Meikina, Meigon and Meilan

A New Day for America

2009-01-20T09:54:00.000-08:00

I wanted the girls to understand what was happening today. I sought to somehow express the immense historical significance of what they would be seeing.

It started over a year ago, when we began to watch one of my favorite TV shows, "Quantum Leap," in which Dr. Sam Beckett traveled through time, "setting right what once went wrong." In one particularly powerful episode, Sam "leaps" into the body of Jesse Tyler, a black servant in 1955 South, and gets into trouble when he dares to sit down in a "white folks" diner.

After we watched that episode, I told the girls how it used to be -- how people were segregated by their skin color, forced to attend different schools, eat in different restaurants, drink from different fountains. I explained that brave people in that time stood up and resisted these "traditions", and sought to bring equality to all people.

In fourth grade Meikina prepared a paper on Rosa Parks, a woman who refused to sit at the back of the bus. They also discussed Martin Luther King, and how he rallied African Americans to the boycott of the Montgomery, Alabama buses, a boycott that changed the tide of racism in America.

At dinner over the past year we have had frequent discussions about the Presidential campaign, what the main issues were, what Obama meant when he said he wanted to bring "Change" to America. Each of my girls in turn cast their vote in their school election for Barack Obama, and we all rejoiced as he was elected the 44th President of the United States.

Last night, on the anniversary of Martin Luther King's birthday, we sat and listened to his amazing speech, "I have a dream." As I listened once more to the words of Dr. King in that speech, I could not help think about two-year old Barack Obama, unaware that he would one day rise to fulfill King's dream: "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." Today, we are much closer to that dream, but progress must still be made.

And so this morning we didn't go to school at 8:00am as we usually do. Instead we gathered around our TV and, like children in Kenya and Indonesia, and millions of families across this country, we watched as President Obama raised his hand to the square, and with his other hand placed on the Bible used by Abraham Lincoln, repeat the oath of the Presidency. Hard as I tried, I could not hide the tears -- tears of joy, tears of pride, and tears of redemption.

Being Part of History

2008-11-06T12:05:00.000-08:00

I don't have any memories of the political world I grew up in. I don't remember anything from my youth about Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, or the fall of Richard Nixon. I don't remember a single conversation around the dinner table discussing the morality of the Vietnam War. I asked my mother the other day whom she voted for in 1960, the year I was born, and she couldn't remember.

I decided long ago that Meikina, Meigon and Meilan would not have the same experience. Meikina was with me in her first Presidential election vote in 2000, and both Meigon and Meikina were with me in the voting booth in 2004. This year, however, we took political participation to a new level.

Early on political discourse became common with the Primary last February. Meikina came home asking who she should vote for in her class mock election. This question started her and her sisters on a road of educational experiences that culminated last Tuesday.

Meigon was especially attentive, constantly scanning the newspaper and noticing any article with a picture of Barack Obama. All asked how Obama was doing throughout the campaign. "Is Barack going to win?" was a common inquiry.

I began traveling to Grand Junction in early October to canvass for Obama. As I talked to the girls each night, I would explain how the day went (reminded me of tracting as a missionary!) At every opportunity I pointed out that good people were of differing opinions, but that I was convinced we needed President Obama.

On the final weekend of October, I took the family for one last journey to Colorado. The girls and Lan walked Grand Junction's streets with me, meeting fellow Obama supporters, encouraging them to vote early. We also met not a few McCain supporters, which again prompted discussions of why people voted for the two candidates.

Finally, last Monday, I sat down with the girls after dinner to talk about our plans for Election Day. "This election is important." I began. "It is an election that your children will ask you about. 'Do you remember when Barack Obama was elected Mommy?'" I told them that when I was a child, America had segregation -- whites ate in different restaurants than blacks, blacks went to different schools, sat in the back of buses. These lessons were especially important to Meikina, who had researched Rosa Parks for a fifth-grade report. I emotionally implored them to remember this election, one that I feel was the most important of my life.

Tuesday morning we arose at 6:00 am and went in the dark to our polling station. The girls "rock-paper-scissored" to determine who would get to push the electronic button to elect President Barack Obama. Meigon won. It was perfectly appropriate given her excitement over the past months.

After school, each girl proudly told how they had voted for Obama in their school election. "Only two ther kids voted for Obama," Meigon and Meilan reported. John McCain won handily in their school, but I assured them that the story would be different that night.

We gathered with some family and friends Tuesday night. I had purchased "Obama for ?" buttons for each state I felt would vote for Obama, and had them all lined up along with their "Meikina for Obama", etc. buttons. At 6:00 pm they received their first button, for New Hampshire.

As we ate pizza and cheered each new state, the question wasn't "if" but "when" the race would be called. With the shirts covered with State buttons at 9:00 pm, we broke out in cheers and tears as California, Oregon and Washington's polls closed and made Barack Obama our next President.

We remained to listen to John McCain concede, a speech marked with grace and dignity. At 10 pm we all excitedly listened as President-Elect Obama spoke of America's future.

As we went up to bed I once more reminded my girls how important what they had witnessed and taken part in was. "Today history was made. Thanks for helping make it happen."

Tonight we will box up the buttons, shirts, the election edition of the Salt Lake Tribune, and a Time magazine signed by Michelle Obama and store them away. Perhaps one day my girls will pull out their box of mementos and share their memories of this election with their children.

I know I will!

