Not Your Role Models

I know that my readers vary in age and life experience and, though I hate to divide you, I want to talk to you separately for a moment.

First, I want to talk to the parents, grandparents, and older folks who might be caregivers of younger folks.

Every generation has a habit of looking at the next generation with an overly critical eye.  I want to make clear that we have, as older generations, an obligation to help guide and impart values and culture on the younger generation and the younger generation has a responsibility to engage in this transmission process.  That does not mean that we, the current older generation, have the right to trivialize the developing morals and values of this younger generation.  We understand more and more that to attack a person’s ideas and values and demean what is important to them actually causes considerable damage to the individual’s self-concept over a period of time.

Don’t forget, too, that the teenage years are marked by a process called “differentiation” in which teenagers seeks to define themselves as something different from their parents.  It’s part of identity development.  It’s often the case that the harder parents and other formative adults push an idea or value or theory, the harder the teenager will fight to reject that idea, value, or theory.  If you think that’s just new age psychobabble, think about your own childhood and how you fought against ideas like women being relegated to either the secretary pool or the family home or how men couldn’t be nurturing, stay-at-home parents. 

I bring this up because, given both the nature of time and human nature, we find ourselves as an older generation being the caretakers of the most progressive generation—a generation which some call “lost” or “amoral” or even “disastrous.”  Some people who feel called to comment on the status of society lament that we aren’t the “country we used to be” because we’ve lost so many of our “traditional values” as we continue to cave to the “pressure” of being our children’s friends and not their authority figures.  There’s obviously a number of things wrong with this mentality. 

1.     Our country has never been what we think it was.  That’s the trap of nostalgia; we can remember things as fondly as our imaginations will permit but the reality is that when we were living through “the good old days” they actually weren’t that good.

2.     There has never been such a thing as monolithic “traditional values.”  I wish there was a way we could strike this pairing of words from our common consciousness.  Often times we see this phrase thrown around within the context of marriage equality conversations.  “Gay marriage goes against traditional Christian values” is a statement we hear over and over again by people who have obviously never opened their Bibles to see that so-called “Christian marriage” was a contractual ceremony in which a man took possession of his new property.  What’s more, in the accepting of that new property he would actually be paid to take her.  For me, as a Christian person of faith, “traditional Christian values” means attending to the teachings of Christ and not some pastor/preacher/priest.  You know, doing the things Jesus of Nazareth commanded like feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, caring for the sick, working for justice….those sorts of things that people who complain about an absence of “traditional values” mock and intentionally disrupt through their political maneuvering.

3.     Using the knowledge that we are given through science and psychology is not caving to the pressure our kids supposedly put on us.  We are not their friends.  We simply acknowledge that the world has changed and the same authoritarian approach to coerce compliance to some abstract standard that may no longer be relevant in today’s world is a waste of time. 

Again, if you doubt what I’m saying, think about your own childhood.  But as you do remember what I said about “the good old days” and don’t let your mind play the nostalgia trick on you.

When we, as an older generation, look at what the younger generation recognizes as leadership, as their heroes, as their role models, we all too often find ourselves shaking our heads and dismissing any possible good that might come from that movie, video, song, or message.  We can’t see past the clothes they wear, the language they use, the “intentional affront to morality and decency” we perceive.  We reject them as purveyors of pornography and their message as devoid of value. 

But here’s the thing.  The younger generation or the segments of the younger generation that that actor or artist or activist is addressing sees that message sender because of how they’re dressed.  The clothes, the hair, the makeup—the whole package—establishes an instant bond and a certain amount of credibility.  Why do you think Christian clergy wear dog collars?  The language they use, including that “profanity” we might think is so completely unnecessary, communicates an authenticity to the intended audience.  It says that the speaker respects them enough not to filter their words or pretend to be something they aren’t. 

If you want to see a really good example of what I’m talking about, look at this YouTube video created by Jack Merridew (on Twitter @OfficalJackM).  A lot of Jack’s followers were upset by the content and the language.  They thought it was crude and the subject material even disturbing.  But here’s the thing:  I would be surprised if Jack Merridew ever did a video that wasn’t provocative in some way but what Jack does in videos like this is actually POWERFUL.  He’s being authentic.  He’s sharing necessary information to an audience that may not have anyone to ask and because Jack doesn’t treat them as inferior and presents himself as a real person, they trust Jack to be honest with him.  Is it the way I would have a conversation like the one Jack does?  Hell no.  But I also recognize that we can’t be all things to all people.  We just need be what people in need need us to be.  (See, that’s “traditional” Christian values talking there.)  Jack’s approach is needed because he has a credibility people like me don’t have and uses a language people like me find uncomfortable and even sometimes embarrassing.  We need to be grateful for the multitude of voices that speak to these important topics because each one, whether we agree with their approach or not, has and audience and is important.

