Sweethearts

My manager and friend, who I have worked with for so many years, throughly enjoys teasing me. One of her favorite jabs is to tease me about my choice to not date. She gets on my case more than my parents, who know the topic is taboo. A few years back I cleverly turned her teasing on her by saying, "Chris, the only girl for me in this world is your daughter, and I will have no one else". The reaction I got was great. She proceeded to tell me that I would never want her daughter for a wife, because she has ruined her daughter by spoiling her, and her husband will have the most spoiled wife in the world. I retorted, "Chris, who better to marry your daughter than myself? No one would spoil her more than I would." Mind, I am only joking with her, I'm closer to Chris's age than her daughter's, who was only fifteen. Admittedly, I like to tease her as well, and when ever I get the opportunity to tease Chris about her daughter I do, often referring to her daughter simply as 'my wifey'. Thus you can imagine I couldn't resist the opportunity to write a valentine for Sommer (Chris's daughter) when Chris brought a stack of cards into work on Valentine's Day. (The purpose of the cards was to give them to coworkers who were great teammates.) Chris likes to tease her kids too, so she gave it to her. A year later I wrote a short Valentine's Day poem for Sommer. It's become somewhat of a tradition, so for this year I decided that I would make her a valentine. Sommer is quite artistic, and honestly a better artist than myself, so I thought that she might appreciate a hand painted valentine. It's not my best work. I was trying to paint it rather quickly, after all, it is only a running joke.

"Sweethearts" 2012
Oil on Canvas
9x12"

Dollar Promise

Entry Dated December 2005.

"It was May 4th, Steve's birthday, and grandma had given him a birthday card. Grandma never forgot a birthday, and with every birthday card she always included a dollar. I was young and foolish (around seven years old), and prone to the weaknesses of my youth. It was Steve's birthday, it was his dollar, but oh how I coveted his dollar. It is amazing what one will do under the influence of one's desires. Some will cheat, lie, steal, others will sale their soul and even more. For me, I sold my freedom, I became a slave, selling myself for a dollar. Steve and I struck a deal. We shared a bedroom and we took turns shutting the lights out before bed at the end of the night. I promised him that if he would give me his dollar I would shut off the bedroom lights each night for the rest of my life. At the time it seemed like a reasonable offer. To my naivety I believe I agreed that payment would be received only upon completion of the agreement. Having made the deal I gladly shut the lights off that night, and then the next, and the next, and the next. Forever turned out to be much longer than I had anticipated. Some nights I would tire of my obligation and I would pretend to be asleep, forcing Steven to shut the lights out in my stead. But on the whole I shut the lights out faithfully each night, until the time came that we were given our own bedrooms, which was well into my teenage years. I never was given the dollar, but then again the light remains."

Evolutionary Understanding

"Nothing in Biology Makes Sense Except in the Light of Evolution" -Theodosius Dobzhansky. In 1973, Dobzhansky published the above titled essay in American Biology Teacher (vol. 35 pgs. 125-129).

http://biologie-lernprogramme.de/daten/programme/js/homologer/daten/lit/Dobzhansky.pdf

Though many evolutionary biologist are at odds with creationists Dobzhansky's essay was in fact an argument for the coexistence of the two schools of thought. Dobzhansky published his essay in hopes that the creationists who so vehemently fought evolutionary biology would gain understanding and allow evolution to be taught in school. He was a proponent of theistic evolution, which simply states that "there is a God, that God is the creator of the material universe and (by consequence) all life within, and that biological evolution is simply a natural process within that creation. Evolution, according to this view, is simply a tool that God employed to develop human life." -Wikipedia, Theistic Evolution. I was first made aware of this quote by a professor of mine who was teaching Evolutionary Biology. On the first day of class the professor emphasized that the course we were to embark upon did not have to be in conflict with religious beliefs. He illustrated his point by stating that BYU, a private religious school, employs more evolutionary biologist than the University of Utah, the so called heathen school.

What we were to learn would give meaning to the workings of life in ways that no other science could do. Evolution is no longer considered a theory, but has been ratified by every science as law, which is no small feat, as scientists rarely graduate theory into scientific law. There are many details regarding the workings of evolution that remain to be elucidated, there are many theories regarding the fine details of how to draw the phylogenetic tree of life, yet evolution itself is unquestionable. That year I took many classes wherein evolution provided the foundation of understanding. Dobzhansky was right, evolution has become my greatest and most valuable tool in understanding the mechanisms at work in every aspect of life. My understanding of the facets of life are so much more profound for my education in evolution. Through the light of evolution I have gained an understanding of why men are obsessed with breasts and butts, of why we go to war, of why the differences between the sexes exist. I understand the origins of life, and why they began. I understand how we developed state societies, politics, and the movements of economics. Even the abstractness of art begins to reveal itself through the understanding of evolution.

