Look at the Bird
And now…the third and final winner of the first annual Parenting Beyond Belief Column Competition: Robbin Dawson’s “Look at the Bird.” Thanks again to all who participated!
Look at the Bird
by Robbin Dawson
You can know the name of a bird in all the languages of the world, but when you’re finished, you’ll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird… So let’s look at the bird and see what it’s doing—that’s what counts. I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something. —Richard Feynman
“What’s the matter, babe?”
We were at a bowling alley for the birthday party of my son’s friend, Joe. My son, Ethan, was walking toward me with tears welling.
I met him halfway, scanned him for goose eggs, then began examining his fingers. When 7 year-olds are bowling, there are some things in the alley that can break.
“No, it’s not that!” He wrenched his hand from mine. I followed him to some nearby chairs. He crossed his arms over the back of his seat and rested his chin atop. A few tears slid down his cheeks.
We sat quietly for a few minutes.
“Joe said I’m not his best friend.”
Wow…hmm…really?
At that time, Joe and Ethan were inseparable. Their usual mode of greeting involved Joe running across the playground screaming, “Eetthhaaaaaannnnn!” before they tackle-hugged. The two would then thoroughly vet each playscape while sharing the milestones that had occurred since their last meeting.
Certainly, they each had other friends. Certainly, friendships changed and shifted. I just hadn’t seen this coming, and neither had my son.
“He said that,” Ethan sniffled and blew out a breath. “He said that Jesus is his best friend.”
Ah. Now that made more sense.
I picked quarters out of my purse and motioned toward a vending machine in the arcade. While Ethan chugged his cold drink, I selected a pool cue from a rack on the wall and rolled it across a table.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m judging how straight this cue stick is.” (It wobbled across the felt like a lady wearing one stiletto.) I was just about to challenge Ethan to a game, when he appeared at my side with another cue to test.
I explained eight ball, taught him how to hold a cue and helped him break. There is something inherently satisfying in the sound and feel of breaking. I racked the balls several more times for him, ostensibly for practice.
Two turns in, I tested the waters. “Joe seemed to like the Bionicle you gave him.”
“Yeah.” Ethan’s tone was matter-of-fact. “He’s been wanting Toa Hordika Vakama for a long time.”
“Oh. I guess that’s something a friend would know.” I paused to prepare my innocent, casual tone. “I wonder if he’ll let Jesus play with it.”
Ethan looked up from his shot, one eyebrow raised.
“What?” I shrugged. “I share my Bionicles with my friends.”
“Mama! You don’t have Bionicles!” He resumed lining up his next shot with entertaining concentration.
“True. But if I had Bionicles, I would let my friends play with them. My bug collecting boxes, too. I might even let them play with that goop in a jar that makes farting noises.”
We giggled. Then we talked about what makes our friends our friends. Enjoyable conversation, shared interests and helping each other out were high on both of our lists.
I was just about to bring the talk full circle, back to Jesus, when Ethan did it for us.
He laid his pool cue on the table. “I know I’m still Joe’s best real friend—you know, his best people friend. It just made me feel bad when he said that I was second.”
Several months prior, he’d asked me to refrain from hugs and kisses in public. Alone in the arcade nook, he accepted both without complaint.
We continued our game. In between helping him visualize angles and realizing that my skills had atrophied to embarrassing, I did my level best to explain the notion of a personal god and why anyone might refer to a god as a “friend.”
“Do you believe that?” he asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Me either.”
“Oh?”
“No. I mean, you can’t see God, and you can’t hear God.” A light bulb flicked on. “I’m going to try praying tonight.”
I sensed a chance to inject methodology. “What would your hypothe…”
“I got one!” he yelled. He had indeed managed to sink a ball in a corner pocket.
“Great shot!” I did not point out that the ball was mine, or that the cue ball had followed it.
“Mama, can I go back now?”
“Of course.”
I couldn’t help but smile. We would get to fuller explanations of others’ religious beliefs. We would visit places of worship. He would eventually decide for himself.
At that moment, though, watching the bird and seeing what it did seemed the most age-appropriate, educational approach possible.
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ROBBIN DAWSON lives on a tiny mountain in upstate South Carolina with her illustrator/cartoonist husband and their two fabulous kids. She bid farewell to corporate accounting in 2004 to home school her children, and co-founded an inclusive support group. When she’s not out exploring the world with her kids, she’s usually reading or spending quality time with her computer.
Go Crimson!
I want my ashes scattered on the streets of a big university town. They may very well be my favorite places on Earth — and what better way to express affection than showering your beloved with charred carbon?
Spending the weekend in and around Harvard Square in Cambridge reminded me so much of Berkeley I could hardly stand it. I can see now why they call Harvard “The Berkeley of the East.” (Heh.)
