Eight is Great: Curtis' Big Day

Not surprisingly, Curtis didn't have a lot to say about his baptism.

He met with the bishop about a month ago for his baptismal interview. He managed to eek out a few one-word responses and three minutes later we were on our way back home. 

We went to his "Eight is Great" baptismal preview two weeks ago and his only questions were about whether or not his underwear was going to get wet. 

Earlier this week, we were at the stake center helping the bishopric counselor set up for the baptism. On our way out the door he said, "See you on Saturday, Curtis!"

Curtis turned to me and said, "What's Saturday?"

"Your baptism."

"Oh, yeah. Right." 

But when the big day arrived, he got right down to business. He marched in, picked out a jumpsuit, and got changed.

He sat straight-faced through the talks and then, when it was his turn, stepped into the font. Less than a minute later, he was baptized and we were back in the dressing room, sopping wet. 

He was stoic through the rest of the program and his confirmation. But that doesn't mean there was no emotion. 

While Curtis and I were in the dressing room after the baptism, he leaned into me, which is his way of giving—or at least receiving—a hug. I squeezed him tight and said, "I love you, buddy."

It was a good day. 

Why I'll have Bleached Blonde Hair in Heaven

Moving is the worst. But in the process of moving, sometimes you unearth some gems. Like this one. 

I'm guessing this was taken in 1997 in Traci's basement, shortly after we started dating. Nearly 20 years later, it now lives in our basement. 

It's one of my favorite pictures of us. 

I posted it on Facebook and it went bananas. Likes were plentiful and comments were flying everywhere. Things like: 

"What's on your head, Spencer?"
"Yikes."
"Wow." "Bleach! Yesssss."
"Collaborate and listen. Spence in back with a brand new edition..."
"OMG! Is that Lance Bass?"
"Backstreet's back ALRIGHT!"

I couldn't help but feel like I was being teased a bit. So...

First of all. That was not Vanilla Ice hair. (Though I did have Vanilla Ice hair in the sixth grade.) It was not Lance Bass hair. (Though I've obviously had some run ins with Lance Bass.)

It was punk rock hair. (See Billie Joe Armstrong, circa Dookie.)

Second of all. It was cool.

Sure. This picture makes people giggle. I'm sure my kids will look at it and laugh the way we laugh about Traci's dad's baby blue wedding tuxedo. But if you went to high school in the late '90s, I'm sure it makes sense.

There's this piece of Mormon doctrine (or maybe a Mormon myth) that says after we die we'll be resurrected to our perfect state. I'm pretty sure this is it for Traci and me. (When Traci saw this on Facebook, the first thing she said was, "I was having a great hair day.)

Even though I'm now old and bald (Traci is young and beautiful), this is still how I picture us. Me with the bleached hair and long sideburns and Traci with the tight curls and the denim shirt. I picture us watching the MTV music awards and old episodes of The Young Ones and having big, big plans for the future.

If this is how we're going to look in heaven, I'll die a happy man.  

Paige's First Solo

If you've ever been to a Mormon Primary Program (where the kids sing and do all the talks during Sacrament Meeting), you've probably noticed that there's always one kid who sings about twice as loud as all the others combined.

In our ward, that kid is not only loud, but sings with enough vibrato to make any opera singer jealous. That kid is Paigey

We've known this about Paige for a few years now, we just hoped that others wouldn't notice. Well, they did.

A few weeks before the Primary Program, Paige was asked if she would sing a solo. She was ecstatic about the opportunity. We were a little nervous about it, especially since she refuses to sing in front of us, which means should wouldn't practice at all.

Paige didn't seem to get nervous until the day of the event, when we were driving to church. "My stomach feels weird," she said.

By the time she was sitting on the stand, fidgeting uncomfortably, I could tell she was really nervous. But she still probably wasn't as nervous as Traci and I.

When she walked up to the microphone, all alone, my heart was thumping in my ears. The piano started, the chorister raised her arm, and give Paige her cue. After a small pause--which felt like a mega enormous is-she-going-to-do-it pause to her parents--a voice as big as a house excited our tiny daughter's body.

She did a wonderful(ly dramatic) job. We were very proud of her.