These are not your heroes or your role models.  They are not going to use a language that you decided was appropriate; the same language the generation before yours said was too far over the line.  They are not going to abide by the rules you adhered to after breaking the rules that were set on you.  This is the natural progression of the generations, to step out and define themselves as they poke and prod and explore the world around them to determine what is right and wrong, what works and what doesn’t, and what to keep from the previous generations and what to lay to rest.

Now, for the rest of you who happen to be my younger readers.  I’m not going to spend as much time with you.  (I actually wanted to spend time with the older folks today and I think you know why.)  I hope you don’t feel cheated.  I’m not going to repeat things I’ve said with regard to becoming who you associate with and so on because I’ve already blogged about all that.  What I want to say is this:  As difficult as it sometimes is, please be patient with the adults in your life.  It’s not easy raising parents today because over the past 20 years our world has changed so dramatically it’s left a lot of older folks who were raised in the dark ages before cell phones and Instagram lost and confused.  The rapidity of information exchange and the ideas that are so easily circulated confuse and worry many of the adults in your life because their brains haven’t been trained to keep up with it all like yours have been. 

We used to focus on obvious culture gaps in our society.  They were “obvious” because they were visible.  The civil rights movement, for example, demonstrated an enormous culture gap.  But I think, with the ever evolving digital landscape, there’s an even larger culture gap between young people and older people.  I mean, there’s a whole set of cultural rules and norms for Twitter that adults don’t get and think is a waste of time.  Like the whole “liking” of things.  How many of you feel guilty for missing the opportunity to “like” something on Twitter?  How many of you feel slighted if someone doesn’t like something you tweet?  These are things adults, as a rule, don’t get.  But you get it and it’s important to you.  You can try to explain it to but be patient.  If they still don’t get it, make them listen to this piece from “This American Life” that features three teenagers trying to explain the politics of Instagram.  

By the way, adults reading this?  If you need your fix of “Hey you kids, get off my lawn!” check out this blog post I did a week or so ago.

We can get caught up in the moment.  We can make nearly any moment a make-it-or-break-it moment.  We can fight so hard to try to force “the other side” to understand and even accept “our side” (and this is true for older folks AND younger folks alike).  My suggestion?  For everyone involved?  Step back and take a breath.  I guarantee that the vast majority of adults and the vast majority of teens aren’t out there trying to intentionally upset you just because you sit on one side of the divide.  People like Jack Merridew aren’t putting content out there to “undo the fabric of civilization” or to undermine “traditional values” (whatever they may be).  We’ve become so focused on winning and winning people to “our way” of thinking that we’ve forgotten one of the most important things we should be doing:  Talking with each other. 

Our Whole Lives Are Just Stories

I am a huge fan of the Vikings. 

Yeah.  No.  Not those Vikings.  Let me clarify.

On the History Channel there is a historical/costume drama called “The Vikings.”  It is created by the same imagination behind Showtime’s “The Tudors” and “The Borgias.”  His name is Michael Hirst and the guy knows his history.  He does a very good job at dramatizing it for public consumption.  “The Tudors,” of course, tells the story of King Henry VIII and his wives.  “The Borgias” is about Pope Alexander VI and his illegitimate and often times frightening family who served as inspiration for the modern epic “The Godfather.” 

“Vikings” is a drama that focuses on—wait for it—the Vikings, those conquering warriors from Scandinavian lands who terrorized (and to a certain extent civilized) much of Europe, especially the British Isles, around the 8^th century.   I’m a fan not just because I think Michael Hirst is a gifted story teller but because “Vikings” speaks to my heritage.  My mother’s mother was first generation born in the United States; her parents emigrated from Norway.  Of all of my ethnic backgrounds, my Norse ancestry is the least explored.  So not only am I entertained by “Vikings,” it causes me to think and gives me direction to read and research something that seems too large and unknown to know where to begin.   

I’ve started re-watching the series again in preparation for the premiere of the new season.  I often stream something in the background while I’m working and, since today is Saturday and blog writing day, I had “Vikings” going while I tried to write, back up, and start over.  Some days the blog writes itself.  Some days I can’t seem to put two sentences together without abandoning the effort and starting over a dozen times.