Birth Certificate of the United States

2008-08-19T13:35:00.001-07:00

It is one of my priorities (in case no one has noticed) to teach my girls the responsibilities that they have to be good citizens of this country. In the past few years I have taken them to protests, conventions, home gatherings, and of course to the voting booth.

This past Saturday we "started school" as the girls called it. We drove to the State Capital and stood in line to see an original copy of America's birth certificate, the Declaration of Independence. The basic history of our country is familiar to the girls due to Meikina's recent studies in Fifth Grade and our viewing of HBO's miniseries, "John Adams."

As we stood in the two-hour line to get our chance to look at this original (purchased by Normal Lear after being discovered behind a $4 painting), I took the opportunity to try and make this document pertinent to my daughters.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

I explained that the Founding Fathers meant "men" in a literal sense, a point made by Morgan Freeman in a film introduction to the showing. They didn't mean women, or blacks, or Native Americans. They meant white men. But, I explained, since 1776 brave and passionate people -- citizens -- have fought hard, and sometimes died, to broaden the application of the these words to everyone. As Freeman pointed out, the spirit of the Declaration on Independence is broad, but its application has at times been limited.

"That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness."

I explained to my girls that the Founding Fathers were extremely suspicious of any government, that they believed that the power of government belonged firmly in the hands of the citizens, and that it is our duty to constantly monitor and guard against any encroachment by the Government on our rights.

One of the most egregious violations of a citizen's rights in colonial times, I explained, was King George's decision to monitor rebellious colonists by placing British soldiers in their homes. It was the King's way of watching and listening. I asked my girls if they thought it was any different when our own President decides he must monitor the citizens by listening in on our phone conversations, reading our e-mails, or getting information on what books we read at the library. It was this kind of encroachment that the Founding Fathers distrusted, and hoped the citizens would be vigilant against.

"How do we change our government?" I asked. Almost in unison they replied, "By voting." That is very true, I said, but it is not just voting that is important. You must be educated, study the issues, understand a candidates opinions and ideas. "It is not a simple matter of voting for a Democrat or Republican," I stated. "Would you ever vote for a Republican?" Meikina asked. "Of course," I replied. But I went on to explain that my personal philosophies of communal and environmental responsibility, my belief that we are all responsible for our own bodies, and my belief that we as a society have an obligation to the poor differentiated me from most Republicans. "I make my voting decision based on a study of each candidates ideas, not the letter behind their name."

But voting isn't all there is to do. If we feel things are not going right, we must engage in the cause. We can attend meetings, circulate petitions, participate in protests. "Today many people, not understanding our own history, feel it is wrong to protest against the government. But protest is the very foundation of our government."

"That mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed."

We are all generally lazy members of society. We see actions being taken by our leaders which we feel are wrong, but we do little to get involved to make change. The Founding Fathers recognized that. But the Declaration of Independence was a call to arms, a declaration that the colonists had had enough. It was an act of rebellion that put their lives and family at grave risk. I explained that all societies in human history had eventually failed, and most had failed for one reason -- apathy. It is thought that the great Mayan civilization, which we saw remnants of on our recent trip to Belize, simple disintegrated when the religious leaders were thought to no longer represent the majority of Mayans. The people simply walked into the jungle and never came back. "Fight against that from happening with our country by being active members -- voting, protesting, being engaged."

When we finally arrived at the display case holding the Declaration of Independence, there was an information sign that pointed out that John Hancock and his secretary were the only two people to sign the original on July 4, 1776. "Meikina, do you remember why John Hancock's signature is larger than all the rest? Because he wanted the world to know that he was signing this declaration of freedom, that he wanted King George to know that he, John Hancock, was prepared to die for this. He refused to hide behind a small or illegible signature. That is the reason even today we say, 'Put your John Hancock on this letter.'"

I am afraid that my girls might grow up feeling that their father didn't love his country, or was never happy with its government. But on this day, I think I communicated my deep love for the principles that this country is founded on -- individual liberty, collective responsibility, and the responsibility of all of us to be actively engaged in a good cause.

Raising an Educated Voter

2008-02-08T13:51:00.000-08:00

I have taken Meikina with me voting since she was three years old, but it is only this year that she has started to understand what it was we were doing in those lines. Her assignment in her fifth grade class was simple enough: Put together a poster board with the leading candidates from each part. We could do that. "Oh, Daddy," she added, "I need to pick one and make a speech about them."

Who do you want to campaign for? I asked her. "I don't know," was her reply. I was encouraged. I fully expected her to support Mitt Romney, since he was the favorite son of our area here in Utah. "How about if we study each candidate," I suggested, "and see who most agrees with you."

The first step in her education was a questionnaire developed by WQAD Television out in Mississippi. The questions started with a bang: "What is your opinion on the war in Iraq?"

This one was pretty easy for her, since she has heard me curse and shout about the War in Iraq since the invasion in 2003. But I wanted her to not just answer the questions, but understand them -- to understand the issues involved, the ideologies at play. So we chatted about the war, why we ostensibly went into Iraq, why I felt it was a fool's errand, and what we should do at this point. Meikina selected option "C": "I favor immediate and orderly withdrawal of U.S. troops."

We moved one by one through the remaining questions, allowing us to discuss the problems with immigration, the hopes and concerns behind stem-cell research, abortion, and many other deep and important subjects. We had an interesting and engaging discussion.

I'm sure she didn't understand all of the issues, but she answered all of the questions as best as she could, and hit the "Find Your Candidate" button at the end of the questions.