She was also proud of herself. As she went back to her seat to sing the remainder of the songs with the the primary, she was beaming. She continued to belt the songs out, louder than anyone else but now with her arms crossed proudly across her chest and her eyes closed like an R&B diva.

After the program, she was showered with praise from just about everyone. She, of course, let this go directly to her head.

After church, we had this conversation:

Me: Paige, you did a great job. Do you think you'd want to try taking voice lessons?

Paige: [Rolling her eyes] Voice lessons? What are voice lessons?

Me: It's like your piano lessons, but you practice singing.

Paige: Dad, I take piano lessons so I can get good at playing piano. I'm already good at singing.

Later that night, I left the kids in the car while I dropped some keys off at the Relief Society president's house. When I got back in, Paige said, "Let me guess, Sister Rickards told you what a good job I did." (No, Paige. I'm sorry to say she didn't mention it.)

It's good to have a confident kid.

--

On a related note, Curtis also refuses to sing. But not just in front of us, he refuses to sing ever. (Well, that's not entirely true. I have heard him singing C&C Music Factory in the bathroom.) He once again refused to sing during the Primary Program. But we had a few major breakthroughs. Not only did he stay on the stage for the whole program (with his lips pursed so no singing could slip out), but he actually said his one-sentence part into the microphone. (Last year, he walked up to the microphone and not only refused to deliver his line, but turned his back to the audience. Take that, crowd!) It was super fast and completely mumbly, but he did it. Another proud parent moment.

First Trip to the Conference Center

For this year's regional conference, our stake was invited to the Conference Center. I took Paige and Curtis and Traci stayed home with monster Tate (or rather went to the stake center where he could do less damage). Our kids had never been inside before. They seemed to be impressed, first by the size of the auditorium and later, when Curtis conveniently needed to go by the bathroom, by the general echo-ey-ness of the halls.   

After we left, I asked Curtis, "So, what did you think of the Conference Center?"

"It was boring," he replied. 

It was kind of boring. But most educational experiences usually are. 

We stopped by the State Capitol after. They were much more impressed.

When we walked inside, Paige gasped," Wow, somebody really rich must live here."

Even Curtis enjoyed it.

A Moment of Silence

Sacrament meeting is supposed to be a respite. A place for quiet contemplation. A place for spiritual rejuvenation.

Just not when you have kids.

We spend much of our Sabbath worship trying to keep Tate from escaping the chapel or from hurling cars at  his siblings (or at the unsuspecting bystanders sitting in the pews around us). We try to keep Paige and Curtis from fighting over crayons or fishy crackers or over who's looking at who when that who doesn't like being looked at.

But something magical happened today.

It was quiet.

Paige and Curtis were both being good and Tate was sitting quietly on my lap. It was so peaceful that I was even able to close my eyes and silently take it all in.

And then I was abruptly brought back to reality--when a little finger was shoved directly up my nostril. Before I could even react, Tate had shoved a second finger up my other nostril.

There is no respite.

Dieter F. Uchtdorf vs. Mike Tyson's Punchout

Watching General Conference this morning...


ME: His name is Dieter F. Uchtdorf. He's from Germany.

PAIGE: I know someone else who's from Germany.

ME: Yeah? Who?

PAIGE: Von Kaiser.

The Innocent Prayer of a (n Evil) Child

Now that Paige is all religious, Curtis has followed suit. So of course they fight over who's going to say the prayer (I don't think that either of them is as interested in saying the prayer as they are in making sure that the other one doesn't get to say it.)

This morning, we had the usual fight over who's turn it was. Curtis freaked out, and instead of just praying at the same time as Paige (only much louder) like he normally does, he took a more drastic approach. The second Paige closed her eyes, he grabbed a bottle of lotion and chucked it right at her head.

Are we the only family that has to pause mid-prayer to put their kids in time out?

Pick Your Poison

For 20 years, I have struggled with a question for the ages. Which "Poison" is better? Alice Cooper's ode to the evil woman, or the Bel Biv Devoe tune that gives the best advice ever put to music ("Never trust a big butt and a smile")?





On an unrelated Alice Cooper note, if you type "Alice Cooper" into the Google toolbar, it wants to auto-fill with "Alice Cooper Mormon." That takes you to Celebrities Rumored to be Mormon.

