WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Part 1

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I swore I wouldn't ask kids that question, but I do anyway. I wanted to avoid it because it always hints at something like:"Right now you're just a kid of no particular significance. How are you going to transform yourself into a useful, productive member of society?" I suspect adults ask kids this question (followed quickly by, "What is you favorite subject in school?") because we can't think of anything to talk about to younger people. We don't know their world at all, so we try to drag them into our world to find a subject to talk about. I have tried to put find out what the younger people around me are interested in so I can converse with them intelligently. As a result I have had to study up on musical theatre and Japanese anime and skateboarding, but I absolutely refuse to immerse myself in "gangsta rap." What little I understand is disgusting.

Adults talk about jobs because they are so identified with them. Ask an adult who they are and they will give their name. Ask them to say a little more, and they will tell you what kind of work they do or what they did before they retired. As I have mentioned before, it becomes a problem when you are so tied to your job that who you are is defined primarily in those terms. Nevertheless, we can't escape the reality that one's job is a major aspect of their life.

What do you want to be when you grow up? My first choice among future occupations was to be a farmer. Of course, growing up in the city, I had no real understanding of farming other than growing carrots and radishes in the backyard garden. In Chicago we had farm animals in the zoo so we city kids would know a moo-cow from a horsie. I don't know what attracted me to the idea of farming. For several years I had a huge book on agriculture that someone gave been that was far beyond my reading level, but which I poured over. I guess I was more of a theoretician farmer than a practical one.

Farming proved to be a passing fancy. By the time I was nine I was enamored of the sciences. I had a chemistry set in the basement. I experimented with electrical circuits. I studied grasshoppers and dinosaurs. The really great attraction was astronomy and space exploration. This was the time in history when the U.S. was launching the first satellite–the Vanguard, several of which blew up on the launching pad before they ever got one in orbit. There was a joke at the time that went: Q: How do they count at Cape Canaveral? A: Five-four-three-two-one-aw nuts. Science intrigued me. I entered the school science fair and got to the district fair twice.I worked my way through a college level book on physics once, but you couldn't have told that from my grades. I actually got an "U" (for unsatisfactory) in science twice in sixth-grade. Well, the way they taught science (and almost everything else) was b-o-r-i-n-g. With all the stupid busywork, they could make the most exciting subject a bore. The one exception was Mrs. S, my fourth grade teacher. She knew how to make subjects interesting,

In eighth-grade we had a unit on vocations as part of civics. I think we made posters and stuff. I don't recall it being much help in making a decision about what to do in life. This was also a year we took Stamford achievement tests. I recall being a few months behind grade level in arithmetic. I was probably just about average on most stuff. This was also when decisions were made about high school, at least for boys. Girls all went to Lakeview, I think. Well, I believe a girl could choose the all girls school Lucy Flower, but that was considered some sort of punishment rather than a privilege. Boys also went to Lakeview except for the select handful that would go to Albert G. Lane Technical School. The school was just what the name indicated–a tech school to train people in various things like carpentry, drafting, and so forth. But the school had transformed over the years into a school that emphasized the sciences as well. It was the only school where you could take four years of math AND four years of science. Since this was the school both my father and my uncle had attended, it was just assumed I would go there as well. The guidance counselor from Lane wasn't so sure that my grades were performance was good enough to go to Lane. Tragedy was in the offing, but not quite the rejection I expected. Only at the interview with the counselor did I discover that Lane had a music program as well as a tech program. Had I known ahead of time, had I had my ducks in a row, I certainly would have asked to be in the music program. Scientist or no scientist, studying music theory had far greater appeal to me than drafting since I couldn't even draw a straight line with a ruler. I did indeed receive acceptance to Lane in the Tech program. And I would come to flunk a course in foundry. The fault was my own, but part of me resents that no teacher in that foundry course showed enough concern about my poor performance even to inquire what the difficulty might be let alone try to help me. And the greater tragedy was that because of bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo the, only way to make up the one credit in shop was by taking TWO additional shop courses in my senior year. It's amazing how little the real needs of students are ever considered by the education industry.

Anyway, despite getting into the school by the skin of my teeth, I was about to have a triumph over the limited vision of these so-called educators. Those admitted to the school took a science placement exam to see if they could skip the required course in general science and begin with biology instead. I placed out of general science all right. My score was 99+ indicating I was proficient beyond the level the test could measure. Ha!

