The Foibles of my Youth

Here's something else I've been thinking about: (while reading blogs like Kyle's and Mitch's and talking to folks like Lindsay)

A lot of my friends and I are in a post Christian-upbringing tension. The kind of rearing where only certain media was allowed, church participation was necessary and embraced, and lifestyle rules were maintained. Think Brio Magazine, the Newsboys and purity rings.

We find out, later on, that whole gardens of delight have been hidden from us: incredible varieties of music, books and beer and liberalism that by no means excludes Christianity. We have to deal with the obscurity and the enthusiastic uncoolness of our childhoods and early (or in my case, total) adolescence.

I mean enthusiastic: for the fifth grade talent show at my school, a friend and I performed a song by the Newsboys. It said "God" in it and we sang and danced and wore leotards. My parents were very proud.

Lindsay and I started a Christian music club. We bought CDs together -- Jars of Clay, DC Talk -- and then traded them back and forth like divorced parents do with children. One of our club activities was painting Veggie Tales characters on the inside of the Lung's shed by candlelight.

And on into high school (the club disbanded, unfortunately), the only secular-label CD I got my hands on was Californication. That was from Lindsay in the start of her "rebellious phase." (Quote from her recently: "If you're going to break some of the rules, why not break all of them?" I love her.)

An aside: Lindsay always has these unexpected opinions and traits. In the midst of her high-school ditching, boozing, puppy buying, outdoor peeing antics she had this great affinity for Precious Moments figurines. Even in my abject obedience, I never applied the word "precious" without biting sarcasm.

I asked John if he ever wished he could go back to high school knowing what he knows now. I could have used an angry girl band shredding their hearts out. Sleater-Kinney would've been a God send. Carrie Brownstein, I needed you. John just gave me a blank look. He will like what he likes and never apologize for it.*

This is sort of my apology. Sorry, self. Sorry, world.

An unexpected thing: walking around the pond in City Park in Denver, goose poop everywhere, Lindsay told me about how she's thankful for the way she was raised. She believes it saved her a lot of heartbreak and painful life choices.

And I tend to agree with her.

*Maybe this blog post confuses everyone. I could be the only person with a Christian-culture-recovery complex.

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