The understanding of these finites of life have not been directly taught to me, but I've deduced them using evolutionary theory. Human behavior and, by consequence, the laws of society are dictated by evolutionary principals. It is with this foundation that I make a comment on a bumper sticker that I saw some years ago as I was running to class. The sticker stated that "No one is born a bigot". But the fact is quite the opposite. Everyone is born a bigot. I will not elaborate extensively on the logic behind this truth, but I will simply state that it is a result of inclusive fitness. The simple fact that we are, by our nature, inclined to favor our own while oppressing those who are not, does not give us free licenser to the prejudices that have plagued society through the generations. Indeed, it is through better understanding of our inherent nature that we are able to best combat the evils of society. Because I am a man, and born with a strong sex drive, does not mean that I am at the mercies of my hormones. My parents and teachers did very well at instilling morality into my character. As we celebrate the life of Martin Luther King Jr. today, and his life work of equal rights, let's not forget that we have the power to rise above our instincts, but do not turn a blind eye to what those instincts are, because it is through understanding them that we are best able to rise above them. We have come along way in the promotion of equal rights, but we yet have a long way to go before Martin Luther's dream is realized.

Superman

Entry dated February 2005.

"Growing up on the farm was great. I'm sure it was the only thing that kept mom sane. The fact that she could send us outside to play with the whole of the farm at our disposal, yielded some tranquillity from the otherwise wild chaos that erupted with young children about the house. We had fields, pastures, orchards, gardens, avenues of grass, mysteries untold, and adventures to be wrought -all that a young boy could conjure up to do in such a landscape.

On one beautiful day Steve and I had been playing out near the barn. The barn contained all sorts of mysterious devices. Then there were stacks of hay, the ultimate fort building material. After playing for sometime atop of the haystack we decided that we were tired of if and that we wanted to play elsewhere in our vast playground. The funny nature of children is that they can't do anything without making a game of it. They play while they eat, while they do chores. They dilly dally as they make there way home from the school bus, and they even make games while they travel from playground to playground. And thus it was with us. It would be no fun to leave the haystack directly, so we made a game of it. We were to race. Steve thought to take the gentle slope, while I was sure that I could win if I climbed down the steep face. On your mark, get set, go... I sprinted one way, and Steve the other, but just as I neared the drop my foot caught on a bailing wire and I found myself flying over the edge. In that instant time slowed as my weightless body drifted into the ether. It felt like I was truly flying, and in that moment I thought that I was superman. But as it always does, reality catches up with time, and gravity remembers its role in the universe. The ground below me quickly change to blue sky as momentum carried me onward. My moment of freedom from Earth's laments came to an end as I landed flat on my back. I found myself regarding the heavens with its pillowy white clouds staring back at me. Coincidently my sister Melanie and her friends had been talking by the foot of the haystack. It must have been quite queer to see her kid brother drop out of the sky, landing before her feet. In shock she, somewhat foolishly, scooped me up in her arms and carried me back to the house to mother dearest. I don't remember much after that, but this much I can say, I won the race.."

Mortified

An entry adapted from July 2009

My dad farmed for many years as a young man, working for my grandfather. He tried his best to please his father, but that often came at the expense of his family. He had hoped to become an equal partner in the business, but he never received anything more than a meager wage. It was tearing his marriage apart. I am not sure how many years it took for my dad to break away from grandpa, but I know that my father spent the final years living in the Firth house sweeping chimneys to provide a living for his family, or at least to supplement it. The break would be finalized when Dad moved his family to St. George. As I look back upon it now I am rather impressed, and mortified, by the gamble my father took in moving his family to the city.