So I pursued the math and sciences. Algebra was a struggle, but I was outstanding in geometry. I was somewhat better than average in biology, so-so in chemistry, and really good in physics which was my real love. And then I made a mistake. While still a junior I was offered the chance to do a summer program at the Illinois Institute of Technology, one of the most prestigious engineering schools in the country. I turned it down because I was already going to take history in summer school. My interests were beginning to shift. The possibility of teach math began to develop in my little brain. Why not, I thought. Then came the set back of a C in advanced algebra. End of that possibility.

A pattern emerged in my life that still plagues me. Although I am certainly not a perfectionist, there is a streak in me that says you have to be really good at whatever you do, or it's not worth doing. A merely average grade in a math course meant that career path was out. Since in my evaluation nothing I do rises above the level of just passable, I have never been a self promoter. So what was I to do?

To be continued next week.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne

SORRY

Sorry I don’t have a real blog ready this week. I had fun this weekend, saw the musical Suessical at the theater on Friday night, then a play, The Foursome, on Sunday night, and Saturday night had a gig of my own (I played the strange guy Floyd.) Have to have fun now because it will be Lent next week. Then I had to work late at church almost every night. Lots to do. It will be Lent next week. I hope to have the first part of a new series, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" ready for next week. To warm everyone up (It’s cold even in Florida) I am posting some pictures of orchids I took at the Lincoln Park Conservatory in Chicago.

BOOKS

My faithful readers (What does that mean? Are unfaithful readers people who read other blogs or something?) will have gathered that I am a somewhat eccentric person. This is no accident. I have been working for years to become eccentric. It started when I was a child. I used to drive my parents and teachers wild by being different. Today’s nonconformist young whippersnapper don’t now how to be eccentric. They dye their hair blue, put rings in their eyebrows and think that’s a big deal. Hah! Eccentricity is a subtle art. To be eccentric is to be slightly strange, not out and out whacko. As a kid I would button my shirt all the way up to my neck. While all the other students drew birds facing left, I drew them facing right. For goodness sake, I even celebrated Beethoven’s Birthday complete with a cake and non-stop music.

Books are now at the heart of eccentricity. Now, this sounds quite normal. Many people have a few shelves of books. I have more than a few shelves. I have walls filled with book cases–the living room, both bedrooms, and now the hallway. There aren’t any in the dining room. I’m saving the seven feet of wall space there for the books that will someday have to be moved from my church office. I seldom realize how odd this is until I walk into a bookless person’s home or until they walk into mine. “Look at all the books,” they exclaim. ”Have you read them all?” No, I haven’t. Some are reference works, some are cook books, and some are good things that someday I may get around to reading. Doing a quick check of a few book cases, I find I have read every book on some shelves, on others about half and on still others–the ones with important works of American fiction–only a few. I bought a bunch of Hemingway and Fitzgerald before I realized that I didn’t really care for them. On the other hand, I have read everything by Herman Hesse and Christopher Isherwood and Robertson Davies that I have bought as well as all the mystery books.

I don’t know how many books I have, perhaps 3,500 to 4,000 at home and maybe another 2,500 to 3,000 at church. I had been aiming at a library of about 6,000 volumes by the time I am 65, so I’ll have to do some thinning out.

The books are eclectic. (That’s eclectic NOT eccentric. I’m eccentric, not my books.) They follow changes in my interests. The older ones are on music, then lots and lots of Biblical studies church history with a smattering of theology, then philosophy, then a few adult and higher education text books, then spirituality, then Benedictiana Across the board in terms of age are books on history, art, architecture, literature and children’s books. I buy more children’s books than serious literature. It’s easier to read and doesn’t tax my brain as much. I must have at least 12 editions of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland.

I should remark that I rarely pay full price for any book. I try to buy ones I must have at a discount. I haunt used book stores wherever I go. And I always look through sale books. Lot of the sale books are serendipitous; I’m not looking for anything in particular, but find something that appears interesting at a price I can afford.

This brings me to my most recent addition The Book on the Book Shelf by Henry Petroski. That’s a very clever title, because the subject matter of the book is bookshelves. I’ve seen books on the history of books and book making, but this is the only one I’ve ever seen on bookshelves. I first saw it when it was new in 1999. I glanced at it then, but didn’t buy it. Only now as a $2 remainder copy did I purchase and read it–290 pages in about three days. It was a fascinating read. Petroski is professor of both civil engineering and history at Duke University. He looks at technical aspects of shelves and their history while tossing in personal anecdotes and stories along with pictures. (The picture at the head of this blog is of the library at St. John’s College, Cambridge. It’s from p. 90 of the book). I knew that in the middle ages books were chained to the shelves to prevent theft, but I didn’t realize that they were shelved with the spine facing in. So many things to lean. So many books to read.