The candidate that best represented her fifth-grade views was Barack Obama. I congratulated her, telling her that she now understood the issues more than most of her peers in class. She was excited to begin preparing for her class presentation.

Meikina came home the next day very excited, proudly proclaiming that the class had had a vote, and 22 of the 25 students had selected Mitt Romney as President. "Only three people voted for Barack Obama," she exclaimed with a definite gleam of pride in her eyes. "What did most of your class give as a reason for their support of Mitt Romney?" I asked. "He's Mormon," she replied.

I asked her if she felt one's religion was a good reason to vote for someone; I asked her if they had discussed any of the issues espoused by Mitt? "No," she replied, "we just voted." But, she went on, we are going to be able to campaign for our candidates over the next few days.

I told Meikina that the most important question to ask someone in politics (and in life) is "Why?" "Why do you believe that person will be the best President?" "Why do you believe that issue is important?" I told her that many voters select a candidate based on their religion, their sex, their race, or some other criteria. "Voting for someone because they are Mormon is silly," I explained. I gave her the assignment to ask her classmates why they selected their candidate, and what ideas they thought were important.

The following afternoon Meikina's teacher approached me at the school. She excitedly recounted for me how Meikina had asked each of the presenting students why they supported Mitt Romney. "Did you know," Meikina had asked one student, "that Mitt Romney supports drilling in the Arctic for oil, endangering polar bears and caribou?" The poor student answered with only a stare. Meikina's teacher was so thrilled that someone in the class had actually asked a question about a candidate's position, since it fostered a broader discussion. I was a very proud Daddy!

As "Super Tuesday" approached, I took the girls to an Obama support meeting, and were told about Michelle Obama coming to Salt Lake City. Over the following week the girls overheard their father calling hundreds of voters in Utah, urging them to vote on November 5th. The day before the primary, I took the girls from school and we headed up to the Salt Palace in Salt Lake and heard Michelle Obama speak.

Election night was spent watching some favorite TV shows, all the while flipping back to election coverage to see how "our" candidate was doing. "Did he win in Utah" Meigon asked? "Is he the President now?" was another question. My kids, in a limited but growing way, were becoming politically involved.

I don't know how my girls will vote in future elections. I don't know if they will end up espousing the progressive values I am teaching and demonstrating for them in our home. I hope they do. But most important for me is that they reach their decision smartly, that they study the candidates, their positions and ideologies, and cast educated ballots. If they do that, whether they vote left or right won't matter, they will be an engaged member of American democracy.

An Experience in Climate Change

2007-07-26T10:04:00.001-07:00

"Make sure you drink some of the water before you get back in the vehicle" our guide yelled to us as we debarked from the mammoth six-wheeled "Glacier Transporter" on top of the Athabasca Glacier in Alberta, Canada. I had pushed my family to make it to this point so that they could witness a dying phenomenon -- glacier ice formed when Asian nomads crossed the Bering Straits into North America 10,000 years ago (this point was repeated a week later when we took our girls white-water rafting for the first time on the Athabasca River downstream in Jasper. Our guide encouraged us to take a dip in the frigid water in order to experience "swimming in water that three days ago was 10,000 year old ice!).

As we walked around on top of Athabasca Glacier, I could hear the trickle of water everywhere. Steamlets criss-crossed the ice field, slowly eroding the huge body of ice upon which we stood. Inside the deep crevices we could see the blue of tinted ice, the result of thousands of pounds of pressure over thousands of years. Above us on the plateau was the massive Columbia Icefield, a 325 square kilometer sheet of ice which exudes eight major glaciers.

But Athabasca Glacier and the others are slowly disappearing. A photograph taken in 1919 shows just how rapidly the Athabasca is retreating, and witnesses all along the "Glacier Highway" from Glacier National Park in Montana to Jasper National Park in Alberta repeated the same assertion: soon, these will disappear. In Glacier National Park, the number of glaciers has fallen from 150 a hundred years ago to 27 today. In the next 20 years all of these are expected to disappear.

In Banff we hiked to the Valley of Six Glaciers and spoke with the owner of the teahouse in the mountains above Lake Louise. When I asked her how large the glaciers were when she was a child, she said that they flowed past her teahouse. Now we stared out at a nearly empty valley. "Anyone that doubts global warming is real needs to come to here," she flatly stated.

As a father of three young girls, it saddens me to watch this world change. The children of my daughters will never see a glacier in Montana. By the time their children reach adulthood, the fabled Polar Bear will be endangered if not extinct. The Grizzlies of Yellowstone, one of which we saw this Summer on our trip to that Park, will be gone, as will the Colorado Marmots we saw two years ago in Rocky Mountain National Park. If predictions about sea levels are correct, my grand-children will see only pictures of the Statue of Liberty, the Lincoln Memorial, the Space Needle, the Golden Gate Bridge, and many other coastal historical and cultural landmarks.

I am pessimistic that we will be able to change things before these predictions come true. Whether it is the millennial expectations of many of our citizens, or a feeling of powerlessness among others, it will be difficult, if not impossible, to move the world's citizens to make drastic changes. Even now a significant percentage of Americans respond to global warming change with a shrug of the shoulders and a "So what?"

As we toured Glacier, Banff and Jasper National Parks this past month, I made sure to point out to my daughters the beauty of the formations, the rivers of ice imperceptibly flowing down the mountains. I admonished them to record the images in their minds, to remember their beauty. As we drank the 400 year old water on Athabasca Glacier, and rafted in the 10,000 year old water on the Athabasca River, I realized that in a small part we were witnessing evidence of dramatic change.