I don't know exactly how my grandfather made a living. I know he bought and sold land, occasionally farming it. Once in awhile to took on some business venture that he thought might be profitable. One such venture occurred when my father was a Senior in high school. My grandfather had purchase a hotel in St. George and he had put my father and grandmother in charge of running it while he attended to business elsewhere. My father only lived in St. George for a year or two, but he remembered those days with fondness. And so it was that when he looked to forge a new life for his family he moved them to St. George, where he had lived briefly for a season. If it were not for his ingenuity we never would have made it. My parents had eight children, and with six children remaining in the home my father moved us to the city without previously lining up a job to support his family. He put an ad in the local newspaper advertising himself for handyman work. He made business cards and distributed them to local lumber stores to give to their costumers who needed someone to install the merchandise they purchased. Business slowly rolled in, with his wife and children acting as receptionist for incoming client calls. If he didn't know how to do something he would teach himself. In a relatively short amount of time my self-employed father had a very successful business. He stopped advertising because his word of mouth business had grown to the point that he had to turn away jobs because he was too busy.

I believe I started working with my dad about the time I could walk. Okay, maybe not that early, but I do remember playing in a corner of the garage, pushing around sawdust with screws and scraps of wood, while dad built our family's picnic style dinner table. I like to pretend that I helped build it. Realistically, I began accompanying my dad to work during summers and occasionally on weekends when I was around the age of ten years, possibly earlier. Initially my labor entailed fetching tools for dad or holding boards as dad cut and hammered them in place. At that time I was unpaid child labor. I accompanied dad to work, I believe, to save mom's sanity by having one less child in the home during the day, but also I believe it was so that dad could teach his boys principals that are only learned through hard work. Steve and I rotated the days we had off, but for a school age child that is a major sacrifice of one's summer. We had to be up early, working long, hard days, without much return for our efforts (neglecting the fact that we were provided with a comfortable home to live in, food for our bellies, and all the needs that my father's industry provided for us). I hated working with my dad. Mostly though, I think I hated getting up early (I still do). Despite my disdain for working my childhood summers away I learned valuable lessons that I am eternally grateful for now. It is true that I learned a valuable trade, but more valuable than the trade I learned were the lessons of life. I learned to work hard and honestly, to take pride in my work, and all the while I learned lessons of ethics and morality.

When I became a scout and had to be absent from my father's side during the week of scout camp I felt somehow responsible for the void I would be leaving. My sister Bonnie was to take my place, but I did not feel that this was adequate, for I knew the inner workings of my fathers craft and she did not. I was taught to anticipate my father's needs, and I knew what tool he would need before he would need it, and I would have it ready for him. She would not be as well equipped as I would be, but at least I could prepare her in ways that might make her a useful tool in dad's hands. As I mentioned previously, my basic responsibility entailed fetching tools and holding boards, and this she could do if she knew where to find Dad's tools. With this knowledge in mind I drew an intricate map of where every tool lay within Dad's work truck. As they worked together Bonnie quietly referred to her map when ever Dad requested a tool of her. Dad wasn't sure what was contained on the paper that she keep in her pocket, but he knew that she never had to ask where a tool was. This story illustrates that at a young age I understood and felt the weight of responsibility, and in my stewardship I have become an intricate member and leader of every organization that I have had the privilege of being involved in.

As my skill and value increased I soon became an asset to the clients that my dad worked for. By decreasing the amount of time Dad needed to complete the job I was saving the client money. This was enough to merit a pay raise. My first paycheque, for a whole summers wages, was to receive a mountain bike. Of course Dad couldn't buy bikes for Steve and I without buying one for Bonnie too, but I wasn't one to complain that I had to work a whole summer for mine while she didn't have to work a day for hers. The next summer I petitioned to receive an hourly wage, at which I was paid $2/hour, charged to the customer. By he end of the summer I believe I was making $3/hour. The next year I received a raise of $5/hour, but by summer's end I was being paid $10/hour. It was that summer that Dad began to turn some of his easier jobs over to me. I worked independently of him, setting my own appointments, billing the customers myself. And at a rate of $15/hour it was good money. The following year I became an independent agent, not only in my work, but also in my home life. I still lived at home, I was, after all, only a teenager, but I was not bound under the house rules. I came and left as I please, did as I felt, answering to my own conscience. This description may alarm most parents, but the key here is that I was taught at a young age the principals of morality and accountability. I was independent by right of maturity, and could no longer be treated as a child. My future was my own, and I took it seriously.

My father took a mortifying step into the unknown, but his character would not let him do anything else but succeed. From my father I have learned to be a man... to take the future into my own hands and make it my own.

Life On The Farm

The following is a combination of journal entries, dating from 2005, recounting what it was like growing up on the farm as a young child.