About Cooper:

His father's name was Ether Moroni Furnier. Jay Evenson, who is the Deseret News' editorial page editor and teaches an opinion writing class at BYU, interviewed him once. His family belonged to an offshoot of the LDS Church, but his father was later ordained a minister in the Baptist church.

(The site also reveals the genesis of "Steve Martin is a Mormon.")

Oh, The Humanity

In Sunday School today:

"Brothers and sisters, welcome to Sunday School. I am glad to see that you have all survived the calamities of the weekend."

I assumed that the class president was referring to the earthquakes in Japan.

I was wrong.

"BYU lost the tournament. But there is still hope."

Latter-Day Sutherlands

With Paige always worried that Heavenly Father is trying to steal her stuff, it's a bit tough to get her excited about having Family Home Evening.

This is the conversation I had with her last Monday night after dinner.

PAIGE: Dad, what does canceled mean?

ME: It's when something doesn't happen. Like when your dance class got canceled because your teacher was sick.

PAIGE: So, like, when someone has a cold something might be canceled?

ME: Yeah.

Then here's what happened after we all sat down for family night. And by all, I mean our family, plus all of Paige's Tinkerbell dolls and Curtis' monster trucks.

PAIGE: Wait, wait, wait. I forgot something. We can't start family night yet.

[She comes back with her toy microphone.]

PAIGE: [Into her microphone] I have an announcement. Tinkerbell is sick. [Pause for emphasis] So family night is CANCELED!

What an awful little genius.

Ah, the Google Search

Of course, one of the best reasons to have a blog is Google Analytics. What's more fun than seeing reports of where your visitors are coming from and what they're searching for?

For years, the search that brings the most folks to the Manifesto is some variant of "Shauna Thomas Fox 13." (It's usually something like "Shauna Thomas Nude," "Shauna Thomas Softcore," etc.) Clearly there are still a lot of people interested in the former morning reporter's role as "Party Girl #3" in Bikini Hotel. (See the original post here.)

But I just ran across another search tonight that's waaaay on the other end of the spectrum - "law of chastity gospel principles lesson." I'd forgotten about this post called "Gettin' Down with the Law of Chastity." I hope the poor Googler didn't go then on to read my next post called "Stickin' It to Chastity" where I offered up this gem:

"You could always put a piece of candy in your mouth and then spit it on the ground and say 'Who wants it now?!'"

I don't think the lesson would have gone over real well.

Though I am flattered that my post shows up on the same page as links to LDS.org, LDS Living, and the School of Abraham, it's kind of a buyer beware situation. Sorry, internet.

The Only Reason I Go to Church Anymore...

...Is to check out the artwork on the sacrament programs, provided by the Primary kids. This one's my favorite. In this depiction, Goliath is not only a frightening giant, wreaking havoc on the Israelites, but also a monster in the paint. Shaq Fu ain't got nuthin' on Goliath--or The Big Phil, as his teammates call him.

A Thanksgiving Miracle

How's this for a faith promoting story. Nine years ago, I was living in Antwerp, Belgium, preaching the Good Word.

My companion and I shared an apartment with two other missionaries. There were four sister missionaries serving in the city as well. Our very nice ward mission leader (much nicer than me, the lousy ward mission leader), knowing what Thanksgiving means to a bunch of American kids far from home, invited us to his house for a full Thanksgiving dinner.

Folks in Antwerp rarely fed us, not to mention full American dinners. So we couldn't have been more excited. I was so excited, in fact, that I totally spaced the standing dinner appointment that we had every Thursday.

I hated to call and cancel, as the couple were so nice to us. But we couldn't miss our Thanksgiving dinner, right? I made the call.

"Hi, uh, about this Thursday night..."

"Oh, Elder, Thursday night is going to be great. I'm preparing you an extra special meal."

Extra special? She fed us the same thing every week--one full rotisserie chicken for each of us, complemented by a plate of french fries. (Belgians eat french fries with every thing, thus making it the best country in the world.) What could be more special than that?

I chickened out. And then I lied.

"Oh, great. I just wanted to see if we could bump our dinner up an hour. We've got a teaching appointment at six." We never had teaching appointments.

"Sure, no problem."

