Hi, my name is Fat Jack and I am a recovering Baptist.
That means that I have well trained on being judgmental of others and seeing the world in black and white, good and bad, terms. I was especially good at being judgmental during my teen and early adult years.
I remember a girl in my class. She was part of the lower class of kids: an outcast. She was poor, disheveled, unconcerned with education and had a crush on me. Somehow everyone else found out about her feelings before I did. I was above her, you see. I was better than her and I was not about to cross the school cast system. I was not interested.
It was eighth grade and we were about to graduate junior high. At that time, my school held a eighth grade graduation ceremony. Each boy was paired with a girl to walk down the isle. My luck, I was paired with her. My friends thought that was great and it made for all the talk. We were going to share our love together and all of that. I was none too happy about the ordeal. So much so, that I told my mother about it. I was trying to find a way out of it.
A countertop separated us while I stood in the kitchen talking to her. She was washing dishes. She looked up at me and told me about girls. I didn’t know it then, and I really didn’t care, but she told me about how important it was for me to walk that girl down the isle. How it was likely that no one ever told her she was pretty. That being nice was what a good boy did, what a Christian did. She pointed her finger at me, soap clinging and water dripping, and told me that I (Faticus Jackson) was going to walk that girl down the isle and make her feel pretty and that was that.
Years later, I realize what my mother was teaching me. She wasn’t just telling me to be nice to ugly girls. No, she was training me to be a sensitive, caring adult who sees beyond a persons socio-economic status, and life choices, and see the person inside for what she (or he) really is. She taught me the importance of love and of not being judgmental. It’s a good thing, because I really needed to be balanced out and less black and white in my world. It took much more than one lesson to pound that into my head. It’s taken a mother and a wife to teach me a few things, but eventually it has taken effect.
I understand that importance of walking that young lady down the isle and acting like a man. People, all people, need to feel loved and accepted by others. Even if I didn’t reciprocate her strong feelings for me, I learned to show respect for women and love for other humans beyond my own self-indulgent teenage ego.
I like where I am at in my recovery. I enjoy being less judgmental and more understanding. That whole love thing is pretty cool. I have my mother to thank for that foundation.
That means that I have well trained on being judgmental of others and seeing the world in black and white, good and bad, terms. I was especially good at being judgmental during my teen and early adult years.
I remember a girl in my class. She was part of the lower class of kids: an outcast. She was poor, disheveled, unconcerned with education and had a crush on me. Somehow everyone else found out about her feelings before I did. I was above her, you see. I was better than her and I was not about to cross the school cast system. I was not interested.
It was eighth grade and we were about to graduate junior high. At that time, my school held a eighth grade graduation ceremony. Each boy was paired with a girl to walk down the isle. My luck, I was paired with her. My friends thought that was great and it made for all the talk. We were going to share our love together and all of that. I was none too happy about the ordeal. So much so, that I told my mother about it. I was trying to find a way out of it.
A countertop separated us while I stood in the kitchen talking to her. She was washing dishes. She looked up at me and told me about girls. I didn’t know it then, and I really didn’t care, but she told me about how important it was for me to walk that girl down the isle. How it was likely that no one ever told her she was pretty. That being nice was what a good boy did, what a Christian did. She pointed her finger at me, soap clinging and water dripping, and told me that I (Faticus Jackson) was going to walk that girl down the isle and make her feel pretty and that was that.
Years later, I realize what my mother was teaching me. She wasn’t just telling me to be nice to ugly girls. No, she was training me to be a sensitive, caring adult who sees beyond a persons socio-economic status, and life choices, and see the person inside for what she (or he) really is. She taught me the importance of love and of not being judgmental. It’s a good thing, because I really needed to be balanced out and less black and white in my world. It took much more than one lesson to pound that into my head. It’s taken a mother and a wife to teach me a few things, but eventually it has taken effect.
I understand that importance of walking that young lady down the isle and acting like a man. People, all people, need to feel loved and accepted by others. Even if I didn’t reciprocate her strong feelings for me, I learned to show respect for women and love for other humans beyond my own self-indulgent teenage ego.
I like where I am at in my recovery. I enjoy being less judgmental and more understanding. That whole love thing is pretty cool. I have my mother to thank for that foundation.
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3 comments:
Jack,
It is an important lesson for all of us. Mothers have a way of helping us learn those lessons.
Please remember that not all groups of Baptists are equal. I grew up as a Southern Baptist and I did not grow up that judgmental.
You are a fine man, and your daughter is lucky to have you as her father.
Springfield Bloggers meet tonight at 7:00 at the Patton Alley Pub. This will be Zach Cobb's last meeting before he moves to Kansas City. C U there!
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