Category Archives: Culture Nights

A Night at the Prom

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Regular readers of this blog know that my wife and I have a pretty simple philosophy when it comes to our teenage daughter, Faith, dating: No. (See here and here.) Therefore you might be surprised to hear that Faith went to the prom last Saturday night. And yes, there was a boy involved from an unrelated gene pool. How did this happen? One word: conspiracy.

Faith has a female cousin just a few months older than her and they’ve been best pals from the playpen. They both think that boys are nice to have around, but what really makes their hearts beat fast right now are prom dresses. I think we were still taking down Christmas decorations earlier this year when they hatched a plan for the spring dance.

The boy part was easy. The cousin has a boyfriend. The boyfriend has a best friend. The best friend wasn’t doing anything the second Saturday in May. The deal was proposed and closed directly: the girls would buy the tickets, the guys would rent tuxes and buy dinner. Now – on to the Mall! It was about this point where my wife became a co-conspirator. I’m not sure how this was accomplished, exactly, but it may have involved lattes.

All I know is I was standing innocently in our kitchen a couple of months ago with my lovely wife and lovely daughter – two people I trusted implicitly – when Faith casually mentioned something about going to the prom. “Hmm,” I said, “let me think about that a minute. No.”

“I already told her she could go,” my wife said, albeit sheepishly.

“Wha-,” I said, as the floor began to open beneath me. I began to splutter: “Prom? Boys? Dark cars? Boys!”

I knew I was going down, but it didn’t mean I had to make it easy for them. It was pretty clear that fashion, not passion, was behind the conspiracy and I knew that three of the four kids involved were more than trustworthy, while the fourth was new to me but appeared as if he valued his life. Nevertheless it was worked out that my wife would be one of the volunteer parent chaperones at the event, which would require her staying up well past her bedtime. It was also arranged so that the four youngsters would come to the house for a cook-out in advance so I could get to know the new guy better.

When they arrived for the cook-out we all visited for a little while in the living room, and then I went into the kitchen to prepare the hamburger patties, which required carving them from a tube of partially frozen ground beef. I cut a couple of patties with my heavy duty 10″ chef’s knife when I realized I needed more information. Walking back into the living room, I motioned to the new guy with the slightly dripping point of the knife. Contrary to Faith’s report of the incident, the knife was nowhere near his face. I was easily three feet away. Two feet, at least. And besides, Faith can’t be a reliable witness because she hid her face behind a sofa pillow when she saw me walk into the room. Nevertheless, knowing something about teenage boys, I had to ask an important question.

“How many burgers can you eat?” I asked the kid.

“How many do you want me to eat?” he said.

“Good answer!” my wife said.

“Kill me now,” my daughter said.

Anyway, we all lived through the evening and the weeks leading up to prom seemed to fly by. On Saturday Faith went to her cousin’s around noon to begin hair and make-up preparations. At 4:30 I joined the other parents and close family at my sister-in-law’s house for the photo op. Altogether there were 11 adult paparazzi and half a dozen cameras flashing the four elegantly dressed youth. It looked like a Hollywood premiere. Faith was especially breathtaking with her hair exquisitely styled on top of her head, long sparkly earrings and an elegant dress that could have used another yard of fabric if you asked me, but no one did.

Then it was time for them to be off, and time for firm handshakes with each of the boys. “Drive wisely,” I said, and my voice didn’t crack a bit.

The evening went marvelously, and the youngsters were only a little late getting home after stopping to pick up late night tacos and wow the crowd at Taco Bell.

My wife also made it home from her chaperone assignment without falling asleep, largely due to the startling effect of watching what passes for dancing these days. You see, there’s this thing called “freak” dancing – because it “freaks” parents out, I think – that involves a young lady(?) placing her fundament against her escort’s crotch and both of them vigorously gyrating (music optional). It appears that girls have finally found a way to get the boys out on the dance floor. My wife felt as if she should get out on the floor as well, but with a bucket of water or a garden hose. She settled for prayer instead. It kind of makes the old notion of a guy hoping for a goodnight kiss seem a bit quaint, doesn’t it? I mean, after three hours of something like that with teenaged nerve endings a peck on the cheek would be – oh, shall we say – anti-climactic?

Fortunately, the little flock she was most interested in appeared to be having a very good time but at more discreet distances. She does, however, admit to being discreet herself, letting them out of her sight for long, long stretches at a time.

As for the rest of you kids, though, be warned: she’s calling your mothers.

All Esteemed Up

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It’s graduation party season again, and today’s StarTribune – again on the cusp of a breaking news story – has tips on how to plan a successful party. Included was this tip from expert Mary J. Anderson:

“Most moms think [their graduates] want to have a party. But a lot of kids don’t want the attention. Maybe their self-esteem is low or they don’t want to be in the limelight.”

This is a horrible implication: children are graduating from our high schools with low self-esteem even though this subject has been the focus of a public school education since this year’s graduates were in kindergarten! How are these youngsters going to learn self-esteem now that they’re no longer in school?