Witnessing a Dying Miracle

2007-01-04T06:01:00.000-08:00

Since I was a boy I have been fascinated with butterflies. As a kid I would search my Southern California neighborhood for caterpillars, and feed and nurture the ones I found until they molted into cocoons. Once I watched the miracle of their transformation into butterflies, I would release them back into the "wilds", and start my search all over again.

Monarchs were my favorite for several reasons. First, they are beautiful and graceful fliers. But most importantly, I loved the way I could see the butterfly developing through the transparent cocoon shortly before the butterfly emerges. It was amazing to watch.

This winter I decided my girls and I needed to witness something that I have wanted to see since I hunted caterpillars as a kid -- the Monarch butterfly gathering grounds in central California. Each winter, all of the Monarchs that live West of the Rockies (including our own Utah) fly, float or otherwise move from as far north as Canada to the Eucalyptus groves of California. One of the major destinations is Pacific Grove, near Monterey.

We arrived at the grove around 1 pm, the time when the sun and rising temperatures allow the butterflies to begin flying around. As we walked onto the two-acre grove of trees, I noticed that like much of California it too was surrounded by houses. At first we looked around and saw no butterflies, but soon we came upon a docent with a stationary telescope, and she bid us to peer through the lenses at a cluster of a few hundred Monarchs hanging in a nearby tree. It was astounding! Much like a swarm of honeybees, these beautiful insects were hanging onto each other in a curtain of color, forming a ball of wings. As the warmer air reached them, they started flying around the grove, filling the air.

We walked further down the path we came upon a couple gazing intently into another tree. As we followed their gaze we saw a much larger grouping of butterflies. As I looked at the "swarm" through my camcorder's telephoto lens, I gazed excitedly upon nature's stain-glass window -- the wings of thousands of butterflies illuminated by the afternoon sunlight.

As my children hunted for a few dead butterflies for their scrapbooks, I engaged our docent in conversation. Sally told me that sadly, the number of Monarchs returning to Pacific Grove (and the other nesting sites in California) was declining. I stared at her butterfly counts from previous years -- numbers that reached the hundreds of thousands a decade ago were now only in the low tens of thousands. The primary reasons, she explained, were habitat loss and pesticide use. Each year homes are built on the empty fields that contained the milkweed plant, vital for Monarchs as a caterpillar food source. Thus, fewer weeds mean fewer butterflies. Experts are fearful that one day in the not-so-distant future, butterflies will no longer return to Pacific Grove.

Monarchs from East of the Rockies face similar problems as they migrate to Central Mexico. There, deforestation of their wintering grounds threatens their numbers, although thankfully much is being done.

As we exited the "Monarch Grove" I asked the girls what they had liked about our excursion. After talking about the butterflies, I admonished them to remember this experience. "The way things are going, your children may not be able to see what you saw today" I told them. As I gazed back at the Monarchs flying around the grove, I was filled with a sense of wonder and amazement at this display of nature's miracles. I can only hope that it will be around to be experienced by my grandchildren.

We Protest Because We Are Patriotic

2006-08-27T12:46:00.000-07:00

The woman's voice on the radio chilled my blood. "I'm going to die, aren't I? I'm going to die." Hearing Melissa Doi's last words from the 83rd floor of the World Trade Center, minutes before it collapsed, haunts me to this day. In my mind, I turn away, unable to contemplate the horror she felt, along with the thousands of others who died on September 11, 2001.

President Bush will be in town this week, and much is being made of the protests that are planned to welcome him to this, the reddest of States. I plan on being there, with my daughter Meigon, who also accompanied me last year to a similar protest. We go there in memory of those who have died in this nation's wars, and in memory of those who died on September 11.

We protest because we are patriotic.

I wrote an essay following a visit I made with my family to Philadelphia in 2003. We visited Independence Hall, stood where the Founding Fathers argued and battled in the formation of our government. I was impressed, and deeply humbled by the great gift those men bestowed upon this nation, gifts of individual sovereignty and protections against abuse by a tyranical government. My travels in China has shown me how precious those rights are.

It is known that the greater the price one makes for a belief, the more committed one will be to that belief. In Mormonism, those that serve 2-year missions have an extremely high activity rate throughout their lives. Soldiers who serve in the military work under the same paradigm. They have placed their lives at risk for a cause, and they remain fiercely committed to that cause. Whether as a missionary or a soldier, it is in their emotional best interest to continue to believe that their cause was just, even when those around them try to show that it wasn't. To change their perspective means that their sacrifice was in vain.

It is this tendency that explains the vitriolic response most in the military have against those like Cindy Sheehan and others who have come out against the war in Iraq. Questioning their patriotism is one strategy, asserting that their protests aid and abet the enemy is another. The Bush administration are experts at declaring that those who oppose the war in Iraq will bring more terrorism upon us. The administration stifles debate on the subject, refusing to consider opposing ideas and strategies, stubbornly pushing forward a demonstrably failed policy. I admire Cindy Sheehan, a woman who was able to make the leap into the emotional abyss of realizing that her son died in vain. I admire her courage to speak out, as a person who can speak out because she has personally paid the price. Her voice speaks louder to me than those of Bush, Rumsfeld, Cheney, et al, who have never faced death, either personally or in their families.

