Wisdom and Folly

In response to my recent post regarding gender differences, a former student asked for an elaboration on my position on feminism. I was surprised by the difficulty I had in teasing out just what I did believe. Feminism is one of those terms with so much baggage attached that it looks like Paris Hilton headed to the airport for a week in Maui. Thrown about by so many people who mean so many different things by it, I almost want to come up with my own word rather than deal with checking all those unnecessary bags. If I were to come up with a word to describe my view, it would be “femaleness.” (Highly creative, right?) Still, when I think of what it means to be a woman in this fallen world, I think of the verse in Genesis 1: “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God, he created him; male and female he created them.” As Matthew Henry says in his commentary, God created one human and out of that oneness drew the other, whereas with animals He made them the male and female separately. There is a sameness in substance between male and female that is undeniable, just as there is a sameness in substance in the Holy Trinity which we have the great honor to reflect.

However, just as in the Trinity, there are distinctions, in both duties and personality. Man and woman were created with different purposes and characters in mind and attempting to deny this is like saying that God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are not just one but the same. This, however interesting (at least to me), is all pre-fall stuff and terribly difficult to translate into this distorted world we live in where each sex attempts to rule over the other. For the most part, men have been more successful at the ruling than women. No one can deny that there has been a great deal of abuse and discrimination against women over the centuries. I would certainly never attempt to brush that aside as if it meant nothing. However, when modern feminists attempt to define just what that abuse and oppression has been, too often, they include roles and responsibilities that are, in my opinion, basic to what it is to female. Being subjected to the whims of an unfeeling husband, having your rights and voice unrecognized by the legal system and so on is truly inexcusable. But so is being expected to not just be equal to men but the same as men. To close yourself to the possibility of having children, raising a family, and serving that family through the sacrifice of your time, hard work and often your dignity is to close yourself off to part, not all, of your very essence. (Obviously, there are many cases where these options aren’t available to women. Single women or those who cannot have children are no less feminine. They can look for other ways to express the character that makes women so well-equipped for the duties of mother and wife, and these roles are by no means limited to baking cookies and teaching Sunday School.)

Do women have the right to pursue careers in all fields and have opportunities in education, etc? Absolutely! But they have to recognize that in order to do so, they must be willing to make certain sacrifices. Once you make the choice to get married and have a family, certain compromises have to be made. “Fair” or not, for thousands of years women have committed a great portion of their lives to raising families. Feminists too often seem to think that this great gift (that is given to and given by women) is slavery. Yes, there is a lot about being a mom that is mind-numbingly dull but I think that raising responsible little people is actually pretty important and well worth the effort. Moms aren’t super-human. We are most definitely fallen creatures (just ask my kids) but to suggest that we are mindless zombies marching to the beat of someone else’s drum isn’t a truthful depiction either. For me, I have found a great outlet for expressing my gifts through staying at home with my kids. That doesn’t mean I think everyone has to make that choice. If I am willing to acknowledge the legitimacy of their choice, I will ask for the same respect in kind. I don’t want to align myself with anyone who thinks I am wasting my time. Just as God created male and female with their own unique gifts to contribute, so, I think, He created a great diversity within the genders. Trying to define female in one particular way is like trying to pack all Paris Hilton’s clothes in one carry-on. Better to get a luggage cart and bring everyone along for the ride. I hear Maui is beautiful this time of year.

In these politically divisive times, there are lots of ways we see our nation divided and categorized: by political party, race, religion, occupation, beverage of choice. Okay, so maybe this last category doesn’t cut as deep a divide as the others, but nonetheless, I think you can tell a lot about a person by what they choose to imbibe. Now there is the classic divide of coffee or tea. People of both persuasions take the process of brewing or steeping, whatever the case might be, pretty seriously. I have seen people approach their coffeemakers, if they are hard core, like priests approaching the altar, especially if they have a French press.

Jim switched from coffee to tea a few years back, due to his battle with gastric reflux. While this was a great disappointment to the kids who had become accustomed to begging a swig or two from his coffee mug each morning, I think he is now in the correct camp for his disposition, not to mention his digestion. I see the coffee drinker as high energy/intense. This is not Jim, who relates much better to the methodical and slower pace of tea drinking.