I remember how overloaded my 18-year-old senses were, a newly-minted freshman on Telegraph Avenue, 400 miles and a thousand light years from home. I was completely overwhelmed for the first six weeks, then gradually reached that epiphanic moment when you realize you don’t have to process or understand everything — that it’s OK to co-exist with the unfamiliar.
I began to tolerate, then like, then embrace and explore the whole incredible exciting mess. It changed me for good, in both senses of that phrase. I hope and suspect my kids will ignore the pathetic Deputy-Dog faces on their parents and dive into a university town far from home.
The weekend at Harvard was simply phenomenal. I had the pleasure at last of meeting Harvard’s Humanist Chaplain and all-around force-of-nature Greg Epstein, who placed my name in nomination for Harvard Humanist of the Year several months ago and who organized the whole shebang.
One of many high points of the weekend was learning from Greg, over a post-seminar pint at the pub, that my work first came to his attention just days after PBB was released. It wasn’t the book that caught his eye, but this very blog, so young at the time that its umbilical stump was still hanging on.
Greg was being brutalized that week for referring to Dawkins et al. as atheist “fundamentalists” (note the quotes, which change the meaning, too subtly for some). Duncan Crary (communications director for the Institute for Humanist Studies) suggested that he check out a particular post on a new blog called the Meming of Life. Titled “Unholier than thou,” the post was my own irritated response to those who were barking that my approach toward religion was too conciliatory:
One of the less helpful notions in orthodox religious thought is the idea that there is a very small circle in which we may dance….
One of the frankly hilarious features of the freethought world is our tendency to reproduce this irritating feature of religion in our own way by twisting ourselves in knots just as Gordian, just as asphyxiating, defining ever-smaller circles around ourselves and spurning those outside the circle as insufficiently pure.
Let’s call this syndrome “unholier-than-thou” (UTT).
Do you have UTT? Some symptoms to watch for:
1. Insisting that anyone who does not share your taste for slurs and epithets against religious believers is “gutless.”
2. Arguing endlessly about labels (atheist vs. humanist, humanist vs. secular humanist, atheist vs. nontheist, disbeliever vs. nonbeliever vs. nonreligious, ad infinitum). Insisting that any one label is obviously right or obviously wrong is a classic sign of UTT. Seek professional help.
3. Attempting to banish another person from the (un)sacred circle by claiming s/he has a connection to some form of thought or way of life less rigorously rational and secularly pure than one’s own. The secular equivalent of screaming WIIIIITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Other high points of the weekend included the fact that Becca came with me, that the talk and seminar were well-received, seeing the good and great August Brunsman, Amanda Metskas, and Kate Miller again, meeting blog regulars Ryan and Jim — and that Bex and I got to walk around in snow and then leave without shoveling it.
Then there’s the thing that continues to move and energize me — other people’s stories. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not that kind of guy in general. But for some reason I never tire of hearing personal variations on the theme of nonreligious experience, whether childhood memories or deconversions or the stories of raising fearlessly curious kids who think for themselves. So thanks to everyone who participated on Saturday, and a special thanks to Greg and the trustees of the Harvard Humanist Chaplaincy for a truly marvelous honor.
Onward to Austin!
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Fund drive update: Twelve days until the Solstice, by which time I hope to have retired this site’s bummer of an operating debt for the year. Many thanks to those whose humanistic generosity has helped us reach 31%! Click on the Donate button atop the sidebar to join in the fun.
Back in a geologic jif
Busy time — Harvard event this Saturday, Austin next Saturday…I’ll definitely post a few times in between the two. For one thing I’ve got to tell y’all about the return of the elves to Atlanta, this time with a twist. They’re not stuffed elves that move around in the night like last year. They’re real elves who break in, eat food and leave misspelled notes. (The jury is out on which is creepier.)
I’ll also be posting the third and final winner of the First Annual PBB Column Competition and answering a request for gift-book recommendations for the kidlings.
In the meantime, thanks once again to all who have been clicking that Donate button in the margin to help out with the care and feeding of the site. We are nearly on pace to retire this year’s site operations debt by Solstice morning, which would be a tremendous stress-reliever. Here’s a stat for added incentive:
< Number of employees of FOCUS ON THE FAMILY, largest Christian parenting organization in the US: 1,100
< Number of employees of PARENTING BEYOND BELIEF, largest nonreligious parenting organization in the US: 1
See you next week.
Tin cup time
Once in a while I’m reminded that I’ve got a kind of Wizard of Oz effect going here—especially when someone asks if a member of my “staff” can get back to them with this or that information.