I view the actions of the Bush Administration in relation to the "War on Terror" as reprehensible. On September 12, 2001, top military officials convened to discuss plans to invade Iraq. Although there was no link between the government of Iraq and the September 11 perpetrators, George Bush and his administration cherry-picked evidence to convince Congress and the American People that it was justified to attack Iraq.

The spirit of the U.S. Constitution is the belief that power corrupts, and that absolute power corrupts absolutely. The Founding Fathers recognized the inate desire of all political leaders to increase their power, to insure their position, even if it involves conspiracy and dishonesty. For that reason they constructed a government with built in checks and balances -- Frequent elections, a free press, a judiciary branch. Anathema to the spirit of the Constitution is the idea that the government can with impunity monitor the actions and speech of its citizens, that the government can send its citizens to other nations to be held without bail, and out of reach of Constitutional protections.

I live in a culture that is taught not to question authority. We are told every Sunday that the leaders above us will never lead us astray, to do wrong. We are given to understand that the political battlefield is clearly marked between good and bad. For that reason, most Mormons continue to support President Bush, even as they quietly voice concerns over his policies.

But as President Theodore Roosevelt stated, "To announce that there must be no criticism of the president, or that we are to stand by the president, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public" (http://www.quotedb.com/quotes/1730).

Wednesday Meigon and I will protest the policies of George W. Bush. I will join thousands of others who passionately feel that the war in Iraq was based on deceit and misguidance. We will protest not because we hate America, but because we love it. It is my hope that these protests will grow in intensity, until the voice of peace drowns out the hawkish ideology of this President. Only then will we be forced to change course. It happened with Vietnam. It can happen today.

"Another Brick in the Wall"

2006-05-07T12:11:00.000-07:00

“I don’t like this song,” Meikina announced as the first strains of “Another Brick in the Wall II” began to emanate from the car radio. “It’s a bad song.” The declaration shocked me, because in the past Meikina has been one of the most “vocal” proponents of the song whenever it played. “Why don’t you like this song anymore?” I asked. “Mommy says it’s a bad song,” she answered.

It is easy to see how Meikina’s mother might think so. A teacher by profession, Jeannine has spent nearly 20 years trying to teach 5th- and 6th-grade special education students the basics. Coming from her perspective, I might find the lyrics, “We don’t need no education”, an affront to her passion also.

But the dilemma that confronted me in this moment was how to point out another perspective on a simple matter without making it look like either of Meikina’s parents was wrong. I have always listened to Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” as an expression against comformism, against the need for some (including educators) to make all people see things the same way, believe the same things; in other words to become “just another brick in the wall.”

When Jeannine and I met we shared common ideological and theological beliefs. Twenty years later Jeannine and I could not be more different. Jeannine’s world is still largely framed by her belief in Mormonism, a highly controlled and regimented worldview that establishes its political and moral perspectives on what the Church teaches as “God’s will”. My worldview has left religiosity for a more humanist paradigm, one that emphasizes the rights of individuals, and where justice is the guiding light in decision making.

As my daughter is getting older, these two worldviews are becoming more difficult to smooth over.

I have never said that Jeannine was wrong in some aspect of her parenting, even though at times I have thought she was. I am sure she has felt the same way about my parenting. But before divorcing, we covenanted to always support each other in the eyes of Meikina. For the most part this has been accomplished easily, but as Meikina begins to gain a more sophisticated and educated view of life and the world, I am confident that philosophical collisions will occur.

I wonder, for example, how I will answer when one day Meikina approaches me and asks what I think of "the Flood". No doubt her mother will affirm that the Flood happened, for it is written in the Bible, and the Bible was revealed by God to Moses. Additionally, for Mormons, the Flood represents the baptism of the earth, a necessary step in the earth’s salvation (even though paradoxically the earth is an inanimate object). Since Mormon church leaders (whom Jeannine sees as inspired by God) have affirmed that the Flood happened, for Jeannine there is no doubt that it did.

I, on the other hand, have serious convictions to the contrary. Biological diversity raises serious questions as to how Noah could have built an Ark large enough to house all of the various species found on the earth. Geological evidence contradicts a universal flood. And theological evidence speaks against it also. How could a just and merciful God destroy all of the world's inhabitants -- both human and animal – and still be deemed righteous? What of the innocent children? The whole story seems inconsistent and unnecessary. I reject this notion of God, and reject the idea that He would wreak such havoc on children He loved and created.

So, how will I address Meikina’s inevitable future question on the Flood or any other of the myriad questions she might ask about abortion rights, gay rights, women’s rights, minority rights, the identity of God, as well as her own relationship and interaction with that God. I can clearly see the coming train-wreck, when the ideas of Meikina’s mother, based on her religious convictions, and mine, based on experience and science, clash in a catastrophic collision.

I have tried to prepare for that day by teaching Meikina that her mother and I sometimes see things differently. I used her statement regarding Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” as evidence of that. I explained to her that some people see the song as embodying a rebellious nature, one that distrusts teachers and shuns education. I explained that her mother felt that to be the message of the song. “But,” I went on, “some see a deeper meaning in the song.” I told her that some see it as a cry against the idea that everyone should believe the same things, hold the same truths sacred, vote the same party, adhere to the same religious principles. “In other words, Meikina,” I went on, “the song says we should be wary of those who teach the 'one true way,' because often there are many shades of difference, and we should be mindful of those differences. “Don’t become just another brick in the wall” I concluded.

