I grew up in a home where up until I was 12 years old, religion meant everything. There were no excuses not to attend church on Sunday even if you did get up at 7:00 AM to get there on time.
When we walked into the church building, everyone in the building knew you were a Rawson and couldn’t wait to speak with you, shake hands with your father and give your mother a hug. As for the kids, we’d get handshakes, hugs, and rubs on the head too.
It was my life and I always thought it was just OK but knew it was very important.
After church, time was dedicated to family time, which meant a lesson prepared by Mom or Dad on the church teachings, prayer, and a family meal which usually consisted of one of Mom’s specialties that we didn’t eat throughout the week.
When I was younger, I looked forward to Sunday because often my parents would drive us to Lake Isabella to visit with my Great-Grandpa and the only grandfather I knew on my Dad’s side.
When Dad sat you down in his huge leather chair to give you a blessing, it meant something and it was a special moment that other family members stood around to be witnesses to the blessing you were receiving and take part in the prayer.
After my parents divorced when I was 12, church nearly went out the window. Neither of my parents had the same way of thinking nor did either of them demand that we still get up and attend and we went from being the good little Mormon family to the family that had lost their way.
For me, when I was 12 it was a relief to think that maybe these feelings inside of being gay weren’t going to be such a problem after all. But while the church was abandoned or maybe we abandoned them, the principles and morals never left me.
I came out at 16 as lesbian and it was well received by the family. Especially when they realized it wasn’t just a phase or Katy’s call for attention.
But here I am, years after attending the church and I hold on to principles. For example, Joanne is our main bread winner here and I strongly feel that it’s my job to stay home and raise kids. Not just Zadey, but more kids.
Our family should be large too. We’re not even close to being done while truthfully I know that there’s probably only going to be 1 more child for us.
Modesty is a huge issue for me. I don’t really care what other people want to wear but for me I enjoy my shirts being V-Neck but it doesn’t have to show off the world.
This weekend when I took a quick trip to Target to pick up a new swimsuit for the family party, I had a hard time with the fact that my swim top was scooping way too low. I kept looking at my Dad, pulling at my top and making a face at him that I’m sure he knew my feeling like I wasn’t being very modest.
What I never expected was that a simple episode of HBO’s Big Love would have an ending that would throw off my entire night.
The show ended last night with a shot of the father, Bill, with his hands upon the head of his son, giving him a blessing which you know from an earlier conversation he’s giving his son the Priesthood. The son knelt on his knees and Bill is standing next to him with his head bowed speaking. And while you cannot hear what he saying the meaning and significance of such shot is clearly spoken.
What I didn’t know is that a special image, such as this one shown on a TV show would bring me to tears and take me back to the time which this kind of prayer meant something in my family. I didn’t know that I would start crying and feel as though, even just for a moment, I just relived my parents’ divorce.
I suppose, in the grand scheme of things my lesson was that no matter how life changes, what is rooted in our children from early on will always stick with them later in life. That lessons that are not only taught but are continually brought up will remain with them forever, even if you think they’re not listening.
It’s my turn now. To be the one that stands up and shows Zadey what’s important in life.