Big problem. She fed us enough food to kill us. How could we possible eat one ginormous dinner and then go straight to an even bigger dinner?

I prayed.

So what does God do to lying missionaries?

We ate the chicken. We ate the french fries. It was delicious. We drove to dinner number two.

And here's when the miracle happened.

We were right on time for the dinner. But we were the only ones. When I asked our hosts if they had heard anything from the other missionaries they told us there was a tram strike. Having to take the bus would make them at least an hour late.

Just enough time to digest and prepare for second dinner.

Prayers are answered.

A Thanksgiving Miracle.

Stickin' it to Chastity

So after much reworking, I got my lesson all ready and catered to an adult audience. I walked into the classroom and one of my class members said, "This is my 16-year-old sister. She's visiting today." D'oh!

So I went to Plan B, Aaron's made-for-seminary approach:

"You could always put a piece of candy in your mouth and then spit it on the ground and say 'Who wants it now?!'"

No. I didn't. I actually don't really remember what I rambled on about. But nobody got up and left class early, or worse, asked me where babies come from. So I guess it was okay. The real test now is whether they come back to class next week.

Gettin' Down With the Law of Chastity

I have to teach the dreaded Law of Chastity lesson in Gospel Principles class on Sunday. The last time I had to teach this lesson was to the Young Men just after Paige was born. Here's how I decided to teach it.

I asked them all how much money they made at their little after-school jobs. Then I told them how much we paid in medical bills for Paige's arrival. I then divided that amount by their minimum wage earnings and told them how many hours they'd have to work to pay for a kid. And then, if they weren't scared enough, I told them about what witnessing childbirth was really like. Are you ready to be a dad? If not, no sex. I think I scared them straight.

But I'm teaching this lesson to grownups. How do you scare grownups?

Even Better than the Jonas Brothers' Hair

We went to the holiday sing-in at Energy Solutions Arena last night with our friends the Bawdens. We were standing in line for our free hotdogs when Janeen leaned over to me and said, "Is that Shawn Bradley?" When I turned my head, I noticed I was looking right at a navel. Whose navel? Seven-foot-six-inch Shawn Bradley's.

As we sat there eating our hotdogs, we were of course excitedly talking about our celebrity sighting. That's when something even more exciting happened. "Guys, where'd you get the ketchup?" What? Shawn Bradley is talking to us?

Brett kept his cool and said calmly, "Right over there."

Shawn Bradley: "Thanks."
--
According to this site, Shawn Bradley is also known as:

"The Stormin' Mormon," "The Deathstick," "Missionary Impossible," "The Mormon Mantis," "The Praying Mantis," and "Siggi."

It's hard to choose a favorite, but I think I'm going to have to go with "The Deathstick."

I Hope They Call Me On a...

In Amsterdam with our good friends the Joneseses

I spent an hour with the missionaries last night, waiting for an investigator to not show up. Though I’ve been the ward mission leader for almost a year, my interaction with the elders has been almost all business.

Last night, however, they finally let their guard down and I heard them interact like humans. One of the dudes is going home next month and they were talking about all the awesomeness that happens at the end of the mission.

Here are some of the highlights:

Elder 1: I’m going to get to go to conference like the week before I go home.
Elder 2: That’s sweet.
E1: And then I get to go downtown on my last day.
E2: Downtown?
E1: Well, not all of downtown. Just Temple Square…AND the Church museum.
E2: The church museum is AWESOME! Are you going to go on the temple tour?
E1: And have them tell me all the stuff I already know? Nah.
E2: But you get to go the Joseph Smith movie, right?
E1: Yeah. I should take my digital camera and tape it for you and send you a copy.
E2: And you’d get struck by lightning.

On the last day of my mission I went to Amsterdam with all the other elders who were going home. I bought some silver man capris (or man-pris) that had Velcro on all the pockets at a store called The Bizzee Bee. On the way there we walked past the Amsterdam Sex Museum and a bunch of coffee (the Dutch euphemism for marijuana) shops. Then I bought some white Pumas that looked like baseball cleats.

To each his own, I guess.

And as added bonus, here’s one other conversation piece:

E1: I wish there was a Seagull Book where I live.
E2: I love Seaguall Book. I could spend hours there. If could have like a $5,000 gift certificate anywhere, I’d choose Seagull Book.
Me: Me, too.