I hope that down the road I can continue to walk the delicate line between contradicting Meikina’s mother (or her church) and teaching her my beliefs. I hope that I can teach her to be accepting of various opinions, think critically herself, and be unafraid to embrace opinions and beliefs different from mine or her mother’s. In the end my greatest hope, and one that solidly unifies both of Meikina’s parents, is that she lives her life full of compassion, understanding, sympathy, and justice. If she learns those traits, we will have been successful. The rest, like the meaning of “The Wall,” is unimportant.

A Pool & a Wall

2006-02-14T10:02:00.000-08:00

There is no prouder moment in parenting than watching your child overcome one of their basic fears. From the first leap from the third stair into your arms, until they take the leap of faith that is leaving home, a parent and child form a unique bond of trust and faith in overcoming fears.

This past year I have watched as both of my girls have undertaken to do feats that slew a personal demon, and as a father I couldn't have been more proud.

We arrived at the children's festival last September expecting to do the traditional activities: the petting zoo, a train ride, and the consumption of a few snacks. I gazed up at the rock wall as we walked past, remembering my own attempt at climbing a similar wall several years ago. In that attempt, as I neared the half-way mark, my stomach turned in me and I knew I would not be ringing any summit bells on that day. I sheepishly let myself fall back to the ground, embarrased that I had so little internal fortitude to overcome what has been a life-long irrational fear.

Now, as we walked hand-in-hand among the activities of the children's festival, Meikina announced her intention. "Daddy," Meikina said, "I want to climb the rock wall." Her pronouncement was unexpected, and I didn't even know how to respond. "You have tried before, Sweetheart," failing in my role as a father by discouraging her. Fortunately, she bore stronger convictions, and insisted I let her try. We walked over to the rock wall and got in line.

"OK," I insisted, getting on board with the "Team", "just keep your eye on the rock grips above you. Don't look down, and once at the top, ring the bell. You can do this!" Meikina was harnessed in, given a short tutorial, and turned to face the wall.

She quickly stepped onto the lower grips and pulled herself hand over hand to the next levels. But, after quickly ascending the first six feet, she began to slow in her climbing. As she got to the half way mark, and with my heart pounding in my throat, she hesitated. "I want to come down," she yelled.
______________________

Meigon has always been terrrified of water. As I recounted in another blog , even washing her hair has been traumatic. Since I envision rafting, swimming, and other water excursions with my girls, this winter I enrolled Meigon in swim classes. Although hestitant at first, she quickly got into it and soon began submersing herself under water, something that would have been unheard of even six months ago.

As I watched both my girls work slowly and incrementally to achieve their goals, I witnessed as they just as slowly overcame the biting fear in their little bodies. At first Meigon would barely move her head into the water, quickly coming back up and hurriedly wiping any water from her eyes and face. But slowly her confidence grew, and soon she was excitedly calling to me as she held her breath and submerged herself for longer and longer periods of time. Halfway through the class, I asked her if she was comfortable in the water. "Yes, I am Daddy," was her reply. The water devil no longer appeared in her mind as she entered the water.
_____________________

As I stood below Meikina, perched as she was halfway up the rock wall, I understood the agony she was experiencing. Her legs were shaking with anxiety, and I knew she desperately wanted to come down. "Meikina!" I yelled up to her. "You are almost there. I know this is scary, but just look up at the bell. You can make it! See that blue rock above your right hand? Reach up and grab it! Take it easy Sweetheart, you are almost there." I could see the transformation of her body as she regained her courage and once more began the ascent. In a few minutes she was in arm's reach of the buzzer, and slowly she extended a free hand and rang it. A loud cheer rose from the watching crowd, who had gathered as we had shouted encouragement up to her. After a few seconds of coaxing, she let go of the rock face and slowly glided back down to the earth.

In both cases -- as Meigon grinned at my camera as she swam to me underwater, and as Meikina looked at me as she descended from her summit -- my heart was filled with pride and gratitude. I was so proud that my girls trusted me, and themselves, enough to overcome a deep-seated fear. But also gratitude that they trusted themselves enough to try. These were small mountains to climb -- a 25 foot rock wall and a 4 foot deep pool. But they were their first victories, the base camp for the assault of the fears that will beset them in their lives. I know that they will be up for the challenge.

(To see video of Meikina's climb, click here!) (Please give it a few seconds to download!)

Meikina's First Bike Ride

2005-12-23T04:15:00.000-08:00

Just this past Summer, Meikina at eight years old became certified in "long-distance" bike riding. As she has progressed, I am reminded of the afternoon two years ago when she first "flew solo".
______________________________

“You’re doing it, you’re doing it!”

On this warm, Spring Saturday afternoon I found myself running beside Meikina as she took her first unassisted “flight” on her two wheeled bicycle. As I ran beside her, I gripped the handlebars as she nervously peddled as fast as she could. I warned her that I was going to let go, something I had promised her I wouldn’t do unless she gave her permission. She acknowledged what I said, a look of intense trepidation coming upon her face, but nodded that she was ready to fly.

“You’re doing it! You’re doing it!!” I shouted as she rode away from me. I was so proud of her, because I knew that it had taken her a long time to get to this point. Before today, Meikina had insisted she would never ride her bike.

I purchased Meikina’s first bicycle for her fourth birthday. It was a pretty pink toddler bike with training wheels. After a few weeks of riding around the street with the training wheels, I pushed her to try riding it without the side wheels. I wanted her to learn to ride at four because I had spied a four-year old neighborhood boy out riding his bike unassisted, and his bike was even bigger! She never did, and so she outgrew that bike on her way to six-years
old. Santa decided she needed a new bike last Christmas, and Meikina found a beautiful new purple bike waiting for her under the tree on Christmas morning. This bicycle, however, had no training wheels.