Guess what kind of day today was. 

And then the sky opened and the Norse gods literally smiled down on me and I knew I finally had the angle for the post I was struggling to compose. 

Season one, episode seven.  Our hero, the recently made Earl, Ragnar, has headed west again to sack British villages and towns and his imposing wife, Lagertha, a character who would score high on the Bechdel Test, is left in charge.  A married couple, who had apparently struggled for years with an inability to have children, present themselves in front of Lagertha.  Apparently the woman had given birth to a son and her husband was outraged, declaring that the child couldn’t possibly be his.  He relates to Lagertha and “the court” that a young man calling himself Rig had visited their home roughly nine months before and the husband was certain that the stranger was the father of the child.  His wife, in tears, said she didn’t know who the father of the child was.

Lagertha, who is as intelligent in court as she is deadly on a battle field, beckons the woman closer to her place on the throne.  She asks the mother, “Do you know who this Rig was?”  And, of course, the woman trivializes him by saying he was just some young man.  Lagertha continues:  “On the contrary.  We know from our ancient stories that Rig is another name for Heimdal.”  This stuns the young mother who can’t seem to get her head around the idea that this young man who had visited her could possibly be one of the Viking gods.  Lagertha says, “You are fortunate that he chose your household to appear.”

The husband isn’t having any of this.  He says, “My lady!  That’s just a story!”  and Lagertha, fixing him with a contemptuous gaze, responds, “Our whole lives are just stories.”  She continues by chastising the husband for not trusting his wife despite the joy and comfort she has brought him by delivering him a son.  Lagertha’s judgment?  “Do not punish her.  Rejoice with her.  Drink wine with her.  And sacrifice one of your animals to Heimdal the God.  But if I hear that you’ve harmed this woman, or this child, you will answer for it to me.”

Okay, so Lagertha’s judgment and warning go beyond where I could have stopped but…I just couldn’t stop myself.  Lagertha’s a badass and to stop where her words started to serve my purpose would be to ruin Lagertha’s story. 

And, since I want to talk about this idea of story, I couldn’t very well destroy this one to prove my point.

“Our whole lives are just stories.”

From the moment we are born to the day we are laid in a casket with family and friends gathered around us, celebrating our lives, we are a story.  We are the protagonist and sometimes our own worst antagonist.  Every experience we have, every struggle we meet and every success we achieve, creates the arc of our story complete with chapters and themes. 

We wear the advertisements of our story on bodies, in our social media, and even in our vocations.  These things become our book’s cover, our public readings, and the forum for encouraging from others a deeper understanding of our story and through our story a deeper understanding of the world.  This about David Sedaris telling stories from his life in his books or on “This American Life” which connect to larger themes and provoke greater thought.

We are also “storied at” throughout our lives.  The great narrative of our history surrounds us, with its shame and its victories.  Our religious traditions imbue us with yet more story.  The stories of the people in our lives—our family, our friends, our colleagues and coworkers—all bring their stories into our lives and, just as the sharing of our story with them broadens their understanding of the world, in the sharing of their stories we begin to see things differently as well. 

We can’t escape the idea of being caught up in a story or being storied by institutions, conventions, and family traditions.  Why?  Because our stories are the only thing we have to make sense of our lives.

It kind of makes me think of that scene at the end of “Men in Black 2” where Agent K shows Agent J that the world is bigger than what J believes it is.  This is how we make sense of our lives, by connecting it to larger stories outside of ourselves. 

How we hear stories and how we remember stories help us to learn and to understand.  From our oldest religions we have….stories.  From our history text books we have….stories.  From our parents and grandparents we have….stories.  From our teachers we have…stories.  To our children we give…stories. 

Think about the last conversation you had.  Maybe you were trying to explain why you chose to study what you studied in university.  Maybe you were trying to share something you thought was funny.  Maybe you were trying to help someone understand that whatever they were going through is something many people have experienced.  You can’t do any of these things without sharing your story. 

Here’s where we tend to run into trouble.

Because our world is smaller and moves faster than it ever has before we are considerably more disconnected from the “story keepers” in our lives.  Now, I’m not saying that parents and grandparents have all of the answers because they flat out don’t.  But traditionally, when the world was larger and slower, the older people in our lives were able to hold onto our communal stories—our histories, our traditions, etc.—and could place them (and us) into the context of time.  It was from their sharing that we could learn more about our place in the world.  We were more rooted as a Western people. 