Allow me to describe the typical process of making a cup of tea in our house. First, heat the water. This is actually a great controversy in our household because Jim much prefers the microwave, while I rely on the electric kettle. Next you forget that you have heated the water (in either way previously described) and you have to start again, because by the time you remember, the water has gotten cold again. After reheating the water, you choose a tea bag and once again walk away, perhaps to wipe a bottom (always a great pre-beverage-consumption activity) or to settle a dispute. Returning to your steeping cup, you realize that once again, it’s cold. After reheating, adding half and half and honey (if you are Jim, you use more honey than Winnie the Pooh) you try to drink it. But wait, it’s too hot. So you leave the tea, and do something else only to come back too late and find that your tea is—say it with me now—cold. So you give it one more zap in the microwave (it now contains enough microwaves to scramble a pacemaker) and drink, burning your tongue with each sip, but you’ve come this far, right? Gee, I don’t’ know why I don’t do that more often. My aversion to this process obviously reveals my issues with patience and instant gratification. I applaud Jim for his perseverance but prefer my beverage consumption not to be an exercise in self-discipline.

So, you might be asking yourself, what do I drink—water? Please. I am among an elite group of drinkers whose beverage of choice is the Polar Pop. Now allow me to enlighten those of you who do not have the honor of living in Indiana. The Polar Pop is a very large, very cold fountain drink. You can only buy it in a limited number of convenient stores in our area, though it has its imitators, like all greats do. You can get a Polar Pop in either brand you prefer, but I, of course, like all distinguished connoisseurs of carbonated beverages, head directly for the Coke side of the dispenser. I quickly fill my Styrofoam (that’s right, not only am I consuming 32 oz. of liquid goodness-knows-what, but it is all contained within a large, non-biodegradable container) with ice and fill with half caf and half decaf Diet Coke. In and out in less than a minute if the line is short, which is good thing because I am usually squeezing the stop in between either dropping off or picking up one of the kids and dropping off or picking up one of the other kids. The size of the drink is definitely a plus because if the kids are present, there is usually a lot sharing going on. If the choice of coffee or tea reflects on the chooser, then what does the Polar Pop reveal about me? Besides the obvious—that I am not as environmentally or health conscious as I ought to be—I think the draw of the Polar Pop for me is the ritual of it. I love the fact that with little variation I can go through the ceremony of getting my Polar Pop in a very orderly and predictable way each time, going to the same gas station and getting the same drink. I get the same style of cup (the cup holder-friendly model) and get cranky if they don’t have the blue straws as opposed to the skinny white ones. (I also drink tea, when I can endure the process, out of the same mug, eat the same cereal for breakfast every morning, and reread books again and again. It’s a sickness, I know.)

In an attempt to pull this post out of the abyss of complete triviality it has thus far been wallowing in, I will say this. There is a natural human tendency to cling to what is visible, that which we can touch and feel and even taste. While my near-obsession with the Polar Pop seems harmless enough, there are days when I suck down Diet Coke like a prayer to heaven, seeking comfort from the familiar. But I think that even in routine, God speaks and does indeed comfort. Otherwise, why would He make the sun rise and fall each day in pretty much the same way and have the seasons follow one another in the same order? If He likes order and routine, why shouldn’t we who are created in His image? Perhaps the draw of routine is part of the Imago Dei, however dimly disguised in the contents of a Styrofoam cup.

In picking up Ed Cyzewski’s new book Coffeehouse Theology: Reflecting on God in Everyday Life, I had many different expectations. Ed, Jim and I had exchanged several e-mails and I greatly appreciated Ed’s style and humor. I was looking forward to my first nonfiction read in a while and happily accepted Ed’s request for Wisdom & Folly to be included on his blog tour. What I didn’t expect was a cross-cultural experience.

