Thursday, October 07, 2004

Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in My Church Calling

This will, I imagine, be the first in a series of musings about my church calling. You see, I have learned a lot over the past 9 months serving as the Young Women’s president in our newly split ward. I learned early on that I am a dork and that my past is going to haunt me forever. Not my sordid past. That I don’t mention or I gloss over with an air of mystique: “Weh-hell, ladies—see back in my day we didn’t have no Strength of Youth pamphlet.” I’m talking about something else. Like when I was sitting with the gals as they chatted about ballroom dancing, being in plays, track, concurrent enrollment in college classes, etc. etc. "So what did you do in High School?" What did I do in High School? Could I really answer that question? Could I really say “I watched MTV, mostly.” So I told them I was on the cross country team, which is totally true. I played down the fact that I never actually ran in a race or a meet or whatever they call it. I played down the fact that I dropped a big rock on my friend Becky's foot (at her request) so her dad wouldn’t make her participate in a meet. I played down the fact that I joined the team only to pal around with Becky who was forced to join by her dad and I didn’t even mention that her dad told my mom I gave him “a slimy feeling—as though [I] were a devil worshipper.” I’m not, by the way. I did drop a big rock on his daughter’s foot, but that was after he said I was slimy. Our reasoning at the time reminds me of Harry, Ron, and Hermione (Book 5) when they just HAVE to talk to Sirius through the fireplace. They are so desperate; it is so unreasonable.

Anyway, one of the children asked me this question AGAIN. I can’t believe it. I never asked grown ups questions like that. This time it was Robbie. Christian was out of town. Sam’s birthday was the next day and I had called him to come over and help me assemble the hot wheels race car track. (That I am no engineer has been clear even before my church calling, so I won’t dwell on it here.) So he’s all “What did you do in High School?” and I, remembering the cross-country exaggeration with pangs of guilt, just said, “Ya know what Robbie? I did nothing.” But it’s ok because he said he doesn’t do much either. He does think about Spiderman a lot which is not a bad way to spend your time and he does make a compelling argument (he’s convinced me) that Spiderman is the best/most interesting superhero for the following reasons: most interesting back story; organic powers (anyone with money can buy equipment a la Batman); vulnerability (that is, the Everyman of superheroes made very clear in Spiderman 2) which makes him more compelling and funner to cheer for (in contrast to Superman who is like totally impervious to everything except a little kryptonite? How interesting is that? I hope Jerry Seinfeld reads this and is provoked to respond.)

I thought I had learned one other unalterable truth from my calling and it is this: It is better to have ENOUGH soda, even if it’s Shasta, than NOT enough good, name-brand soda. This had born itself out many times and I finally felt a little confident, a little seasoned in a know-it-all young women’s president sort of way about this one. Last night this was shattered. I had a mixer at my house for the priests and laurels with enough of those 3 liter Shasta bottles to baptize the lot of them. “They’ll love this!” thought I. What happened? They drained a gallon of milk. My own personal milk, I might add. And to top it all off, as I was trying to send the Shasta home with people Andy said he didn’t want Shasta in his house. I looked that kid straight in the eye and said, “You bastard.” So all I know is that I know nothing. Which I learned in Philosophy 110 about 8 years ago so I haven’t come too far except in my assurance—weekly—that I am a dork.

If it seems like I mention the Maglebys a lot, it’s because they are the only people in the ward who know me. Everyone else is like, “Who is that lady who keeps offering us Shasta?”

8 comments:

  1. If it makes you feel any better, on my way down to Provo today I was pondering the art of blogging and thought, "I'm just way dorkier than Kacy is - she is so great at pop culture." It is true - you did only watch MTV in high school. However that has made you a much more itneresting adult. :) No one cares that I still know my high school's fight song and most of the cheers.

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  2. Did you really call that Maglbey kid a bastard? Awesome!

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  3. Kacy, I found your site on one of the comments you left on Eliza's site... it is VERY entertaining. Probably about as entertaining as the people around me in the library listening to me laugh to myself. Anyway, thought you should know!

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  4. As a matter of fact, I did. And, in all fairness, he was being funny--not a stinker. I made it sound like he was being a stinker to make my story better. (I'll do that.)

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  5. First off, Spider-Man has a hyphen Mrs. fancy english teacher. Second off, I didn't bring up high school, you did. I was meerly trying to keep up the conversaition to stifle my own laughter on the fact that you cant assemble a toy fit for the ages of 3-7.

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  6. Thanks, Robbie. I like that nickname almost as much as Falcor. "Ms. Fancy English Teacher." You can call me that from now on, whenever you see me--You little rice-crispy-hoarding Spider-Nut. I've just been WAITING for you to make fun of me for not being able to put together that race track. Oh well. Thanks again. I hope you're not busy Christmas Eve.

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  7. Where were you when I was in high school? I needed a rock dropped on various body parts SO MANY TIMES! Like the numerous, humiliating track meets and the horrifying state orchestra tryouts. The more involved I was in high school activities, the more I was in need of a friend who was good with rocks.

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  8. Next time...put the Shasta into a punch... the little name-brand worshipping bastards will never know...

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