DiscussMormonism.com

I told RockSlider that I would tell my journey through Mormonism...so here it is. This will be both easy and very hard. There is a lot of good in my journey, and yet I have a lot of scars.

I was born into a very deep Mormon family. And at this point I am looking back and seeing it as just that, a “Mormon” family, not a LDS family.

For me there is a huge difference. Recently I have been doing deep genealogy on my own, moving past what I was told by ear by my parents and grand parents. And while my understanding is still growing, at this point I am generational Mormon on all sides of my family. Both on my maternal and paternal sides. I am at the most 7th generation on one side, and the least 5th generation on one side. But mostly 6th generation from my current studies. I have 9 or 10 grand parents that were polygamist.

I knew I had at least one polygamist gggf growing up, Edwin Whiting (settled Springville/Mapleton), but had no idea that I had 10 or more direct gp’s that were polygamists. Probably because I did not listen, but I honestly don’t recall my family discussing it. While not shocking when I recently found this out, it was a surprise.

Anyways, I was born into a very Mormon family by great loving parents. Looking back we had our problems, but compared to most family’s I was and am, very blessed to have had very loving parents (now deceased).

I have three brothers and two sisters and countless cousin’s...all either active, inactive, or apostates...but absolutely without exception all Mormon raised.

I was born in San Bernardino Ca. A Mormon colony. I was also a post WW2 baby, with my father and uncles all being Veterans. San Bernardino was the home of Norton Air Force base, so many of my neighbors were Military. Looking back, I suppose, both of those factors shaped my conservative values. Although I was Liberal for many years during the Vietnam era as a young teen.

At any-rate my early memories all involve “the church”. My father and mother always had callings, my father mostly in athletics, and my mother in Relief Society and drama (road shows). My father was a true legend both in and outside the church as a fast pitch softball pitcher, and was always the athletic director and my idol...he was a rockstar in those regards.

I was raised a racist. I was raised that we as saints were superior to “Negros.” My parents were not hateful, and we were taught to be respectful and loving to “Negros,” almost with pity. We were taught we were faithful in the PE and “they”were fence sitters. I can remember like it was yesterday asking my mother why we were white and people were black...she told me in a loving way that they sat on the fence and by free agency chose not to follow HF’s plan. This would later get me in big trouble in Jr high.

Everything revolved around the church. Looking back I remember our church building as much as our home in many ways in that I spent so much time there...ether going to church or just hanging out while my parents did their callings. We had a scout room upstairs were we would hang out for hours.

Life then, up until Jr high, was good being Mormon..it was very easy, the biggest complaint I had was not being able to play with other neighborhood kids on the Sabbath.

I honestly believe, looking back I had a relationship with Christ, not the Christ of Joseph Smith and men in black suits, but the Jesus that loved me. The Jesus that had children on his lap and a smile on his face. Not the Jesus that would come later that would by guilt force me to be something I can never be.

More later.

I am being really honest here, and if only writing to myself it is a good exercise, excuse me if it gets a bit scattered.

The Vietnam war shaped my life and faith, even if indirectly. I was not old enough to serve, but my two oldest brothers did serve.

If I had to characterize who I was in the late 60's and early 70's... I was a jock, jr hippie, and still Mormon. My love and dreams were to a professional baseball player, yet my brothers were enraged in a war that one wanted no part of, and another loved it, one brother was a real hippie who enlisted before he was drafted, and another was gun ho and enlisted to fight. So looking back I was certainly a confused 14-16 year old. My love was sports, but I leaned towards a liberal anti war stance on my very narrow world view, and yet idolized my John Wayne type of brother that was all in with the war. All the while being a active member with a testimony that Joseph Smith was a true prophet, and the church being very much a part of my life. I had long hair and I know it embarrassed my father...it was just a tough time looking back, and I know those of you my age and older understand.

I remember riding my bike with my buddies to our local park where there was a "love in." There were hippies and anti war demonstrations going on. I remember flower girls, probably on LSD, that painted flowers on me and my friends cheeks. It was kinda cool and we were sucking it up. They gave me a peace sign necklace. Then there was a huge commotion and we rode over to see what was going on, and my oldest brother, the gun ho one, was on leave and beating the crap out of a demonstrator, my hippie bro was trying to break it up, yet still had my brothers back...and I was both shocked and yet super proud.

Looking back my older brothers had a cause, in their own ways...yet my generation had to sort it out. A 8th or 9th grader listening to older peers telling everyone to tune in and drop out and also support the war effort, was very damaging to many my age.