One of my most convicting and enlightening experiences occurred immediately after I graduated from college. Why is it, by the way, those two so often road trip together? Just once I would love to have Enlightenment show up on my doorstep unexpectedly and say “Hey, I thought I would leave Conviction sleeping on the couch this time. How about some mind-blowing insights, just you and me?” Anyway, what was I saying? Ah, yes-mind-stretching and self-mortifying experience. I embarked on an overseas missions trip with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship to Ukraine. I can’t really say why I went on this trip (it certainly wasn’t for any of the reasons one should), but I definitely learned a lot from it. I had traveled overseas before, but more as a sightseer and general laborer, never in a one on one situation, day in day out. Frankly, it was exhausting. As the days stretched on and I felt myself being drained of what little spiritual energy I had at the time, I found myself clinging more and more to anything American. I drank Diet Coke at every opportunity, gobbled candy bars like there was no tomorrow and wept at the sight of the American delegation making its way into the Olympics. I didn’t want to share my precious symbols of home with anyone, which very much went against the communal mindset of the Ukrainians. I was happy to buy you your own, but keep your distance from my Snickers, okay comrade? One day two friends and I had had enough of the boiled beets and hot tea for lunch and headed to the nearby village with visions of pizza dancing before our eyes. As we neared the village, our faithful leader came thundering down the path to stop us. We had unintentionally offended our Ukrainian friends by shunning the prepared food and showing off our ability to buy an alternative. With great embarrassment and not a little righteous indignation, we returned to eat lunch with the rest of the group. (I believe humble pie was on the menu that day.) It was then that I began to reflect on just how ingrained certain values were to me as an American: independence, individualism and consumerism, to name a few. Not all bad in the proper context, but they nonetheless placed me in a certain context both culturally and economically. If I wanted to minister to these students I had traveled so far to meet, I was going to have to check some of these values like luggage at the gate, knowing I might never see them again.

This is the challenge that Ed Cyzewski gently but forcefully issues in Coffehouse Theology. If we are to attempt to understand God and his inspired word, the Bible, we must understand ourselves and the context in which we live, because our biases and cultural beliefs form a lens through which we see the world and the scriptures. As Ed puts it “Once we understand where we come from and who we are, we can then step into the important task of knowing God through Christian theology.” For me, just as with my experience overseas, this book was an opportunity to be challenged by a different perspective and come to understand myself as well as others more clearly. I didn’t always agree with Ed, but I could certainly appreciate where he was coming from and also appreciate the magnanimous spirit with which he presents all sides of important debates. As Ed says, he isn’t so much interested in convincing you one way or another, but rather opening a healthy dialogue, and he does just this with a light and humble touch. (Plus, I must add, I greatly appreciated his somewhat random cultural references and the use of parentheticals.)  I would definitely recommend Coffeehouse Theology to anyone interested in theology as a way of better understanding God in everyday life and especially within our postmodern context. Within its pages, you just might find Enlightenment hanging out all by his lonesome, ready to go wherever the road might take you.

The recent discussion of gay marriage (see my October 2 post and related comments) has reminded me once again how difficult it is to be both culturally liberal and morally conservative.  It seems that today most folks fall into one of these categories but not the other.  That is, people tend to be either culturally liberal or morally conservative.  By culturally liberal I mean someone who readily recognizes and aggressively pursues truth, goodness, and beauty in culture-from politics and higher learning to art forms such as film, literature, and popular music.  By contrast, a cultural conservative would be someone who does not share this inclination but rather is suspicious of culture and human creative expressions.  A parallel distinction can be made regarding a person’s moral sensibilities.  Moral liberals are those who readily embrace shifts in ethical standards, while moral conservatives are suspicious of such change.

Perhaps it is only natural that people tend to be liberal or conservative generally rather than according to context or subject matter.  That is, our tendency to be liberal or conservative is not isolated to particular areas or issues.  It’s no coincidence that the artistic centers of our culture, from Hollywood and Broadway to art institutes and MTV, are also the most morally liberal communities.  And it’s also not coincidental that the most morally conservative communities tend to have little interest in the arts.  Similarly, the press and media, as well as the most prestigious centers of learning tend to be liberal, while people from the most morally conservative faith traditions are those who are least likely to run in these cultural circles.