Some of you might be old enough to remember “The Waltons.”  I think it’s still on TV running on Halmark channel now.  It’s a story of a multigenerational family living through the depression and World War II.  It aired during the 1970’s.  Think about the grandfather in that show:  He was always ready to share a story, to anchor his grandchildren in their history, but he absolutely never told them who they should be or what they should do with that knowledge.  That’s an ideal example of what I’m talking about with regard to the “story keepers” from the older generations. 

But that’s not the world we live in anymore—if any of us actually did live in a world in which we were fortunate enough to have a Socratic story teller like Grandpa Walton.  Instead we bump along as best we can, children of working parents and chaotic, frenetic families, learning what it means to be ourselves while being told through the stories in our music, in our friendships, through the internet, from teachers and leaders that we should be this way and we shouldn’t be that way.  We are bombarded with stories that are not our own and can’t possibly be our own and it confuses us and it distracts us from our own story. 

We used to call it “peer pressure.”  We were told by people who seemed cooler than us what we should do, how we should act, what we should wear, and so on so that we could be cool, too.  I’m sure our peers still do this but I think what we suffer from now is story confusion. We watch shows on Nick and Disney and we see people we want to be.  We want their stories.  We mimic their behaviors and copy their voices and mannerisms.  We become an echo of a fictional person because we become convinced that this person who shares our lives through the television is who and what we should be. 

And it’s not just teen programming.  Think about your favorite shows and how, even as an adult, you want to be cool or successful or liberated like your show’s hero.  Or you want to live into a romanticized life where the complications of work-a-day life are resolved by clever wit in a reasonable amount of time without a great deal of the mess that real world problems deliver to their victims. 

Now think beyond television.  Think about the music you listen to and how we adopt these stories.  In my non-Troy Comets work I have confronted a number of people over changes in their personalities because of the music that they start listening to.  “You become the music that you listen to” is repeated by me over and over in many different contexts.  We’ve all seen this happen.  Someone is introduced to “emo music” and they begin to dress and act and talk “emo.”  Someone is introduced to “country music” and all of a sudden they’re telling us about running out of beer, their girlfriend leaving them, their truck not starting, and their dog dying.

Sorry.  I couldn’t help myself.  There’s more to country music than losing alcoholic beverages and riding around in pickup trucks.

I think. 

But you get the idea, I hope.  And this really isn’t a new phenomenon.  People have done this ever since human beings learned to tell stories.  Our stories have heroes and we want to emulate those heroes.  We want to be remembered in story just like our heroes are remembered.  It happens in holy writings and it happens in secular writings.  Think about this clip from “A Christmas Carol” in which Ebenezer Scrooge talks about the comfort he received as a child from the heroes in his books. 

We have to train ourselves to keep our own stories uncluttered and untangled from the stories of the people around us, whether they are real or not or directly in our lives or not.  If we lose track of our stories we lose track of ourselves.  The confusion of our own story is one of the biggest causes of identity issues people face today.  It’s definitely tricky since we have, as a whole in the Western World, lost our traditional anchors (for better or worse, by the way) and in place of these story keepers we have, through technology, gazillions of other stories to adopt or sort through or learn from. 

I’m not sure what the solution is when it comes to story confusion.  I have ideal, textbook-based thoughts on it but we don’t live in such a black and white world anymore and I think these idyllic solutions only act to confuse our stories even more.  It’s just another voice telling another story of what we should be. 

I think the only thing I’m comfortable saying about the topic (at least right now) is this:  People need to figure out how to hold onto their own stories.  Here’s what I mean.  Since its premiere on Tuesday night, I’ve watched on social media how people have responded to the characters and the stories of “The Real O’Neals.”  The ones I enjoy the most are the ones that read like “I see so much of myself in [insert character’s name here].”  That’s healthy, wonderful, and incredibly helpful in discovering your own story.  It starts “from home” and moves outward to touch on someone else’s story.  The alternative would be “I really want to be [insert character’s name here].”  In this statement we don’t even start “from home” and immediately want to adopt a story that isn’t ours. 

I hope I haven’t made this too complicated to follow.  I am going somewhere with all of this.  Trust me.  I wouldn’t be laying all of this seemingly complicated mumbo-jumbo out there for you, dear reader, if I didn’t have a plan in mind.  But let me summarize it all for now like this:

“Our whole lives are just stories.”  We have our internal stories that help us understand ourselves and the world around us and we have our external stories that help us orient ourselves in time and place.  All of these stories live in us but are occasionally threatened by stories that aren’t ours that demand our attention and tantalize our imagination and want to usurp the stories that actually make us who we are and not a character on TV, an idea of a person from a song, or an understanding of who our heroes are.  We need to pay close attention to how other people’s stories interact with ours, how that interaction might help us tell our story or might confuse us and draw us away from our story. 

