer: My stepbrother was deployed to Iraq.
I should mention that it was just my older sister and I that lived with our mother and stepfather growing up. Our two older stepbrothers lived with their mother in Sandy and visited us regularly on weekends. They would often go on family trips with us and even joined us a few times for Christmas and Thanksgiving in Idaho. They also appeared with us in family pictures. They were truly part of the family, though it took me a long time to internalize that fact. For the longest time as a kid, when people would ask me how many siblings I had, I would answer that I had one older sister.
That changed somewhere down the road, probably when my oldest niece was born. By that time, both of my stepbrothers were out on their own and still visited us on a regular basis. Shortly after Tacy was born, Trevor visited us at our house in South Jordan and said, "I came to see my niece." Now I don't think that was the only reason he had come, but the fact that he said that really struck a chord in my 16-year-old self. She truly was his niece. Despite living several miles away from us while growing up, he and Kevin had truly established themselves as integral parts of our family. I can still recall those times in the car when the radio would be playing oldies and we would all start clapping and swaying in our seats to the Four Seasons. We would often talk about creating a family group like the Jackson 5. I remember how, when they came to visit on weekends, my bedroom would usually be the social scene, and we would record talk shows on my tape recorder with Trevor as the host. Then there were the times when I would "help" Trevor mow the monstrous double-lawn in our backyard. This consisted of me standing right in front of the lawnmower with my tiny hands (tinier than they are today) weakly gripping the handle, while he would stand behind me with his much stronger arms on either side of me firmly gripping the handle and do the actual mowing. I eventually inherited that job.
Just now, as I write this, I particularly remember when Rochelle and I were fighting over who got to sit in the back seat of our minivan as we were preparing to go to dinner. For some reason, the back seat of that vehicle was coveted much more than the middle seat, probably because the seats felt just like the front seat--molded to complement your backside and therefore somewhat more comfortable than the middle seat. Anyway, Trevor rose to my defense and lectured Rochelle about being fair and letting me have a turn. Mind you, he's 5 1/2 years older than I and 3 1/2 years older than she, so he spoke with unspoken authority, and he was using it to defend the youngest, and at the time the most defenseless, member of our family--me! That is what family is.
And yet, once I got into high school, college, the mission, and then college again, my stepbrothers and I drifted apart a bit. Sure we still saw each other frequently, but we were doing our own thing. It wasn't until I was in graduate school that we began communicating beyond a superficial level. This was because Trevor had since married Denise, with whom I eventually bonded over our love for the Denver Broncos and anybody that played the Raiders. She also isn't bad at word games like Scrabble and Quiddler. This resulted in me getting to know Trevor again as well, and we soon bonded over the TV show "Scrubs." In fact, shortly after leaving for Boston, I added him as a friend on Facebook, and when he accepted, I posted on his Wall and teased him with a variation of a Scrubs quote that he totally got. He posted back and conceded that he was impressed with my quip--that never happened before! He was so impressed that he even shared it with Denise, who subsequently continued with the line following that quote. "Wow!" I thought, "My stepbrother likes me!"
But all that doesn't quite amount to the sense of admiration I unexpectedly felt when Trevor was deployed back in July. Honestly, I didn't think it would affect me that much. True, I was raised around patriots--including a grandfather who fought as a marine in WWII, several uncles who served in Vietnam, and a stepfather who recently retired from the Utah National Guard--so I understand what it means to serve your country. One of the reasons I wanted to work for a defense contractor is because, due to my medical record, it is the closest I will ever get to serving in the military. But I did not expect to look at Trevor any differently. It was as if a light bulb had suddenly turned on in my head, and I realized, "This is huge! This is my oldest sibling, and he is leaving his family to defend the freedom of complete strangers!" You don't have to be religious to know that such a sacrifice is a defining characteristic of charity and pure love.
So with that said, I am proud to call him my stepbrother. I know I said on Facebook recently that I might drop the 'step' and call him my brother, but that may take time. Old habits die hard, I guess. But whatever I call him, he is in fact a part of my family and life that I truly respect and appreciate...even if I did call him Shirley in my last post on his Wall.