Yet with all this going on, I was a deacon, teacher, and scout on Sundays and MIA nights...

More later

Hey Markk

Just wanted you to know that I read your posts (Thanks for your willingness to share) and that I look forward to reading more of your personal journey.

Ceeboo wrote:Hey Markk

Just wanted you to know that I read your posts (Thanks for your willingness to share) and that I look forward to reading more of your personal journey.

Ditto.

Thank you for sharing, Markk, and looking forward to more. I empathize with so much of your story, sometimes I think we forget how normal it is for these extreme Mormon backgrounds to still influence us. My children can't relate at all, and I know they have no concept of why some things are still so difficult for me to get past, or why the Mormons in my family look down on all non-mormons, lovingly of course, but with a surety that their eternity will not be anywhere near as good as the eternity of those who "remain faithful." Sigh. It helps so much to read another person's journey.

Growing up in San Bernardino Ca was very white, in my side of town. Yet it was very racially diverse. The difference was that there was boundaries. The Whites lived in the North, center, and East side of town, the Hispanics mainly in the south west side, and African Americans on the far north and far east side of town.

Our schools were not integrated, not becasue of a specific integration law, but by boundaries, one simply went to the school in their neighborhood, and if your neighborhood was white, the school was white and so on and so on.

I lived near one boundary line so when I graduated up to 7th grade, I was forced by boundaries to go to a very diverse jr high, after going through 7 years of elementary school with one black family and a few Hispanics that attended over the years. And of course there was absolutely no minorities in our stake that I can remember, and for certainty no African American's or Blacks from other countries. It was a huge culture shock.

I am a big guy, when I topped out in sports after high school, I was 6'1" and carried 220 pounds with no fat, but in jr high I was small, too small to play on the football team because I did not meet the weight requirements. So, going into this new environment of diversity, racial tensions, and being a naïve Mormon kid, I was a target. I was not a pussy, but I weighed like 100 pounds or less, and again a target, especially to the Hispanic gangs. I never gave up my lunch money like many 7th grade naïve white kids did.

So I learned to fight and certainly lost more than I won, but sadly it fed my racist upbringing already fueled by the church. I was even stabbed once behind the hand ball courts by a Hispanic group with a bic pen. Complaining back then did no good, it was just the way it was and there were so many fights the district had their hands full.

I don't recall complaining about it too much to my parents anyway, except for when I was stabbed (not real serious, a 2 inch puncture would in the side) and my mother freaked out on the school...but beyond that it was just the way it was.

The district did not know what to do and this would escalate in the next few years and I got in huge trouble when it did.

Also, my brothers were both fighting in Vietnam and my mother was a wreck. My hippie brothers best friends who lived down the street...who enlisted with him and another friend, via the "buddy system" to avoid the draft, was killed in his first month in Nam. I remember his mother coming over to our house a understandable wreck, and my mother letting her smoke cigarettes in our house, our Mormon home...it's funny the things that stand out as memories. I can't remember the face of my brothers best friend who was killed, but a remember his mothers face smoking a cigarette in our home and using a little pottery dish that I, or one of my siblings, made in school for a ash tray like it was yesterday.

But all was good on Sundays and in church activities, I was in my white world and protected by being HF's chosen. At least so I thought.

More later.

Lemmie wrote:Thank you for sharing, Markk, and looking forward to more. I empathize with so much of your story, sometimes I think we forget how normal it is for these extreme Mormon backgrounds to still influence us. My children can't relate at all, and I know they have no concept of why some things are still so difficult for me to get past, or why the Mormons in my family look down on all non-mormons, lovingly of course, but with a surety that their eternity will not be anywhere near as good as the eternity of those who "remain faithful." Sigh. It helps so much to read another person's journey.

I so agree, my children have no idea, I had their names removed from the records (both were blessed) when they were still too young to remember.

One thing Mormonism does, especially if raised in it, it give one a sense of superiority and self righteousness...if you haven't lived it, it is impossible to understand.

Markk, I have been interested in what you are writing here so want to encourage you to continue. My curiosity perked about your brothers differing view of the war and how they handled that. Not sure how much that figures in your ongoing story but it could.

huckelberry wrote:Markk, I have been interested in what you are writing here so want to encourage you to continue. My curiosity perked about your brothers differing view of the war and how they handled that. Not sure how much that figures in your ongoing story but it could.

It does. This is not easy for me, and I have to be in the right temperament. But I am finding a bit of therapeutic release, so I will continue, and hopefully open up a few things I have never shared with anyone.

They certainly had differing views, yet they were very close and had each others back always, we all did, and do today.