As parents, we like to think that our children are the smartest, the quickest to learn, the most beautiful (all right, maybe the cutest). Nothing incites the spirit of competition faster than watching another kid of the same age accomplish something your child hasn’t. We push our kids to excel, not just to teach them their own capabilities, but to confirm and reassure ourselves that we are doing well as parents. The better they do, the better we feel we are
doing.

Which is why we have such a tough time going to Parent-Teacher nights. To learn from an objective source that one’s child is not the brightest star in the class is tough, at least it is for me. This year has brought this lesson home for me as Ms. Swenson, Meikina’s first-grade teacher, reviewed Meikina’s progress in math. “You can see here that she hasn’t quite grasped the concept of patterns,” she intoned. Feverishly, my mind sought an explanation other than the fact that Meikina didn’t grasp patterns. “Perhaps,” I countered, “she is expressing her
artistic side.” The teacher’s glance showed me she didn’t think so. “Well, are any other kids in the class able to do this?” I asked after discussing another problem area. “Yes, a few are able to do it.” Well, I thought, we will go home tonight and master this concept, if we have to spend all night doing it!

We push our kids because as parents it makes us look good. Their excellence in school, on the field, in their dancing class, is evidence that we are good parents, that we are doing things “right”. Thus, our pushing is part desire for our children to reach their potential, part need to have our own parenting abilities validated.

But life eventually shows us that our children will learn at their own pace, experiment when they feel comfortable doing so, try new skills when they want to. As I pushed Meikina in math in the weeks following the Parent-Teacher night, I saw the frustration and anger come into her face as she genuinely struggled to grasp some of her lesson concepts. I realized that although she might not be the smartest in math (at least at this point), she had many other areas in which she did excel – reading, class participation, empathy. I realized that my skills as a parent needed no validation from Meikina’s accomplishments. I realized that by pushing my daughter too much in a desire to keep her ahead of her classmates, I was in danger of damaging the one thing I did hold most dear, my relationship with her.

So, as Meikina drifted away from me on her purple, two-wheeled bike, I was filled with an intense feeling of pride. Pride that my daughter had successfully conquered her fears. Pride that she had trusted me to teach her how to ride. Pride that she had accomplished this feat in her own time, on her own terms.

“You’re doing it! You’re doing it!”

Words I hope to speak often to her in the coming years.

Leaving the Garden

2005-09-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

“Daddy, can I ask you a question?” Meikina’s voice came from beside me on the bed as we both lay in the dark falling asleep. “Of course,” I replied. “You can ask me anything.” There were a few moments of quiet, and feelings of apprehension began to rise in my chest. I knew that the question in her mind was one of the “big ones”, since the last time she had posed to me that question she had asked about her birth mother in China. I patiently waited for her to finished contemplating her inquiry. At last it came.

“Is the tooth fairy real?”

The sound of her voice startled me. Her voice was at once soft, but nervous, as if she had an answer she hoped to hear in her mind, but knew in her heart that it would not be the answer she was going to get. I, on the other hand, had a quick answer in my heart that I wanted to give her, but knew in my head that I wouldn’t be able to.

“That is a good question, why do you ask?”

She explained that that day in class the teacher had asked for the kids to identify which things were “fantasy” and which were “reality”. One of the questions involved the Tooth Fairy. “I marked it as being real, but everyone else said fantasy. I want to know if I gave the right answer.”

I lay there in the dark wondering how I was going to answer her question. My mind reflected back to the early months leading up to her adoption, when her mother and I had discussed whether we wanted to incorporate the Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy “myths” into our home. I was uncomfortable with the thought of deceiving my daughter, of misleading her into believing something that wasn’t true, even if it was in the name of “giving her a normal childhood.” I read many varying opinions, and my family and friends seemed to believe that I would be a poor father if I didn’t let her believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. I capitulated, and agreed to allow a little magic and myth to be part of Meikina’s childhood. It was agreed, however, that there would not be any stories of a large white bunny delivering Easter Eggs.

Now, as I lay next to Meikina, her question reverberating in my ears, I pondered how to answer it. In many ways I felt guilty, like I had been caught in a lie and was now called upon to explain it. I hated this, I decided.

“Remember the movie ‘Polar Express?’” I asked.

I proceeded to tell her that in the movie, when the little boy rang the bell at the end, he was the only one that heard it. He was the only one that believed in the bell, in Santa, and all of the people around him no longer heard the bell. I assured her that it was OK to believe, even when others around her no longer did.

“Meikina,” I continued, “I promised you long ago that I will always give you the truth if you asked me. What you need to ask yourself is do you really want to know the answer. Sometimes the answer will make you feel sad, as you lose something that you once believed.” I again assured her that I would never intentionally deceive her.

There were several moments of quiet. I could feel her moving slightly, so I knew she hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Daddy,” her voice called again, “Is the Tooth Fairy real?”

“No”, I told her simply, “the Tooth Fairy is Mommy and Daddy.” I felt Meikina’s heart fall as she heard my answer, for I knew that she had really hoped that it was all real. I knew that I had to explain further. Often, when parents have children, they try to bring some magic and happiness to their kids by telling stories of the Tooth Fairy. “Wasn’t it exciting when you put your tooth under the pillow and woke up to find the gold coin?” I asked. She admitted it was. She asked where I got the coins. How did I take the tooth without waking her. I don’t know if it was a genuine question of process, or a desire to test me because she still believed in the magic, and couldn’t believe that we had pulled it off alone.