In fact, it’s just me behind the curtain. I see my entire staff each morning when I shave. Aside from Eliot the Webmaster, everything that happens in the world of PBB—from the blog to the forum to the resources and seminars—is my fault.
Number of employees of Focus on the Family,
largest Christian parenting organization in the US: 1,100
Number of employees of Parenting Beyond Belief,
largest nonreligious parenting organization in the US: 1
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It’s been a great pleasure to build this thing from the ground up, but as all Wizards know, smoke and fire and projected green heads don’t come cheap. So far the whole endeavor has been personally funded, and without getting into gory detail, let’s just say we’ve now hit something of a financial pothole. A recent meeting with my beloved shareholder made it clear that if this nonreligious parenting resource is going to continue in anything like its current form, I’m gonna need a little help from my friends.
(Psst…That’s all y’all.)
So…if and only if these resources have been useful to you, I’d very much appreciate a vanishingly small donation to help keep things going. I’ve placed a PayPal button in the sidebar for this purpose. With your help, maybe Tiny Tim can finally get that new crutch he’s always coveted.
Barring that, just bring me the broomstick of the Wicked Witch and we’ll call it square.
Thanks! –Dale
UPDATE (12/3): Oh my goodness, I’m getting verklemmt. Talk amongst yourselves. Within the first 18 hours, the generous members of the PBB community eliminated 14 percent of the site’s operating debt for 2008. Thanks so much for your help.
Boy, the stuff I don’t know about Islam
I know just enough about Islam to embarrass myself at Ramadan parties. Half of what I learn confirms Islam’s common ground (good and bad) with Judaism and that other one.
That common ground is especially fun when evangelical grandma takes the Belief-o-Matic Quiz and learns she’s 70 percent Muslim.
Then there are the differences, and they can go pretty deep. While cruising a webpage titled Effective Islamic Parenting, I came across this intriguing difference in a list of “General Laws of Development”:
An infant child comes into the world perfectly good and only becomes other than perfectly good while growing into adulthood due to the influences upon him/her during their years of development.
Compare to a passage I’ve quoted before from evangelical radio minister John MacArthur in his book Successful Christian Parenting:
The truth is that our children are already marred by sin from the moment they are conceived. The drive to sin is embedded in their very natures. All that is required for the tragic harvest is that children be allowed to give unrestrained expression to those evil desires.
In other words, children do not go bad because of something their parents do. They are born sinful, and that sinfulness manifests itself because of what their parents do not do.…There’s only one remedy for the child’s inborn depravity: The new birth — [to be ‘born again’].
Anyone out there with enough knowledge of Islam to confirm that it does not include a doctrine of inherent human sinfulness? If so, it’s a pretty fundamental difference, and one I did not know.
MoL Flashback: Where thanks are due
(First appeared on November 19, 2007.)
Thanksgiving — one of my very favorite holidays — is mentioned twice in Parenting Beyond Belief. “There should be no difficulty in secularly observing a holiday dedicated to gratitude,” I wrote in “Losing the Holy and Keeping the Day” :
“We can express to each other our thankfulness for each other, for our good fortune, and for life itself. No eavesdropping deity required. There is an additional opportunity to note that the Puritan pilgrims were pursuing the kind of freedom of religious observance to which secularists should be devoted – fleeing harassment and religious persecution in England and heading to the New World where they were free at last to burn witches. Okay, leave that part out.”
The book explores the issue of gratitude a bit further, naming it one of the “Seven Secular Virtues”:
The most terrible moment for an atheist, someone once said, is when he feels grateful and has no one to thank. I suppose it was meant to be witty, but it’s pretty silly. Nonbelievers of all stripes should and do indeed feel enormously grateful for many things, and I’m not aware of any terrible moments. Whereas religious folks teach their children to funnel all gratitude skyward, humanists and atheists can thank the actual sources of the good things we experience, those who actually deserve praise but too often see it deflected past them and on to an imaginary being.
We have no difficulty reminding the four-year-old to “say thank you” when Grandma hands her an ice cream cone, but in other situations – especially when a religious turn-of-phrase is generally used – we often pass up the chance to teach our kids to express gratitude in naturalistic terms. Instead of thanking God for the food on your table, thank those who really put it there – the farmers, the truckers, the produce workers, and Mom or Dad or Aunt Millicent. They deserve it. Maybe you’d like to lean toward the Native American and honor the animals for the sacrifice of their lives – a nice way to underline our connection to them. You can give thanks to those around the table for being present, and for their health, and for family and friendship itself. There is no limit. Even when abstract, like gratitude for health, the simple expression of gratitude is all that is needed. No divine ear is necessary – we are surrounded by real ears and by real hearers.