The house in Firth was situated on 23 acres of land. We had a spacious yard, fields, pastures, and an apple orchard. I loved the apple orchard. We spent lazy days climbing the trees and swinging from the branches. In the country automatic sprinkler systems were not common. The fields and lawn were often watered via flood irrigation from a nearby canal/ditch system. On warm days I remember lying in the cool water as it flooded the lawn under the apple trees. As I lay I would pluck a recently fallen bobbing apple from the water, bite into its tart, crisp body, and feed what I couldn't eat to the horses in the near by pasture. (The horses weren't ours. The house was owned by my grandfather and the fields and pastures where often rented out.) During the summer nights we would hunt for nightcrawler to sell to the local petrol stations for fishing bate. In the winter we would dig tunnels in the snow and build snow forts among the orchard boughs.

Apples were not the only thing that we grew. I believe that more square footage was dedicated to the family garden than was dedicated to the house. Yet, I was only a child, and things appear to be much larger than they really are at that age. I remember feeling like I could easily become lost amongst the stocks of corn. They towered several feet above the head of a grown man. Occasionally mom would send us out to weed the garden, which I'm sure was more for the sake of Mom's sanity than for the sake of the vegetables. Irrespective, living on a farm is not an easy life. Each and every day is spent toiling, and at the sun's dawn the work begins afresh. It never goes away, not for holidays, not for vacations, nor for sick days. I remember husking corn, gathering eggs from the chicken coupe (the chickens scared me), and had I been old enough to milk the cows I'm sure I would have done that as well. Even for a young child, living on a farm is hard work.

Farming is more than cultivating vegetables. It often entails cultivating animals as well. As mentioned previously, we had chickens, but at times we also had horses, cattle, and pigs. Our society today has become too accustom to the modern conveniences that super markets offer -prepackaged cooked meat. We forget what it is like to raise, butcher, and slaughter your own food.

As a child growing up in a large family a claim had to be staked for anything to be personal. Such claims were often made upon items that were the property of the whole family, and not claimable by any one individual. Irrespective, if a claim was established over time the other children would respect that claim and it became the right of that child. This code of ownership I believe exists in all families, for the boundaries of living are too close, and a system of order must be established for peace to exist. Often the parents are unaware that such claims exist, but occasionally they are, and they will even entertain the child's fancy, and in this the child become the steward of the property. Claims can be made for bedrooms, positions at the dinner table, or even to farm animals. Thus it was with Oggy Woggy, a pig, whom my sister Julie had claimed as her own. Under such circumstances the stewardship of the child was not necessarily to care for the animal, but rather to be a friend, to checkin once in awhile, to be more intimately aquatinted with than the rest of the children.

As farm life goes, a farmer's livelihood is to cultivate and harvest his crops, including his livestock. One day, as we sat around the dinner table, Julie asked dad 'what happened to Oggy Woggy'? He was nowhere to be found. Dad looked at Julie, then his plate, and he snorted like a pig. Tears welled up in her eyes and she burst into tears as she ran from the room. I don't think she spoke to dad for sometime after that incident.

I had made such a claim myself at one point, upon a newborn calf with a black hide. I named him Blacky. Admittedly, Bonnie, Steven, and myself were probably the only ones who were aware that such a claim had been made, but I considered him mine. I had certain obligations to Blacky, as his steward, and I felt that I had an obligation to make him feel loved, and to do that he needed to be petted. Steve and I tried to coax Blacky into coming near the fence so we could pet him, but he was too far away to notice us. I was not so easily discourage. I climbed the gate and quietly snuck through the corral to the trees near the back where Blacky was. I worked my way towards the calf as Steve sat watching from the fence line. Blacky was still a young calf, and was abiding close to his mother. I distrusted his mother, and for good reason, because once I was spotted near her calf she began to charge. She didn't understand my responsibility to Blacky, nor did she care about my claims to her son. She only saw me as a threat. I quickly abandon my plan and ran as fast as my six year old legs would carry me towards the gate where Steve was waiting. I was lucky to have good lead, because she was close behind when I made it to the gate. I threw myself at the gate, jumping halfway up. Grabbing ahold of the top bar I flung myself over the top as hot breath was upon by back. After that day I rescinded my claim to Blacky.