Now these are very general observations, I know.  But these tendencies should be obvious enough to all of us.  I consider it to be a tragic trend, as it is the timeless moral truths which made American culture possible in the first place and which will sustain it as long as it lasts.  While it is appropriate to question or reject artistic norms and institutional conventions, moral verities such as the sanctity of human life and sexuality cannot be rejected without devastating repercussions, both in individual lives and culture at large.

So the noble challenge, as I see it, is to vigorously explore the arts and other aspects of contemporary culture while maintaining one’s ethical moorings; to remain committed to abiding ethical principles without sacrificing the will to eagerly pursue truth, goodness, and beauty in human creations-in short, to be a cultural liberal and a moral conservative.  It’s a challenge because somehow, at least at this time in our history, it is unnatural.  And it’s a noble challenge because it is for our own good-both as individuals and as a society.

I just completed my annual trip to the James Dean Festival with my kids, and it’s wonderful to know that I won’t have to endure it again for another 365 days.  Since we live in the midst of the darned thing—two short blocks from the cacophonous midway—there is no way we can avoid taking the kids over for some rides and a bit of funnel cake, lest we face a household mutiny.  Just a few goes on the Kamikaze, Gravitron, and Tilt-a-Whirl are enough to satiate their appetites for spinning and sudden stops, then we are on our way back home to wash off the cigarette smoke and airborne grease. 

As my kids and I plodded through the sweaty mob from ride to ride, I began to compile a list of the things I despise about such festival atmospheres.  One day my children will know how much it tortures me.  But I hide it from them for now so as not to spoil their fun.  At any rate, here is my list (and please don’t share it with Bailey, Sam, Maggie, or Andrew until they are at least in middle school):

10. The ridiculously overpriced rides, midway attractions, and “food”

9. The constant drone of midway vendors, as they clamor after passersby to “take a shot” at winning a big kitschy stuffed animal

8. Thousands and thousands of feet of electrical cords.  Watch your step or you’ll roll an ankle or maybe even tear an ACL.

7. The swarms of bees and yellow jackets which feast in droves on the remnants of sugary treats and puddles of spilled beverages

6. The absurdly unhealthy food—all essentially comprised of sugar-laden fat dipped in grease.  Some of these treats, however, are hotter than others.

5. The grotesquely corpulent adults

4. The painfully self-conscious teenagers (and the not-sufficiently self-conscious ones who should be sentenced to a semester-long seminar on appropriate public display of affection)

3. Whining kids everywhere.  Not my kids, of course.  Only other peoples’ kids.

2. The random and unexpected profanity.  I can take it from the tattoo-riddled, unkempt Skydiver operator.  But from the preschool kid whose mom smiles amusedly at his casual F-bomb?

1. Elephant ears.

That’s just the top ten.  I’ll spare you the other 990. 

Now somebody please pass me the Rolaids.

The presidential race is approaching the home-stretch now, and the media frenzy to cover every detail of the candidates’ each and every move is becoming circus-like.  But, with as much as there is on the line, I suppose this is to be expected.  I suppose, too, that we should appreciate this fact about American politics.  Today the media is so thorough in its investigation of public figures that it is impossible to rise to national public office without having your private life exposed.  So if you aspire to work on Capitol Hill and have moral skeletons in your closet, then be prepared to see those bones hauled out into the light of day for all America to view.

It wasn’t always like this.  The extent of FDR’s health problems were held under wraps by the press, as were Kennedy’s adulterous liaisons.  But media-enabled cover-ups ended with Watergate.  Although it did not concern a personal indiscretion—it was a conspiratorial Republican plot to sabotage the Democrat political machine—this scandal created (or compounded) public suspicion toward our leaders.  Criminal corruption, we learned, really can go to the top.  Consequently, the media has been vigilant to scour every national politician and candidate for office to keep the American public informed as to their real character.  So I say good job, American media.

