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medical *
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No appointments until Stanford on Tuesday for treatment plan for chemotherapy and radiation.
Left anterior chest pain more prominent. Some hip pain this morning. Pain well controlled with
simpler medications.
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It is a pleasant morning on the Central Coast of California. As I am writing, I can look up and
see the lovely Jasmine doing some ironing. Archie can't stand for her to do this work without him, even though he has let his attention wander.
The Soldiers' Home
I am age 6 living at 3923 7th St NE and I begin to attend St Anthony's Elementary School. My father is working as bureaucrat for the Veteran's Administration. He is intelligent and he has advanced rapidly to a Grade 10 in government service. However, his lack of a college education has now limited his opportunities for advancement.
For the past few years, my mother has been the consistent one in our family. Her emotional front is generally calm without the ups and downs exhibited by my father. She is able to have fun with the children and to easily display joy, love, and affection. Although working all day, every day, she somehow manages to include us children in many of the activities. She teaches me to make work into games. She is frequently at church--mass on Sundays, Benediction a few times a week, and often dropping in to St Anthony's prior to shopping to say a prayer and to light a candle. My mother is the perfect person.
My grandfather, Walter, is an infrequent but welcome visitor. I particularly like it when he comes on Sunday with his girl friend Marguerite, who wears large hats with feathers. Generally we go on picnic outings, often to Old Soldier's Home, a green space with several winding roads north of Michigan Avenue and North Capital Street. Marguerite has a delightful voice and sings. My favorite song is "Zippity Doo Dah."
Placed irregularly on the grounds of the Soldiers" Home are several large cottages with prominent verandas, generally filled with old men with various types of infirmities who often use crutches and wheelchairs. Sometimes we stop and visit with them briefly. What I liked most about trips to Soldier's Home was the hand pump water fountains scattered about the grounds. Each pump had a tin cup full of water next to it. The water was poured into the top of the pump to "prime" it. Then it became possible to pump and quaff down this deliciously cool water.
Some of those grounds of Soldier's Home have passed on to other uses. Curiously, the Washington Hospital Center now occupies the southern most piece. In 2003 my daughter came from Utah to stay there during her 10 week terminal illness while I came from Las Vegas as often as possible to be there with her. During that painful time, I wandered about the old neighborhoods of Brookland and there is a bittersweet reconnection with my Grandfather, Walter. At the gut-wrenching level I realized the extent of his suffering--the loss of one daughter to cerebral palsy in 1926, the death of his wife at age 39 in 1930, the loss of his business and the plunge to poverty that brings with it the inability to house his children under a single roof, the death of his second-born in 1934 as the direct result of nursing her mother, and the scattering of the offspring in several directions.
As you might imagine, I would seldom be able to feel safe around my father for any length of time because things could change so rapidly, as fast as one can drink a shot or two of whiskey or drink a bottle or two of beer.
At the age of six and my entry into formal Catholic indoctrination, there it was easy to make a comparison between my two parents, Catholic Mom and Atheist Father. In addition to their differences in behaviors, there is this difference in religious convictions. It was quite natural for me to see cause and effect, namely that the religious conviction was responsible or heavily involved in the behaviors exhibited by my parents and that the Catholic religion was responsible for my mother's goodness. I hear similar arguments even now from friends who claim that blind and strict forms of moral indoctrination may be necessary for proper molding of the young.
First Grade At St Anthony's Elementary
My first experiences at St Anthony's were traumatic. Many Catholic schools require that the students attend a mass together every Sunday. The children are seated as a group and the Nuns patrol this area to maintain discipline. I had been to mass hundreds of times with my mother and aunts without any problems other than boredom and fidgeting. On this first Sunday of 1st Grade I was sitting between two friends at mass. I just had a wonderful time, talking about this and that, chuckling, laughing, and chatting up a storm--a gratifying social experience.
On Monday it was back to school again. Our class room was divided into about 10 tables with 4 or 6 student chairs per table. Immediately after the morning prayer and the pledge of Allegiance, Sister Marie launched into a discussion of Sunday's mass. She talked about the importance of keeping quiet during church services. Then she said, "If you talked in church yesterday, I want you to raise your hands." My hand stayed glued to where it was and I looked around the room. I think one or two hands went up.