Even thought I have long left those days behind, I continue to reminisce in the days of my upbringing. I tend to be a city boy, but there are country elements hid about me. I continue to garden, be it herbs, vegetables, or flowers. Gardening allows me to get in touch with the roots of my childhood. I don't want to be deceiving, I have absolutely no desire to return to the farm. It is not who I am, nor is it the contribution that I would like to make to society. Yet, I believe it is important to remember who we are and where we came from.

A Kiss

Journal entry titled "A Kiss", from December 2005.

"My 'first' kiss was as a young boy. I had not even begun my school years. I was at a birthday party of a neighbor. I was just sitting there when a little girl busted a move on me. She took me by surprise and laid one on the cheek. I was so embarrassed. Girls have cooties, and I had not yet learned that cooties aren't such a bad thing.

I didn't like seeing kissing growing up. When ever kissing appeared on TV or a movie I would say, 'I didn't see that." and I would divert my eyes if possible. Another instance of undesired affection took place while I was in my kindergarten year. I'm almost surprised that a teacher would broach such a subject as such a tender age, but we were learning about sexual abuse, on a child's terms. The teacher told us that if we were being touched in a way that we didn't like we didn't have to let that person touch us. Of course I didn't understand what she was referring to, but I took the council to heart. That night, at home, dad was giving me a hug and playfully kissing me, properly as a father should. But I didn't like it, and I was taught that I didn't have to tolerate it. So while my head was buried in his shoulder I sunk my teeth in. My front teeth were missing at the time, but my very sharp canines pierced his flesh. Instinctively, my dad threw me off of him. The mark would leave a scare, I'm sure, on both of us."

Today, I consider a kiss to be sacred. I don't give them away haphazardly, and to be on 'kissing terms' isn't a light thing. Before two souls give themselves to a kiss they should already be intertwined in heart and mind. I have not kissed many girls as a result of this philosophy. It's not easy resisting the urgings of my sex. Two of the girls I kissed took place in a moment of weakness, and I wish that I wouldn't have. A past girlfriend, on the other hand, had to wait a month until I felt the relationship was ready for it. And then there was the 'forbidden kiss'... I will never regret those intimate moments. They are the most sacred moments of my life...

Marpheo

From December 2005.

"It is interesting to watch children play, to see the games they devise. One of these days I will comment on the games I watched the children playing in Africa, but today I would like to comment on one of the games we played as children. It was called Marpheo. If I remember the rules properly, when someone belched or passed gas, everyone had to put their thumb to their nose and with their wigging fingers extended they would yell marpheo. Oh yes, I forget, you also had to stand on your chair to perform the ritual. The last person to yell marpheo had to 'eat it'. I recall a particular day this game was played (it was likely the last). The family was sitting together in church, during the sacrament, when someone on a neighboring row passed gas. Steven quickly jumped up on the seat of the pew, put his thumb to his nose and yelled marpheo amidst silent solemnity. To this day Steve still denies that the event ever took place."

First Memories

Is it laziness that I am giving you entries from my journal rather than presenting my current life? Maybe, but something is better than nothing. I present to you two entries dated from January 2005.

"The earliest memory that I hold, and one I am not even sure is real, dates back to my toddler years. We lived in 'The Castle' as we called it, which I presume was an old victorian home on Hit Road somewhere in the Goshen area, south of Idaho Falls. I recall standing on the sofa in the living room, looking out the window into the winter night. A fresh blanket of snow covered he ground, undefiled by the trodden footsteps of man. Out of the snow I saw a white rabbit, sitting quietly. It was very peaceful. I felt safe and warm, a reflection of the home of my upbringing. My home's atmosphere, though riddled with children, conveyed feelings of peace, security, and love.

Being so young I don't know if this memory is legitimate, or if it was something that I had imagined many years later that I attributed to an earlier day. Irrespective, the image remains vague, but what is vivid is the emotional impression that has remained with me through the years.

We lived in the castle for only a brief period of my life before we moved to the Firth house. My next earliest memory takes place there. I was still a toddler in diapers. Mom had left a bag of chips on the kitchen counter and I wanted them so. When no one was looking I pulled up a stool o the counter, retrieved the chips, and then stuffed the bag in my diaper. Coming from a large family one has to make claim to all their possessions and guard their territory with vengeance. My sneakiness was a matter of protecting my interests. I then ventured out the door and hid behind the flower patch where I claimed my prize. I took the bag of chips from my diaper and savored in delight.

Once again, I am not sure of the viability of this memory, but as far as I am concerned it happened."