I guess colleges and businesses will have to add remedial self-esteem classes for those who have graduated, but there’s still time to help those yet in school. I propose we add self-esteem to the 8th grade math and language skills competency tests; call it the “No Child Left Behind Hanging in a Locker By His Underwear” program.

Hmmm…if a low-self-esteem grad doesn’t want a party, does it mean a kid with high self-esteem could have two parties?

Persistent Questions About Vegetative States

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Last Saturday a firefighter diagnosed as being in a “persistent vegetative state” for ten years began to recognize people and talk. Several months ago a woman diagnosed as being in a “minimally conscious state” for 20 years began to talk and carry on conversations and says she was aware of the Oklahoma City bombing and 9/11. (Read the story here.)

My greatest frustration with the Terri Schiavo case was the refusal of her husband to allow further testing and therapy to confirm or improve his wife’s condition and the Kafkaesque position of the courts to give credence to the diagnosis of one less than impartial neurosurgeon while steadfastly ignoring testimony from other neurosurgeons, radiologists and Terri’s caregivers when deciding a case of life and death. Meanwhile most of the general public thought “I wouldn’t want to live like that” – no doubt based in part on the assumption that after all these years there was little hope for improvement – and turned away.

Granted, the cases mentioned in the link above are rare, which is why they were publicized at all. (I also find it interesting that neither of the people mentioned above, upon regaining consciousness and the ability to speak, apparently has said, “Why didn’t you just kill me?”)

We don’t know how high the odds would have been for a similar recovery by Terri, mainly because there was never an independent evaluation of her condition. We do know her parents were willing to care for her no matter how long it took.

Would Terri, too, have started to speak in another 20 years, 10 years – two weeks? That’s a question for which we will now never have an answer. It is a question, however, that I hope Michael Schiavo, George Felos and Judge Greer ask themselves everyday for the rest of their lives.

Here There Be Vampires?

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In 1996, in the midst of a strong economy, the U.S. re-elected a president who’s personal character had been a topic of conversation (not always polite) since he first appeared on the national radar. The media and cultural mantra then could be summarized as “I don’t care if he’s a good person as long as he does a good job.” The economy was doing well and those who took issue with the president’s behavior were lectured by the elites that Americans were more concerned about their self-interest than in being self-righteous.

Eight years later a president with marginal approval ratings, who was managing both an underperforming economy and what was frequently portrayed as an unpopular war, and who was as venomously despised by the left as his predecessor had been by the right, was reelected with majorities of both the popular and electoral vote. Some explanations for this unlikely scenario focused on the significant number of voters who said “moral values” or just plain “values” were what motivated their voting.

Not surprisingly, some of those out of power have been trying to repackage their memes in “value” oriented terms, confident (or at least hopeful) that their recent failures were merely a matter of poor communication and not a faulty philosophy. Others on that side, however, shout “Theocracy, booga booga!” as if this were a nation of vampires horrified at the sight of a crucifix. Yet their own One True Faith compels them to react to judicial nominees in the same way the Taliban greeted reliefs of Buddha.

Or perhaps these are the vampires, fleeing the dawn and being cornered in a crypt – be it the Senate Cloak Room or the faculty lounge at a University. Hissing at the rabble that have pursued them, they draw themselves up in as fierce a manner as can be mustered to demand imperiously that no one touch that window shade.

They know the day must have its turn, but if they can hold out long enough then night, too, will again have its way.

Letting Your Conscience Be Your Guide

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Excellent column from Craig Westover today, “Rx for Conscience Clauses.” These clauses in state laws allow individuals or institutions to opt out of providing (or paying for) medical services on the basis of religious or moral beliefs.

Craig’s take is a response to Ellen Goodman’s column on the same topic and is, as always, calm and well-reasoned. One of the highlights for me was his observation on the irony of the state “granting” these rights:

Bottom line, morality is always an individual choice. “Conscience clauses” are good things, but it is ironic that the state passing a conscience clause restores to individuals the right to exercise moral judgment that government never had the authority to take away in the first place.

A Fate Worse than Death?

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Many are quick to bemoan the apparent callousness of our culture and characterize Americans as self-indulgent and self-interested. Yet when tragedy strikes, as in the recent tsunami or the Red Lake shootings, there is an immediate outpouring of concern, both spiritual and material, as we empathize with the victims and especially the survivors.

Given that, it has been interesting the past two weeks to consider the reaction of the American public to Terri Schiavo’s predicament. If the polls are to be believed – and there is a certain gut level resonance to the findings, despite the questionable wording of ABC’s version – a large majority of us thought Terri Schiavo should be “allowed” to die. While some might see this as a lack of empathy, I will hazard (and “hazard” is an apt word) a guess that it might be a matter of too much empathy.

One of Merriam-Webster’s definitions of empathy is “the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner.” People considered Terri’s condition and had little trouble vicariously imagining themselves in similar straights – and didn’t want to go there.