I should mention that it was just my older sister and I that lived with our mother and stepfather growing up. Our two older stepbrothers lived with their mother in Sandy and visited us regularly on weekends. They would often go on family trips with us and even joined us a few times for Christmas and Thanksgiving in Idaho. They also appeared with us in family pictures. They were truly part of the family, though it took me a long time to internalize that fact. For the longest time as a kid, when people would ask me how many siblings I had, I would answer that I had one older sister.
That changed somewhere down the road, probably when my oldest niece was born. By that time, both of my stepbrothers were out on their own and still visited us on a regular basis. Shortly after Tacy was born, Trevor visited us at our house in South Jordan and said, "I came to see my niece." Now I don't think that was the only reason he had come, but the fact that he said that really struck a chord in my 16-year-old self. She truly was his niece. Despite living several miles away from us while growing up, he and Kevin had truly established themselves as integral parts of our family. I can still recall those times in the car when the radio would be playing oldies and we would all start clapping and swaying in our seats to the Four Seasons. We would often talk about creating a family group like the Jackson 5. I remember how, when they came to visit on weekends, my bedroom would usually be the social scene, and we would record talk shows on my tape recorder with Trevor as the host. Then there were the times when I would "help" Trevor mow the monstrous double-lawn in our backyard. This consisted of me standing right in front of the lawnmower with my tiny hands (tinier than they are today) weakly gripping the handle, while he would stand behind me with his much stronger arms on either side of me firmly gripping the handle and do the actual mowing. I eventually inherited that job.
Just now, as I write this, I particularly remember when Rochelle and I were fighting over who got to sit in the back seat of our minivan as we were preparing to go to dinner. For some reason, the back seat of that vehicle was coveted much more than the middle seat, probably because the seats felt just like the front seat--molded to complement your backside and therefore somewhat more comfortable than the middle seat. Anyway, Trevor rose to my defense and lectured Rochelle about being fair and letting me have a turn. Mind you, he's 5 1/2 years older than I and 3 1/2 years older than she, so he spoke with unspoken authority, and he was using it to defend the youngest, and at the time the most defenseless, member of our family--me! That is what family is.
And yet, once I got into high school, college, the mission, and then college again, my stepbrothers and I drifted apart a bit. Sure we still saw each other frequently, but we were doing our own thing. It wasn't until I was in graduate school that we began communicating beyond a superficial level. This was because Trevor had since married Denise, with whom I eventually bonded over our love for the Denver Broncos and anybody that played the Raiders. She also isn't bad at word games like Scrabble and Quiddler. This resulted in me getting to know Trevor again as well, and we soon bonded over the TV show "Scrubs." In fact, shortly after leaving for Boston, I added him as a friend on Facebook, and when he accepted, I posted on his Wall and teased him with a variation of a Scrubs quote that he totally got. He posted back and conceded that he was impressed with my quip--that never happened before! He was so impressed that he even shared it with Denise, who subsequently continued with the line following that quote. "Wow!" I thought, "My stepbrother likes me!"
But all that doesn't quite amount to the sense of admiration I unexpectedly felt when Trevor was deployed back in July. Honestly, I didn't think it would affect me that much. True, I was raised around patriots--including a grandfather who fought as a marine in WWII, several uncles who served in Vietnam, and a stepfather who recently retired from the Utah National Guard--so I understand what it means to serve your country. One of the reasons I wanted to work for a defense contractor is because, due to my medical record, it is the closest I will ever get to serving in the military. But I did not expect to look at Trevor any differently. It was as if a light bulb had suddenly turned on in my head, and I realized, "This is huge! This is my oldest sibling, and he is leaving his family to defend the freedom of complete strangers!" You don't have to be religious to know that such a sacrifice is a defining characteristic of charity and pure love.
So with that said, I am proud to call him my stepbrother. I know I said on Facebook recently that I might drop the 'step' and call him my brother, but that may take time. Old habits die hard, I guess. But whatever I call him, he is in fact a part of my family and life that I truly respect and appreciate...even if I did call him Shirley in my last post on his Wall.
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