But there is something that bothers me, and with every new public scandal my annoyance grows.  While the media are tireless in their investigation of public figures, including the private lives of athletes and celebrities, they have immunized themselves to investigation.  In short, the media protect their own-mainly by not reporting ethical indiscretions of other journalists and reporters.  When was the last time you saw a report about a scandal involving a journalist or television news anchor?  Probably the only ones that come to your mind are those involving the Jayson Blair and Dan Rather or some other media person’s sins against their profession. That’s because this is the lone exception-the media will only “out” those whose immoral behavior undermines the media itself.  Otherwise, it appears, they are given a pass.

So as ethics scandals constantly rock the worlds of politics, business, sports, and entertainment, almost never do we hear of scandals among media personnel.  Not that we need more evidence of media bias, but this is especially exasperating because it doesn’t involve mere spinning of stories but constitutes turning a blind eye to bad behavior.  And the problem is not isolated but systemic.  Shame on you, American media.

What we need is a meta-media agency, a troupe of reporters whose special task is to investigate journalists and reporters to the same degree of rigor that other high-profile professionals are investigated.  How I’d love to see the media get a taste of their own medicine.  And how I’d love to see this effect a greater sense of fairness and discretion when it comes to media reports about personal issues that really have no place in public discussions.

Or maybe all we need is just a few courageous reporters who have the moral will to break this code of silence-to start holding their own profession to the same ethical standards to which they hold everyone else.  Now that would be historic.  Then I really could be proud of you, American media.

I sometimes wonder if I have been blessed with the unique gift of maternal instincts. Yes, I can change a diaper at lightning speed and hit the floor running at any hour when I hear the word “Mommy!” But in other areas, I feel I am grossly lacking. “What are they?” you ask. I always burn grill cheese sandwiches. Despite my vigilant efforts to remain by the frying pan, I am inevitably drawn away for an instant, and wham!, they pass golden brown straight to black.  Another strike against me? When I play my kids in games, I never let them win on purpose. I am so competitive that you can’t get me to throw a game of Chutes and Ladders.

But perhaps the worst of my failings as a mom is my inability to turn off my overly analytical mind when watching videos with my kids or reading them books. I just can’t get over all the obviously implausible and sometimes illogical premises, no matter how many times I tell myself “It’s just a book. It’s for kids. Leave it alone.” What is worse, I can’t help but point it out to the kids. “See there, Maggie. Did you notice that Papa Bear is a complete idiot who can’t find his elbow without Mama Bear’s help?” “Sam, have you ever noticed that Little People are all kids and yet where are their parents? Why are they completely unsupervised and where are Child Protective Services?” (This is to say nothing regarding the inconsistencies of such award winning programs as Little Bear where animals that are otherwise regarded as predator and prey buddy up to one another or Franklin where the turtle gets a name and everyone else is known simply by their animal type.) It’s a sickness, I know.

Just the other day, we were riding in the car, enjoying a lovely rendition of “Bringing Home a Baby Bumblebee.” This is one of the boys’ favorite songs because it involves both violence and mess-making, which is rare in children’s music. We arrived at the tragic moment when the bee stings the little kid and the bee’s life is tragically ended and here I quote the revised lyrics: “Oh! It stung me! It didn’t hurt. I’m setting free my baby bumblebee…  Sorry, Mr. Bumblebee!” Are you kidding me? “It didn’t hurt”? Now I have swallowed a great deal of political correctness served up Sesame-Street-style in my days as a mom, but this takes the cake. I’ll take my burned grilled cheese and poor sportsmanship any day over this lie-to-the-children-because-the-truth-is-unpleasant bull hockey. Life is messy and, yes, sometimes painful, but without bee stings we wouldn’t have comforting hugs from Mommy. Without scraped knees, there would be no need for band-aids, which we all know make everything so much better.

I have never been terribly interested in politics. This might seem a strange confession coming from someone who graduated with a degree in political science. I am not sure what exactly drew me to the major originally, perhaps the fact that I really liked arguing–or, well, thoughtfully discussing issues with people. After serving as a summer intern in Washington D.C., however, I lost all hope that politics actually accomplished anything. Seeing the partisan biases and territorial attitude of so many politicians day after day was a clarifying moment for me both as a student and citizen. I felt quite immune to Potomac fever. (I loved the city itself, though. So many great restaurants!).