Group prayer of any kind, including religious grace, has always bothered me. It’s coercive, for one thing, and one person speaks for everyone, assuming a uniformity that is never really accurate. After the “amen,” I always want to submit a minority opinion: “I consent to clauses 1, 2, and 4, but dissent from 3 and 5 for reasons as follows…”
On several occasions, I’ve even seen group prayer used manipulatively (“And may the Lord bless and protect those among us who have been making unwise choices lately” [all eyes go to cousin Billy]).
BUT…the options to religious grace can bring their own problems. The old “moment of silence” can feel hollow; others can seem a bit forced (humanist meditations with Baptist intonations); while some, even if accurate, seem both abstract and forced (“thank you to the truckers and turkey wranglers and assembly-line workers”).
The best option I’ve ever heard just arrived in my inbox yesterday in the form of a short story by Wisconsin author/educator Marilyn LaCourt (The Prize, 2004):
Thanksgiving Ritual
by M. LaCourtLast year I had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner at my friend’s house. I arrived just as we were being invited to take our places at the table and I felt a little awkward because I didn’t know a number of the other guests. I looked toward the kitchen expecting someone to bring on the food. It sure smelled good, and I was hungry.
Imagine my confusion when my host looked around the table at each of his guests and asked, “Who wants to start?”
I knew there was supposed to be food, but I still didn’t see any, not even a relish dish or a breadbasket to pass. What were we supposed to do? Pass imaginary bowls filled with imaginary mashed potatoes, stuffing, turkey and cranberry sauce? No one spoke.
Finally my host’s eyes settled on his seven-year-old niece.
Cindy stood up, cleared her throat and smiled at her brother. “Thank you, Jimmy, for teaching me to play games on your computer.”
Jimmy blushed and said, “You’re welcome.”
Eric, a nice looking young man with bright blue eyes was next. He thanked his parents for giving him his first telescope when he was ten, and for the many hours they spent encouraging his appreciation for the wonders of the universe. I learned later that Eric had been accepted into a post graduate program to study Astronomy.
My friend, Ron, the host, said thank you to his wife. “I really appreciate the way you put up with my complaining, your understanding and patience with my cause fighting. I love the wonderful meals you prepare for me everyday, your companionship and your sense of humor. Thank you for being my wife.”
Liz smiled and answered, “You’re welcome.”
I was beginning to get the picture. I had some thank-yous of my own and was getting heady with the whole idea, but I decided to watch and listen a bit longer.
“Thank you for taking care of me when I had such a bad case of flu last winter, Rose. I know how terribly unpleasant that must have been for you, and you were so kind to put your own life aside for a few days to stay with me.” Gina’s eyes were damp when she looked at her daughter. “You were such a comfort.” Then she turned to her son- in-law. “Thank you too, Karl, for fending for yourself and the kids while she was taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome.” “You’re welcome.”
Then Rose stood up and walked over to where her husband was sitting. She bent down and gave him a kiss. “Thank you, honey, for working so hard and supporting us and giving me the opportunity to be the stay at home mom I’d always hoped I could be.”
Chuck thanked his friend Bob for all the wonderful tomatoes and other produce Bob gave him during harvest time. He also thanked Jerry and Judy for teaching him how to make the world’s greatest apple sauce.
Jean thanked Patty for listening when she needed a sympathetic ear.
Juan thanked his grandmother for the loan and told her he had put the money to good use. Sonja thanked her neighbor, Dorene, for the wonderful homemade mayonnaise and other goodies. And on it went.
I was thinking about all the wonderful people I wanted to thank. I guess I was drifting off in some sort of a trance when I heard the next person mention my name.
“Thank you, Marilyn,” she said. “You helped my daughter and son-in-law through some rough spots in their marriage.”
I waved my hand in a never mind gesture. “I was just doing my job.”
Ron nearly knocked over his water glass as he stood to interrupt me.
“No, no, no. That’s not allowed.” He shook his pointer at me. “These are the rules. You only get to say ‘you’re welcome’. If you explain it away you discredit the message and invalidate the sincerity of the person saying thanks. You just got a sincere ‘thank you’, Marilyn. Now, say ‘you’re welcome’.” He sat down and fiddled with his napkin.
“Oops. I’m sorry. I mean…” I looked at the woman who’d thanked me and said, “You’re welcome.” Then I smiled at my host and hostess.
“And thank you, Ron and Liz, for inviting me to share in such a beautiful tradition.”
Ron grinned. “You’re welcome.” Liz nodded, “You’re welcome.”
It took a full thirty minutes to get around the table and all the thanks-givings. When we finished Liz excused herself to put the finishing touches on the food and Ron poured the wine.