Stay tuned for part two.  

On "This American Life," Pragmatism, and Faith

I’ve been a fan of “This American Life” on National Public Radio for years.  The folks behind the show were pioneers in capturing stories that both tell the story of people trying to interpret the events of their lives in a meaningful way as well as help the larger audience do the same by sharing these stories in a thought provoking way.  It’s a brilliant exercise in vicarious learning; the stories can easily become catalysts for paradigmatic shifts as these collected stories resonate with something inside of us, the audience.

Recently “This American Life” ran a show entitled That’s One Way to Do It.  The description of the episode was:

“Forget the easy way. This week, stories about people who come up with very innovative…and unusual...solutions to their problems. Including the story of a young voter who defies political categorization.”

It was this story, in the show’s first act, which grabbed my attention.  You can find the episode here.

Let me briefly summarize the set up.  Alex Chalgren (who you can follow on twitter @AChalgren) is eighteen years old.  He is black.  He is gay.  He is a supporter of Donald Trump. 

Now that you’ve read that a couple of times to make sure you read it correctly, let me continue.  Alex was adopted by his mother, who happened to be his third grade teacher, after Alex was put in her class at some point during the school year.  She was enamored by him and he by her.  Apparently they are quite close.  It’s one of those heart-warming adoption stories.  After Alex was adopted his mother married his father whom they met at church. 

Alex and his parents are conservative evangelical Christians.  They live in South Carolina.  His parents are huge supporters of Ted Cruz.  Alex supports Donald Trump because Trump is a Republican, which appeals to Alex’s inherited political values.  Alex also supports Trump because Trump supports marriage equality, which appeals to the realty of Alex’s life.  It was this juxtaposition/compromise which grabbed my attention in the telling of Alex’s story.  It was clear to me that Alex is trying to be faithful to values that, in our United States political landscape, are so diametrical and polarizing. 

But then Alex’s story, like all good stories, took a turn and my curiosity about Alex’s compromise turned into anger over the next part of this narrative. 

When Alex was in 8^th grade his parents figured out he was gay.  The producer who is interviewing Alex and his parents for this piece doesn’t go into detail about his parents’ reactions but the few comments Alex and his parents offer are enough to give the listener the general idea.  In short, Alex’s parents, who evidently found out about Alex’s identity by reading Alex’s journal, didn’t take the news very well.  Alex, in the piece, summarizes their response by highlighting his parents taking him to the elders of their church where he was lectured at regarding “God’s plan.”  He also said that his parents put him into therapy.  The producer clarified what the therapy was for and, yes, it was to “fix” Alex’s sexuality.

So, yes.  It made me angry.  It made me very angry.  It blows me away that it’s 2016 and young people are still subjected to, what I see as, superstitious religious thinking and unethical therapeutic practices.  I am Christian and, as you can imagine given my life situation, I have spent considerable time researching the damage the Church has done to people in the name of their understanding of “God’s plan.” 

One of the first “real novels” I ever read was “The Mists of Avalon” by Marion Zimmer Bradley.  It’s the story of King Arthur told from the eyes of the traditional antagonist, Morgaine (or Morgan le Fey).  In this version of the story Morgaine isn’t trying to undermine King Arthur or take over Camelot.  She is fighting to find her place in a rapidly changing world in which she feels she has no control.  She ultimately finds that place in fighting for her people, the followers of the native religions and traditions that stand at the brink of extinction as Christianity takes hold of Britain. 

There is a line toward the end of the book as Morgaine, in her older age, begins to understand the themes of her life.  She shares this observation with the reader:  “From these Christians who came to [Avalon] to escape the bigotry of their own kind I learned something, at last, of the Nazarene, the carpenter's son who had attained Godhead in his own life and preached a rule of tolerance; and so I came to see that my quarrel was never with the Christ, but with his foolish and narrow priests who mistook their own narrowness for his.”

I’ve always used this quote as a guiding principle when it comes to studying God and the Bible.  People have a way to bend holy texts to their views, both intentionally and unintentionally.  It’s so easy to misinterpret these things, to misunderstand them, especially when there are hundreds of years of the misinterpretations and misunderstandings built into the institution.  And of course it’s these faulty understandings that influence so-called professionals who step away from the actual science behind psychology and psychiatry and stand in opposition to the American Psychiatric Association (APA) who removed homosexuality as a disorder from the Diagnostic and Stastical Manual (DSM) in 1973 because science and research could not support the understanding of homosexuality as harmful to an individual’s life.