"Put your hands down. I want to see the hand of the person who was the worst behaved, the one who talked the whole time we were in church." I looked around like anyone else.
Suddenly my field of vision went dark, because Sister Marie with her black habit was standing directly in front of me. She reached down and grabbed my left ear with her right hand and slowly raised me to my feet. She bent over and looked into my face..
"It was you. You talked the whole time. You were laughing and disrespectful. I'm sending you home to your mother. What are you going to tell her?"
"That I talked in church."
She gave me a disgusted look and told me to sit down. She didn't send me home. It wasn't until a few years later that it occurred to me that she may have been most upset about my inability to tell the truth. Of course this is a lesson that others, including Richard Nixon, didn't learn until a much older age.
A few months later another incident occurred that increased her dislike of me. One mild November day, I returned home from school to find that mother was not there. I was panic stricken. A neighbor took me in and told me that my mother had gone to the hospital with pneumonia. I was scared to think about being alone with my father without the possible moderating influence of my mother.
The following morning, I awakened in time for school, but my thinking was a little odd. I believed that because my father was not a Catholic, that it would be logical for me not to go to Catholic school that day--realpolitik so to speak. He was in a deep sleep. I entertained my younger siblings so that he would stay asleep as long as possible. If he were asleep, we wouldn't have to deal with him. However, he eventually awakened at 10 and demanded that I get dressed and get to school.
I arrived at my classroom at about 11 A.M. Sister Marie was angry with me and never asked for an explanation. She told me to go the principal's office and report to her that I was late. I started to cry when I was speaking with the principal. All of the sense of loss of Mom came flooding out. I believe the principal's name was Sister Cornelius. She was someone who knew my family, particularly one of my mother's sisters. The Carter women had been a fixture in the area for more than 15 years. I told her about my mother's sickness and told her that my father had awakened very late. Sister Cornelius took my hand and walked me back to my classroom. She told me to take my seat and then asked Sister Marie to step into the hall. When Sister Marie came back to the classroom, it appeared that she had been crying. I was old enough to know that if they were tears, they were not for me.
Any respite from Sister Marie was short-lived. Sometime during that school year, I raised my hand as we were required when requesting to use the bathroom. My hand was up for a long time. Sister Marie saw it several times and knew my situation exactly. I was much too shy and fearful to just get up and leave the room to urinate. I held it. I held it. And I held it. The pressure was enormous and I couldn't possibly hold it longer. I sat there and tried to relieve my bladder the smallest amount to decrease the pressure. My hand was still raised. Then a little more urine released, hand still raised. Then I knew that it was no use. My pants were already wet. There would be more humiliation in leaving the room now where everyone would see what had occurred. I put my hand down and traded wet chair, pants, and humiliation for the aching bladder. I knew that my immediate neighbors were aware that I was sitting there in my own urine, but they pretended ignorance--the kindest thing that they could do under the circumstances.
At this time of my life, I was unaware that I was quite intelligent. I loved learning. Reading, in particular, came very easy to me. With my own son, Keith, I saw first hand the anger of a teacher with a bright child who is too uninterested or too bored to pay much attention. This was a science teacher. Keith did not generally hand in homework but got excellent grades in any testing.There was no doubt Keith knew the material but the teacher felt disrespected and was angry. For my part, I handled the situation by making Keith identify his homework on a daily basis and sit under my watchful eye in the kitchen until it was done. I didn't tell Keith my true assessment. It could not have helped the situation.
I think that was one of my problems with Sister Marie. No matter how abusive she might be, it was not possible for her to make me less intelligent. Maybe that was her biggest gripe--that she found me intelligent but less than saintly material. Looks like she was prescient.
Sohr's Explanation for the Effectiveness of Early Religious Brainwashing
The incorporation of religion into the educational system in first grade was pervasive. You learned writing and penmanship by copying prayers. Lives of Saints dumbed down for lower grades might be a reading assignment. The first classroom period of the day was religious instruction, the Catechism.
At this late date, this is all that I can recall the rote memorization:
"Who made you?" "God made me."