Most tragedies, like Red Lake and the tsunami, happen suddenly and move quickly into the aftermath. We identify with the suffering and are moved to do something. The Schiavo situation on the other hand was more forward looking and slow developing yet with an ugly, predictable outcome. It was almost like watching a victim in a horror movie walk down a dark, foggy alley as the scary music mounts. It’s not that we, as viewers, necessarily want it to hurry up and be over, but confronting and empathizing with our own death or maiming is something we don’t like to invest a lot of time in. As someone who has spent years in the life insurance and disability insurance business, I know this for a fact.

Many people looked at the circumstances, pictured themselves there, and thought “I wouldn’t want to live like that.” And because it was unpleasant to contemplate, they preferred not to look too closely. Fair enough – that was pretty much my attitude three weeks ago. But is there, truly, a fate worse than death?

We can glibly say that there is, putting a premium on our intellect and dignity, yet at the end find our heart and organs stubbornly refusing to give in. I’ve also heard that philosophy from those arguing that it is better for a baby to be aborted than be born disabled or into a cruel life where it is unwanted. Yet Joe Ford(cited below), who’s doctor wanted to pull the plug on him when he was an infant, is one of many who would vehemently dispute that.

In fact, it appears that at least some disabled people view this attitude by able bodied people as being arrogant at best and bigoted at worst. Here’s an excerpt from James Taranto’s excellent commentary in today’s Wall Street Journal, asking “Who will remember Terri?”

What lasting effect will the Terri Schiavo saga have on American politics? Probably not much. However intense the emotions of the past two weeks, for most voters they’re sure to prove fleeting. But there’s one important exception: disabled Americans. Some of the most impassioned arguments against killing Terri Schiavo came from profoundly handicapped people:

– Mary Johnson, left-leaning editor of Ragged Edge magazine: “There isn’t a single disability rights activist I’ve heard from . . . who isn’t afraid that this will make liberals hate them even more than they now do.”

– Joe Ford, a Harvard undergraduate with severe cerebral palsy: “Like many others with disabilities, I believe that the American public, to one degree or another, holds that disabled people are better off dead. To put it in a simpler way, many Americans are bigots. A close examination of the facts of the Schiavo case reveals not a case of difficult decisions but a basic test of this country’s decency.” [See link below for more from Joe Horn. Ed.]

– Eleanor Smith, a self-described liberal agnostic lesbian, whose childhood bout with polio left her confined to a wheelchair: “At this point I would rather have a right-wing Christian decide my fate than an ACLU member.” Ms. Smith protested last week outside the hospice where Mrs. Schiavo lay dehydrating and starving.

I’m not willing to go so far as to call it bigotry (which may be a sure sign that I am a bigot, at least in this area) but it is worth considering what affect our attitudes about disability had in our feelings about the Terri Schiavo case. More importantly, if we have as a society put our foot on that infamous slippery slope, it’s worth considering what affect these attitudes may have on future care for those who appear to be profoundly disabled. It might be a good idea, then, to anchor our other foot in “Bigotry and the Murder of Terri Schiavo” by Harvard’s Joe Ford. I think you’ll find it both convicting and inspiring.

One Answer

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The Answer
by Rudyard Kipling

A Rose, in tatters on the garden path,

Cried out to God and murmured ‘gainst His Wrath,

Because a sudden wind at twilight’s hush

Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush.

And God, Who hears both sun-dried dust and sun,

Had pity, whispering to that luckless one,

“Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well —

What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell?”

And the Rose answered, “In that evil hour

A voice said, ‘Father, wherefore falls the flower?

For lo, the very gossamers are still.’

And a voice answered, ‘Son, by Allah’s will!'”


Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward,

Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord:

“Sister, before We smote the dark in twain,

Ere yet the stars saw one another plain,

Time, Tide, and Space, We bound unto the task

That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should ask.”

Whereat the withered flower, all content,

Died as they die whose days are innocent;

While he who questioned why the flower fell

Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell.


Heart of Lightness: Boston Globe Studies Evangelical Hottentots

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Thanks to Hugh Hewitt, you may have already heard about the article in today’s Boston Globe where an intrepid reporter was sent into the wilds of an evangelical enclave in Ohio to explore the mysteries of a family that tries to live out its faith.

The article is actually pretty good and it doesn’t appear the reporter set out to try and make the family look foolish. Globe readers may find some of the revelations shocking but the family sounded pretty normal to me. Then again, I don’t live in Massachusetts.

Still, I do kind of wonder why the Globe sought out this story. It really had the feel of a National Geographic exploration of a foreign culture. I half-expected some Jane Goodall type of narration along the lines of “I carefully approached the alpha male, my head bowed in biblical submission…” or Marlin Perkins saying “I waited in the boat while Jim wrestled with the family over the Theory of Evolution.”

And now I’m picturing some Bostonian putting down his newspaper and saying, “Good heavens, Muffy, these primitives care more about what the Bible says than what Jacques Chirac thinks of us.”

Actually, the Globe wasn’t that original in this approach. I remember the Night Writer had this post earlier about an interview the Strib did with an author by the name of James Ault, Jr. who spent three years observing an evangelical community and made it back alive.

If this keeps up, people are going to start thinking Christians are nice people.