I am not alone in this particular eccentricity. Remember the clerk in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales?


A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
For him was lever have at his bedde heed
Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed,
Of Aristotle and his philosophye,
Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrye.

That clerk was on a pilgrimage to Canterbury which makes him a spiritual ancestor of mine, for as I say, life is a pilgrimage and I am just a pilgrim on the way, even if my baggage does include a few (thousand) books or so.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne

DEPRESSION

I started writing this about two months ago, but only took it up again recently for reasons I’ll explain further on.

Looking back, I probably had my first bout with depression in my late 20s, but I didn't know what it was. There were probably numerous periods of depression in my life, but I really wasn't aware of it's prevalence until about fifteen years ago. Of course, I did nothing about it. That's one of the insidious effects of depression; it tends to push you away from getting help. I know my physician at the time suspected what was wrong, but I naturally denied it. Men almost always deny there is anything wrong. I was in serious trouble about ten years ago. I wasn't suicidal, but it did occur to me that the world could probably get along without me. By the grace of God, I got out of that bout of depression. I made enough changes in my life to bring myself out. I don't recommend that approach to anyone. If you suffer from depression GET HELP! You don’t have to live that way.

A year ago after eight months of drifting in an out of depression and with the advice of some church members, I told my physician what was going on. He was very understanding and helpful. It took some work to find a medication that worked for me. They all take time and some have unpleasant side effects. One that my insurance company insisted I try produced panic attacks. With persistence, however, things start to work right.

I'm not "cured" in the sense that I am perfectly fine and happy all the time. However, the down times are never as deep or dark or long as they were before I started treatment. It's important to realize you have to take steps in your own life that will help. As I am sinking into one of my downturns (not unusual for me in the late fall) I realize I am not eating properly or exercising or making the effort to be with supportive people. I have to remedy that starting tomorrow morning. Back out for my morning walks. No more overloading on carbohydrates.

I need to work at this because my latest spell of depression leaves me irritable and I say stupid things to people that I regret. There's no reason to do that. I also have the problem that the flat affect of depression leads me to be a poor judge of how I come across to others. I am like a hard-of-hearing person who talks too loud. I push myself to "put on a happy face," but go over the top and seem ridiculous to people. Or I do what I think is humorous, only it turns out to be nasty sarcasm.

Many people are understanding about depression, some are not. There are still people who regard depression as a weakness of character rather than a medical disorder. As I have explained to people time and again, a person with depression cannot simply will themselves out of it. Very mild depressions–the kind that almost everyone experiences at sometime in life–will pass with time. More persistent and deeper clinical depression requires medical attention.

Recently several people have written letters to the editor of our local paper decrying the use of antidepressants in the treatment of depression. I fired off my own letter to the editor when one person decided depression wasn’t really such a serious problem since less than 1% of the population commit suicide. What an idiot! I have received some messages of support as a result of this letter. I have, however, run into people who regard it as strange that I would talk about depression as if it were something shameful. Being depressed isn't a matter of shame any more than having arthritis is a matter of shame.

My letter has provoked one very negative response. I received a email from a woman who rebuked me because I have abandoned my calling as a pastor by turning to Satan himself. According to this ding-dong, any doctor who diagnoses a mental illness is not practicing medicine. This is the attitude that keeps people from getting help. Throughout the Christian era, there have been people who maintained that medical treatments are contrary to God’s will. They opposed vaccinations, anesthesia, and now it seems the treatment of mental illness. What utter nonsense.

For a long time I have advocated a holistic approach to health. We need to have body, mind, and spirit working together in a healthy manner. When something doesn’t work right, we need to fix it. Physicians, counselors, and clergy ought to work together as a team.

Christianity is a religion of hope. The ultimate hope rests in our Lord Jesus Christ who receives us into his heavenly kingdom. I believe that as we live this life en route to our final destination, we should make sure we are physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually fit for the journey. God has gifted us with helpers along the way. Those helpers include our physicians. We are fools not to accept the help they can give.

Don't loose hope.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne