Part 2 of Religion as I See It...

By the time I was 15 then, I had developed a reasonably clear picture of what religion was to me. I felt that my relationship with God was personal and that my belief was as immutable as any of the world's traditional beliefs. Further, I felt that organized religion was as much a problem as a solution. After all, isn't the world filled with as many nasty, hate-filled acts in the name of God as there were selfless acts of love? I just couldn't rectify the narrow-minded judgement that was handed down on people who chose to live their lives differently than the church leaders. The concept of free will weighed heavily in my own personal credo. So, I made my own way.

Dad, Lendall Simmons, circa 1948

My Dad had long tortured proselytizing Baptists and Jehovah's Witnesses. With Bible in one hand and a cigar in the other, he'd use his youthful Bible instruction to trade slings and arrows with the offending party at the front door. Sometimes an argument would ensue and result in a slammed door. Sometimes the visitor would shake his head, quietly remove his foot from the door, and tell Dad that they'd pray for his soul. Dad even pushed buttons with his own brother, Wilbert, who was a devout member of a Salvation Army congregation. Their fights eventually led to a silence between them that lasted some years. My own questioning, my own disdain of church authority likely came as a direct result of seeing this spiritual dance firsthand.

Then one day, everything changed. The familiar knock on the door came and Dad decided to engage the clean cut young men in battle once again. This time though, they acknowledged his points and offered a counterpoint. At first, Dad was taken aback by the maturity that these young men possessed. Soon, he began to respect their devotion. They were invited back several times, now with Mom in attendance. Within a few months, Mom and Dad became Mormons.

Dad approached me one day about attending church with them. He said that he wanted me to attend church with an open mind and that I would have choice in the matter. I was naturally curious and agreed to attend a service with them. I even went a second week to get a better handle on what I saw and heard. On the third week I said I'd prefer not to attend anymore. In that moment, my father became exactly what I'd come to loathe-- a zealot who held only his own belief dear. Our relationship, already teetering due to the common strains of teen years, was forever changed. My moral code had been violated as my own free will was vetoed by someone who I believed would always respect it.

For the next three years I was forced to attend Mormon church, youth activities, etc. If I did not attend or struggled too severely, I lost access to the family car and my curfew would magically be altered. I was encouraged to date only Mormon girls. I was told that if I went to BYU for college, they would pay for everything (a huge offer in that they truly were unable to pay for any of my college).

Needless to say, I learned to be subversive in order to live my teen years with some autonomy. I challenged my Book of Mormon teachers at every turn, purposely mispronouncing words during our lessons. I'd stare down teachers when they'd seek to correct me. I'd sneak out of youth events even if it meant walking around in a St Louis winter. I made sure I knew as much, if not more, than my tormentors. In short, I used all the techniques I'd learned from my father in those few years before.

During those years, my only salvation was my decidely non-Mormon girlfriend, Laurie. That is not to say that Laurie was some earth mother pagan. Hardly. Laurie's family's beliefs were decidely more open and liberal though. It was simply more inclusive of different lifestyles, thinking, and people. For example, I can remember attending a transactional analysis training session with her family (which I still use today. Thanks, Laurie). No way would that have even been a subject at home.

Laurie's parents, about the same time, became followers of Bhagwan Rajneesh, a guru of an Eastern-leaning amalgam of teachings. In many ways, Laurie's parents had become as foreign to her as mine were to me. I'll save that story for Laurie's upcoming memoir, Dysfunctional Family Tours.

Laurie was an anchor for me in a lot of ways. She opened me up to a lot of possibilities and challenged me to think differently. She also wouldn't take my teenage macho bullshit and because I loved her so much I forced myself to abandon that machismo and became a better person. While she stopped being my girlfriend well over 25 years ago, I still hold a special place in my heart for her. Thankfully, I can say we remain friends to this day.

I don't dredge all of this up to disparage my parent's religion. It has given them a joy they previously never had and, for that, I'm happy. I'm even a little embarassed to drag them through the mud by telling this story. I'm sure they did the best they could and made choices they felt were right. I don't believe they intended me harm. Rather, I tell the story as a way of explaining myself. Unfortunately for me, Mom and Dad made exactly the wrong choices. And that has had a profound effect.

I'll save the last chapter for another day. Be well.

Note: Ahhh, Randy Newman's caustic wit and delightfully anti-social lyrics are a joy to me. The title this time is from God's Song.