I told her how I had learned the truth about the Tooth Fairy. One night my parents had gone out, and left a young baby sitter in charge. During the evening one of my teeth had fallen out, and I put my sitter under oath not to tell my parents. As I crawled into bed, I placed the tooth under my pillow.

The next morning I awoke and anxiously pulled away my pillow to discover that my tooth was still there. In that moment I realized that the Tooth Fairy was my parents, not some magical being that came to take my tooth in the night. I remember being crushed.

“Your mother and I wanted to make your life a little more exciting and magical. One day you will have a little girl for a daughter, and you will want to do the same. It was a way to bring you a little happiness.”

The room was quiet for a long time. “Thanks Daddy” Meikina mumbled as she fell asleep.

The next morning, as she climbed out of the car at school, I turned to her. “Thanks for the talk last night,” I told her as I gave her a big hug. “It was sad,” she replied. “I know,” I answered. “Sometimes learning the truth will be sad, but it will always be good.” As she ran up the walkway to her class, I stood and watched her. I realized that this was a small event in Meikina’s life; after all, it was just the Tooth Fairy. But in a way, it was her first bite from the fruit of knowledge. This morning Meikina was beginning the journey out of the Garden of magic and certainty into the world of reality and uncertainty. I knew that life would bring her many such experiences relating to her ideas of faith. Some of the answers she would embrace, leaving cherished myths behind and accepting the truth with her whole heart. But I knew that some she would turn away from, preferring instead the certitude and conviction that remaining in her Garden of Eden would provide.

"American Pie"

2005-09-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

One of the goals almost all parents have in raising their children is that they gain an appreciation, and possibly even adopt, ones likes and dislikes. As a Dad to Meikina and Meigon, I try to replicate as often as possible experiences I had as a child, and which I carry with me to this day. I fix certain foods that I grew up enjoying, hoping that my girls will learn to like them as well. We watch certain movies like “Mary Poppins” and “Little House on the Priarie,” movies that I remember loving, and which I hope my daughters will adopt as an important component of their childhood. In this way family traditions are built – rhythms of a household that make it distinct and unique from the house next door.

And so it was that I read that Don McLean was going to be performing at this year’s State Fair. Almost as long as I can remember I have loved his music, especially his memorable yet tragic ballad “American Pie”. I remember loving it long before I knew its story, recounted in the song, of the tragic deaths of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and others in a snow storm in February 1959.

Consequently, my girls hear this song played disproportionately often in our house. "American Pie", along with any song by the Eagles, form the foundation of “Daddy’s favorite songs” in the minds of my girls. They have learned the lyrics, and they sing along with me at the top of our lungs as we rocket down the road.

So, I decided to bring Meikina and Meigon to one of those sign-post events in one’s life: a rock concert. I went to my first concert at 17, Neil Diamond at the Greek Theater in Los Angeles (and it wasn’t the one they recorded for “Hot August Night” – I’m not that old!). I remember how much I enjoyed singing along with thousands of others, feeling the energy from both audience and performer. I remember going home hoarse from screaming, almost begging from the back row for Neil to play my favorite songs, which amazingly he eventually did. Concerts became a frequent experience for me. I loved them.

So, after visiting the cows, goats, sheep and other farm animals, and downing a few hot dogs, we made out way to the Pepsi Arena to find our seats. We got lucky to get row 9 center seats, since we had three in our group and the ticket office had an odd lot set aside. As a few summer storm clouds passed overhead, we waited for America’s master song writer to appear on stage.

The crowd around us was mostly grown-ups, but many with kids similar to mine. I imagine that they too wanted their kids to remember an important artist from their parent’s lives. As the sun touched down behind the Great Salt Lake, the announcer’s voice boomed the name of Don McLean, and the show began.

We had listened to McLean’s “Greatest Hits” CD on our way to Salt Lake so that the girls would recognize more than just his signature song. I knew that like most artists, he would probably sing “American Pie” towards the end of the concert, if not very last. He began with some cover songs, which none of us had ever heard, but which he explained were Buddy Holly songs. I understood the significance.

About an hour into the show, with McLean having sung only one song the girls recognized, Meikina and Meigon began to get bored. “When is he going to sing the song?” Meigon asked, her eyes starting to droop. Glancing at my watch, I replied “In the next few songs, I think.” I hoped. I didn’t want Meigon to fall asleep before the big event!

Finally, to a round of thunderous applause, we heard the familiar strain: “A long, long time ago.” Meikina and Meigon bolted upright, fiercely clapping and screaming with the rest of the crowd. We began to sing along with the rest of the audience, keeping in rough syncopation with the artist on stage. As we heard the familiar line, “We all got up to dance,” my girls jumped into the aisle with several others, and began to dance around. It was a spectacle to see – all of us singing, dancing and having a great time. The audience was so enthusiastic that McLean did an encore rendition, allowing us to do much of it all over again.

With all of us humming “American Pie” we made our way to the car. “Daddy,” Meikina asked as we drove home, “Why did the music die?” I explained that in February 1959, “a year before Daddy was born”, three very important musicians had died in a snow storm while flying on a plane. “Why did Satan laugh?” I answered that he laughed because he was happy that so many people were sad that these artists had died. With that she sat back. “Let’s hear it again Daddy”, Meigon intoned.

And we did.