Too Old For Church

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by DeanJ (bio)
 
Stunningly at thirty-something I have the ability to longingly gaze into the past. Specifically, this time, at the years growing up and going to church. And I realized that there are a lot of things you just can't do after a certain age in church. Shall we?

I am too old to keep the sacrament cup and play with it in my mouth. This sounds odd, but in little Dean's younger years this was the holy grail to sneak past mom and dad in church.

I am too old to eat my kids treats we bring to feed them/shut them up during church. Sometimes when I get to church I realize I forgot to feed myself, and suddenly Cheerio's and goldfish look delicious.

I am too old to fold the program into a paper airplane or fortune game. Well, I am for myself but if my son wants some help or pointers I should teach him.

I am too old to go get a drink from the fountain more than once. It looks bad and then the kids wonder why they can't go do it.

I am too old to go to the bathroom more than once. Or as most people use it for: a lap around the building.

I am too old to lean over and *cough* yeah right *cough* to my wife during testimony meeting.

I am too old to throw a fit just so I can go sit in the nice air-conditioned hallway instead of the hot sacrament meeting room.

I am too old to turn around, stand on the pew and stare at the people behind me so I can put faces to the unbelievable story I just eaves-dropped on.

I am too old to go sit by my friends when I see them across the room. And they have better toys than we brought.

I am too old to actually watch the movie on the iPad (on mute of course) during sacrament that is keeping my two year-old from having a nervous breakdown.

Modern Mormon Motivational Posters 1

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by DeanJ (bio)

"Perhaps you are having a little too much fun being single, taking extravagant vacations, buying expensive cars and toys, and just generally enjoying the carefree life with your friends. I've encountered groups of you running around together, and I admit that I've wondered why you aren't out with the young ladies."

- President Monson, General Conference - Priesthood Session, April 2011

Reserved Seating

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by DeanJ (bio)

The only time I get nervous walking into the chapel at church is when we are visiting a ward for a family or friends blessing/talk. The nervousness is caused by a very common activity no one talks about in church - Reserved Seating. I'm not talking about people laying out their jackets or purses to save a seat. I mean the families in your ward that sit in the same seat every week.

I can tell you where most people in my ward sit, and they can tell you where I sit. And it's a funny thing because you don't get an assigned seat in your bishop's interview. Just some families have their little groove. And when you walk into a different ward you are usually early because you needed the extra time to find the building or you knew it was going to be packed and wanted to get a seat. When you show up early to a different ward you notice two things.

1 - You have your pick of the seats. You can sit anywhere! And in a weird role playing game you can see what it feels like to sit in the Brown's family isle or the Smith's family corner! You can be any of these families and they will never know. You can sit up front and center like a good sunbeam. You can sit in a side isle casually. You can sit in the back on the folding chairs like a good guest.

2 - You become painfully aware as every person walks by. You try to casually look at their face to see if you have taken their assigned seating.

Have you ever had anyone take your reserved seat? It throws off your next 75 minutes. Your kids were used to sitting on the pew. Now they are stuck in the folding chairs that tip back way to easy. Suddenly all the speakers seem foreign when viewed from the left side of the room. The kids think they are on vacation and are getting acquainted with all the new people around them. And all these new people your kids are staring at? They are wondering why you are sitting in their section and what have you done with the Jones's?

And you can't do anything about it. If you are in their seat they aren't going to ask you to move. They will just stare at the back of your mean seat-stealing-head all meeting. And now you feel like a jerk. You know why you feel like a jerk? Because deep down you know that you have broken the reserved seat rule. And the only reason you know you broke it is because you have your own little reserved seats back at your ward. That some family is in right now pretending to be you.

The Drain

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by DeanJ (bio)

I was brushing my teeth the other morning in a bit of a hurry. As I put the tooth paste on my tooth brush, I looked at the sink with a weird sense of dread. I put the lid back on the tooth paste and my wet finger dropped the lid. The feeling in my stomach was akin to when your parents came home early and caught you having a pseudo party – I had never put the stop back in the drain and the lid was swirling to a collision course with the oblivion that was my sink drain. Dramatic, huh?

Sure I had a loving wife who had patiently reminded me to fix it. I’m just a busy man. After work, and kids and dinner, I just need to sit. All that repair work, and garage cleaning can wait. I need some rest. Specifically on my laurels. The day’s events add up. Between work, customers, family, church meetings and prior engagements you need to just relax and turn off your brain.

Luckily for me, I have remembered to fix my spiritual drain stop. How have I done this marvelous work to save my very soul? On accident quite frankly.

Guest Post: The 'F' Word

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DJ was born and raised in Salt Lake City, and has learned everything about other states and countries from TV and returned missionary reports. He is a proud father of four and husband of one and convincingly portrays someone who knows what he is doing. Read DJ's first guest post here.

Probably my most hated word is the 'F' word. Not the actual F@$% swear word. Just the "the 'F' word." And as generations will often do, they tweak it and take the impact out of a word or phrase until it becomes a commonly used one.

What is really messed up, and why I hate it, is because if someone is talking to you, or relaying an experience they had - they can make you say the actual word. Here is an example.


"So the little Johnson boy got sent home from school today, did you hear about that?"

"Oh my gosh! Why?"

"Well he was in school and he said the 'F' word."

And that simple last sentence makes you say the actual word in your head. You don't repeat "the 'F' word" in your head. You actually think the real word to yourself. Now in some morally twisted ninja-like way they have made you as bad as the person they were talking about. (Yes, you are now as bad as a 10 year-old on a playground.) You could have gone the whole day surrounding yourself with people that speak respectfully, and this one phrase just made you say the mother of all cuss words, like little Ralphie changing a car tire, without the other person having to say it.

Guest Post: The iTune-al Struggle

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DJ was born and raised in Salt Lake City, and has learned everything about other states and countries from TV and returned missionary reports. He is a proud father of four and husband of one and convincingly portrays someone who knows what he is doing.

I have found myself fighting an internal struggle with my teenage daughters’ music. She isn’t listening to explicit lyrics or death metal, but most music seems so suggestive now. What kind of a father am I if I allow bad music in our home? I found my answer, and we only have to flash back 25 years . . .

Growing up in the 70’s and 80’s you were literally imprisoned by your parent’s music collection. There was no iTunes, internet radio, mp3’s to pass around or cds to easily copy and share. I was stuck with The Moody Blues, Neil Diamond, The Doors, Led Zeppelin and an album with Barbara Streisand in her underwear and a superman shirt if I remember right. With the exception of Streisand, not a bad bunch of cellmates.

As I grew up and went through elementary school, there was a jail break. Of course I had the Mormon Rap and Bart Simpson’s debut album, and I would have agreed to do anything to spend one day with Weird Al Yankovich, but there was something else calling to me. My cousin showed me the answer with what looked at the time like a very disturbing, evil collection of music. Men in women’s clothes, men with women’s hair do’s, men in make-up – and they looked . . . manly. Poison, Motley Crue, Def Leppard, Metallica and Quiet Riot were shamefully hidden under my bed in some dark, twisted congical visit. Thankfully my dad was so old school that the thought of dressing like these neon queens of debauchery never crossed my mind. And as I look back now I wonder – were my parents more disappointed by the sneaked hair metal or the out in the open New Kids on the Block tapes?