So I have these things in my mind when I hear 18 year old Alex Chalgren explain how his parents reacted to his identity when he was 14 years old.  And, as I said, it made me very angry. 

But then Alex said something that changed my mood yet again.  Here’s an excerpt from the episode’s transcript, a conversation between Alex and the producer, Zoe Chace. 

Zoe Chace

When Alex's parents found out he was gay, it was as dramatic as things can get in those sort of situations. Alex says they suspected it and read his journal, where he had written about boys. This was in eighth grade. He had to leave school immediately and his parents started homeschooling him. And they brought in their church.

Alex Chalgren

And they wanted to nip this in the bud. Snap, cut it, make sure I was straight. And I was like a-- yeah. So the clergy came down, sat with me, the elders and people. And they read from scripture and everything.

And I was just sitting there quietly. At first I saw it as like, oh, my goodness. This is a sin. I can't believe this. I'm going to go hell. Oh, my god, I'm going to burn in hell for all eternity.

And so they're reading from scripture. And they're saying, this is what the scripture says, man shall not lie with another man, whatever. And the more that happened, the harder I became. I was less soft. And then my mom got a therapist for me, another one, a different one, for me being gay.

Zoe Chace

Was this one of those therapists who is like, I'm going to help you be not gay?

Alex Chalgren

Yeah. He was a preacher [LAUGHS] with the Presbyterian therapists' organization. He didn't do anything. I just told him I'm gay. I said this is what's going to happen. I'm gay. But you can talk about how I can have a better relationship with my parents.

This emphasis in that last line is mine.

This is a powerful example of self-advocacy that defines this generation.  In short, and at the risk of putting words in Alex’s mouth that he may not have intended, Alex is saying:  This is who I am and that’s not a problem; the problem is my relationship with my parents and people who have a problem with who I am. 

Zoe Chace, who produced the piece for “This American Life,” teases out her theories and discusses Alex’s parents’ theories as to why Alex makes the choices he makes when it comes to politics and maybe even his identity.  I have my own theory. 

There’s a piece connected to Alex’s story that I recognize with regard to his adoption and integrating the part of his story where he felt powerless into his present situation and his personality.  So often times children who are adopted when they’re older struggle with power and powerlessness.  There are things there that I could explore and speculate about but I think the thing about Alex’s story that I finally left the thirty-one minute piece with is this:  Alex Chalgren, like so many other people in his “generation,” is a problem solver and to best solve problems it’s not necessarily about attending to black and white lines and hard and fast rules; it’s about pragmatism. 

For a lot of history, in part because of the Church’s influence, pragmatism has been discouraged.  In this historic view, to be pragmatic would be to find whatever solution worked the best/easiest in any given situation regardless of traditional thinking and values.  Of course that’s how “toe the line people” interpreted the mentality of people they didn’t agree with.  I think pragmatism isn’t about “whatever works is good” but rather “we need practical solutions to disruptive problems.”  I think pragmatism in this context hits a problem head on with a solution rather than minimizing the problem or kicking it down the road with a solution that doesn’t fully meet the needs the problem creates. 

This is where Alex’s story intersects with mine.  When I was Alex’s age it was just easier to minimize the problem (the problem, of course, being identity).  This didn’t address the problem and only served to complicate the problem over time.  Alex, being fortunate enough to live in a time in which pragmatism is valued and who had the courage of his convictions as they seem to be demonstrated in the “This American Life” story, hit the problem(s) head on with real solutions, i.e. “I’m gay and that’s not changing.  What can change is my relationship with my parents and you can help me do that.”

I think what is so awesome about Alex’s story as shared on “This American Life” is that it’s captured in time in a way that many of us aren’t fortunate enough to experience.  I don’t know about your but NPR isn’t knocking on my door for me to share my story, thus memorializing it for posterity.  But Alex has had this experience as part of his story.  It would be interesting to check in with Alex in the years to come to see how he continues to solve the problem of seemingly conflicting values and disharmony in his family over something that cannot be changed. 

I do want to thank Alex for having the courage to share his story. 

Post Script

As I began proofreading and editing this entry I realized that this post definitely makes me sound like I’ve joined the ranks of crotchety old men yelling at kids to get off their lawns.  I’m seriously not that old.  I wonder if anyone could actually guess my age.  Could be interesting.  Or scary.  Or both.