My apathy has remained fairly well intact until recently. The presidential election has captivated my attention, as it has so many Americans, in a way that I find quite surprising. It feels a bit like when you are waiting for your oil to be changed and pass the time by watching some random soap opera provided for your IQ-lowering entertainment. Thirty minutes ago, you didn’t know who Trish and Buff were and now suddenly you are breathless to discover if the Siamese twins Trish had are really Buff’s or those of his evil brother, Duff. I suddenly find myself utterly enthralled by the whole drama that is our election process. I’m completely hooked. But living in a fairly conservative area–this is like saying that penguins live in a relatively frigid environment–I have been carefully seeking all sides of the issues, not wanting to end up like one of our feathery Antarctic friends, huddled together with my kind, more concerned with the survival of my species than the greater good.

Fortunately for me, Jim and I do have a few friends that we greatly respect who lean a little farther to the left than ourselves. The day Barack Obama announced his running mate, I ran into one such couple at Bailey’s soccer game. While serving Cheerios to the youngsters, I asked our friends what they thought of Obama’s choice. I asked with a genuine desire to know, not in the way we so often ask questions of those who disagree with us. Per Jim’s recent post, I want to be strengthened in my own convictions through the thoughtful arguments of others or discover where my view is flawed and change my mind. One of our friends shook his head and expressed disappointment at the choice of Senator Joe Biden. He said that he had really believed that Obama wanted to reach across the aisle and start to change things. The phrase stuck with me through the rest of the day–”Reach across the aisle.” I can’t count the number of times I have heard commentators use that phrase. What struck me, though, was the fact that I don’t live on one aisle or the other. Jim and I would both consider ourselves social and fiscal conservatives but on other issues such as gun control and the death penalty, we would be more sympathetic with liberals. Our friends are greatly concerned with social justice but they are pro-life. So where does that leave us–straddling the aisle? What if you are neither red nor blue, but more purple? Where is the purple party–hanging out with Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory? When you can identify with both parties to some extent (and neither completely), how do you go about deciding whom to vote for?

I believe I found the answer this past weekend, sitting on the floor of a Denver book store. Jim and I were attending a wedding in the Mile High City and made the most of it with a date night consisting of cruising Barnes and Noble and a dinner of Indian food. Jim called me over to check out a book on Barack Obama. I can’t remember the title but it was clear the author was not a fan of Obama’s. I skimmed it with an open mind, on the lookout for the glaring exaggerations and misrepresentations I find intolerable from any party. What I read, however, was chilling. It was related to Obama’s views on abortion and specifically the Born Alive Infant Protection Act. I recently learned about this act and the work of a former nurse turned public speaker named Jill Stanek (www.jillstanek.com). I have been shamed by my ignorance and apathy regarding this act and the abortion issue as a whole.

Jim and I really wanted to refrain from making this blog political but what Obama is supporting through his opposition to this bill isn’t political; it’s permission murder. I don’t want to use our blog as a forum for demonizing one political party or another, but I will say that I cannot in good conscience vote for this man. I strongly urge you to be your own means of persuasion, to look at the issues–and not just from the mouths of the candidates but by looking at their records. Whatever the results of your investigation, at least you can pull the lever with confidence in whom and what you are supporting. Who knows, if enough of us who are neither blue nor red decide to straddle the aisle, Violet Beauregarde just might win.

As a father of four kids, I am sometimes asked whether my wife and I “intended” to have “so many” children.  They say, “I don’t want to be rude, but…”  Well, the answer is yes; we did intend to have so many children.  While it is very challenging, having a large family has many benefits, both for us and, especially (we hope) for our society.  We strive to raise our kids to be thoughtful, productive Christians, who will impact culture in many positive ways.  And we hope that they, in turn, will have many kids of their own who do the same.  This is the way cultures are renewed, and we aspire to be a link in that causal chain in our own culture, which so badly needs renewal.