"Why did God make you?" "God made me to know, love, and serve Him in this world and to be happy with him in the next."
The internet is kind enough to provide something more formal.
http://www.catholicity.com/baltimore-catechism/lesson01.html
The Purpose of Man's Existence
Lesson 1 from the Baltimore Cathechism
1. Who made us?
God made us.
In the beginning, God created heaven and earth. (Genesis 1:1)
2. Who is God?
God is the Supreme Being, infinitely perfect, who made all things and keeps them in existence.
In him we live and move and have our being. (Acts 17:28)
3. Why did God make us?
God made us to show forth His goodness and to share with us His everlasting happiness in heaven.
Eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man, what things God has prepared for those who love him. (I Corinthians 2:9)
4. What must we do to gain the happiness of heaven?
To gain the happiness of heaven we must know, love, and serve God in this world.
Lay not up to yourselves treasures on earth; where the rust and moth consume and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up to yourselves treasures in heaven; where neither the rust nor moth doth consume, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. (Matthew 6:19-20)
5. From whom do we learn to know, love, and serve God?
We learn to know, love, and serve God from Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who teaches us through the Catholic Church.
I have come a light into the world that whoever believes in Me may not remain in darkness. (John 12:46)
6. Where do we find the chief truths taught by Jesus Christ through the Catholic Church?
We find the chief truths taught by Jesus Christ through the Catholic Church in the Apostles' Creed.
He that heareth you heareth me; and he that despiseth you despiseth me; and he that despiseth me despiseth him that sent me. (Luke 10:16)
The True Nature of Faith for Little Children
What is clear is that a primary purpose of my Catholic education was to infect my thinking with a belief about the way in which the Universe and humans had come about. It accounted for cosmology, for existence, for humanity--certified, packaged, and presented in an atmosphere of complete acceptance. On a daily basis, this manner of thinking was reinforced. Everyone around me, infected in the same way, uttered the same beliefs. This happened for several years.
As the instruction continues, there is attached a greater and greater sense of certainty to the beliefs. The final Mind-Trick is to portray this inculcated certainty as having come from within my own soul..."Eric, you have been given the gift of faith." And thus one can be convinced that this belief structure imposed from the outside has actually bubbled up from within, from the depths of the soul, a gift from God himself. Ah! The gift of faith! Be thankful for this privilege. Once lost, it is hard to regain.
I made my first confession during first grade. I was fortunate that I was unaware that my masturbation was a so-called "mortal sin," one that deserved eternal damnation if not confessed. I spent hours trying to estimate the number of times that I had disobeyed my parents. It was impossible to do anything but to guess numbers. Lying was something that I ordinarily did whenever possible to escape blame or punishment. I didn't steal much. I had whacked my younger siblings on a number of occasions. I remember walking down the alley to 8th street remembering my use of curse words as a toddler, "Godamn it! Godamn it!" I could only shake my head in mature amazement at the bad behavior of the past me.
Somehow I made it through and here is a picture from my first communion day. My father can be seen busily fiddling with his 8mm movie camera, a gift from his aunt the prior year.
Is bending and binding a child's mind any different than binding a girl's feet?
Without much thought we give parents the power to impose delusional belief systems on their children.
Oh, you object to the word "delusional?"
If two or more systems of mutually exclusive beliefs each claim absolute certainty, wouldn't you have to say that at least one was mistaken?
If the belief is held to the extent that the believer is willing to take the life of a non-believer, would "delusional" be too strong a word in that case?
In my mind, rigorous religious teaching that purports to provide absolute truth is really blasphemy against man's search for knowledge. To my mind, it is child abuse.
The parents cannot see it as abuse because they too, have been given the gift of Faith. Recall also that the term "delusion" implies absolute faith in the veracity of the belief--and in our society we often give a free pass to those who are trapped in their delusions.
Hopefully, we will begin to approach a time where parents are more likely to encourage an individual spiritual search for their children rather than to impose a belief system at so early an age that the child is being blinded rather than being awakened.
Hi Eric,
ReplyDeleteI hope that the meeting at Stanford went well.
Love to you and Jasmine,
Ana Lorena