However, I occasionally encounter people who take a very different view of the matter.  The Earth is already overpopulated, they tell me, and having children only adds further stress to the planet.  Each kid means one more massive carbon footprint, a net loss to Earth.  Thinking themselves conscientious environmentalists, they suggest that the path my wife and I have chosen is actually irresponsible.  While these conversations rarely turn into debates, I am prepared to show my skeptical friends the flaws in their thinking.

First of all, such thinking assumes that our kids will be environmentally irresponsible, which we are working hard to prevent.  None of our lives need be a “net loss” to the planet.  In fact, if our kids turn out to be as environmentally responsible as we hope they will be, then we can expect net gains because of them.  For one thing, we practice a form of vegetarianism which has tremendous environmental benefits.  In terms of reducing greenhouse gases, abstaining from meat is one of the most significant contributions that one can make.  And we expect that our kids will likely continue this family practice into adulthood, perhaps teaching their own progeny to do the same.  On top of this, there is the potential that one of our kids will become an environmental scientist and make a profound contribution to the field.  The reasoning of my skeptical friends rules this possibility out of hand a priori.

This brings up another point which is rather exasperating.  None of the no-kids-because-of-the-environment folks I know are vegetarians.  They are so concerned about the planet that they refuse to procreate, but they refuse to do this very beneficial thing for the environment: abstain from meat.  For a while this puzzled me, but then it hit me.  The refusal to have kids and indulgence in meat have something in common-both choices are easy and convenient.  Raising kids and maintaining a vegetarian diet, on the other hand, are difficult and inconvenient.

Finally, and most disappointing from the standpoint of moral reasoning, the no-kids environmentalists are (or tend to be) guilty of one-track thinking when it comes to family planning.  By making environmental concerns the single overriding factor in their choice not to have children, they make this a moral trump card.  But even if environmental concerns did support the small family approach, why should we ignore the many other considerations which support the opposite perspective?  What about the countless ways that well-trained children can benefit society when they become adults (or even while they are still young)?  When there are so many other significant factors to take into account when doing family planning, a purely environmental approach seems narrow-minded and, well, irresponsible.  In fact, it makes me suspect that something other than environmental issues are at play here.  But, of course, this is not something I would ever say to the no-kids environmentalists.  I wouldn’t want to be rude.

People abuse the English language in many ways, but I am never more bothered than when I hear the word “literally” misused.  Take a perfectly good idiomatic hyperbole like “scared to death,” for example.  Why do some folks insist on trying to add emphasis to this phrase by saying “I was literally scared to death”?  No, my friend, you were figuratively scared to death.  Had it been literal, you wouldn’t be here now.

Some of the most striking abuses occur in the context of sports.  Several years ago I was listening to an NFL playoff game involving the Pittsburgh Steelers, who were trying to mount a last-minute comeback.  As they drove down the field, the announcer declared, regarding their quarterback at the time, “Cordell Stewart is literally trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat.”  Naturally, I wondered why he would do that while playing football.  In another case, an ESPN radio commentator was discussing the poise of a particular basketball player when he said that this player “literally has ice water in his veins.”  Uh huh.  But my all-time favorite—if you can call it a “favorite”—appeared on a website advertising a student development conference.  The blurb about the keynote speaker asserted that this person’s work had “literally turned the world upside-down.”  Hmm.  Now that is impressive.

Other common linguistic mistakes, such as mispronunciations (of words like “nuclear” and “asterisk”) and confusions of terms (such as “jealous” for “envious” or “sarcastic” for “caustic”) are annoying but excusable.  However, faulty uses of “literally” are on a different level because they typically spoil a perfectly serviceable metaphor or hyperbole.  And it is even more disturbing when the offender is a professional broadcaster or academic.

So, gentle reader, I beg you to be responsible in your use of this word.  Or, if you must abuse it, please do it in private so that others won’t be corrupted by your indiscretion.  My hope is that we can put an end to this error, because if I hear the word abused again I am going to lose my mind.  Figuratively speaking, of course.