A Rough Read Rolling

It took a year--yes, a year--for me to read Joseph Smith: A Rough Stone Rolling, but I did it. Written by a Mormon author, but aimed to give an unbiased history of Mormonism's founder, the book hits on both Smith's strengths and weaknesses.

I would have finished it sooner, had I not taken a break in the middle to read the 600-page autobiography of Slash (you know I can't say know to a good rock 'n roll memoir). Rough Stone Rolling was quite good, if not a bit long-winded at times. I'd definitely recommend it for Mormon folk, but it seemed too detail-heavy to be enjoyable for someone being introduced to Joseph Smith for the first time.

Go Jazz Go

I love how Larry H. Miller skips Sunday Jazz games for religious reasons, but then spends his evening being interviewed on the set of SportsBeat Sunday.

Sunday Jazz games are a funny thing for all us Mormons. If you are a ticket holder, do you go to the game? That's usually an easy decision. But what do you do with your ticket?

"Hey, not-LDS friend, I value the Sabbath day, but you don't so much. Do you want my ticket?"

Values are funny things. If you believe something is bad, but you know others like it, what do you do? Do you sell alcohol at your grocery store? Do you show Brokeback Mountain at your movie theater? Do you play rock and roll shows at Burt's Tiki Lounge?

Whatever the answer, I am happy that the Jazz were able to defend their home court.

Something for Those Quiet Moments: Ruminations on Missionary Music

After the Utes gave up a 40 yard pass on 4th and 18 I needed some cheering up. I found some solace in downloading some new music - The Hippos' self-titled, The Rentals EP and two Get Up Kids albums. The irony being that I don't think there is any group that makes me feel more sad than the Get Up Kids.

As the stream of consciousness continues, I am thinking about the contraband music I listened to on my mission. There was a Virgin Records by our apartment in The Hague (I'd never seen a Virgin Records before) that had a big going out of business sale. Even though we weren't allowed to listen to music, I thought it a shame to pass up such great blowout prices. I picked up a copy of "Something to Write Home About" by the Get Up Kids, even though I'd never heard the band. The artwork, the name of the band, and the name of the album were so awesome that I couldn't pass it by. Like a good boy, I refrained from listening to it until I got back to America.

I would say, all things considered, I was pretty good at abiding by the no music rule. However, here were a few that slipped by the goalie:

Something for those Quiet Moments Mixtape

What a funny mission memory. I was at a zone conference in my first area. I'd only been in Holland a few weeks. I was happy to learn their was a fellow punk rocker in my zone, Elder Josh Ligairi. (Ligairi somehow managed to keep his tongue ring a secret his entire mission. He even created a new way of laughing that kept his tongue hidden. Huh, huh, huh, huh.)

I was in the church bathroom when Ligairi approached me. He slipped me a cassette tape and then disappeared. I shut the stall door and inspected the booty. It was a mixtape titled Something for Those Quiet Moments. Ligairi had included hits by all of the punk rock legends - NOFX, Bad Religion, Millencolin, MXPX. I put the tape into the pocket of my suit and went back to the conference. I felt like I was walking around with a dimebag of marijuana.

Many months later I finally listened to the tape. I think I only listened to it once or twice, but the memory of Ligairi sneaking it to me was priceless.

Ace of Base and the 5BX

Even though he's not a Mormon, my friend Rhett was super supportive of my mission. One day, a couple of months into my mission, I got a package from him. It was an Ace of Base cd. Because my friends always teased me about liking the Swedish dance quartet, I was always too embarassed to buy any of their music. Rhett included a note with the CD: "I saw this in the $1 bin and thought of you."

The CD made its appearance 18 months later when I was introduced to the 5BX workout program. My friend Jonny Wix discovered a photocopied workout program in his missionary apartment called the 5BX (a cool, hip way of saying 5 Basic Exercises). Since we had all grown fat from eating french fries with mayonnaise for every meal, I asked him to send a copy to me and my housemates down in Antwerp, Belgium. Every night we'd do our exercise routine, which included some move where you lay on the floor and pretend to be a fish or something. The best part was that we all agreed we could only work out properly if we had some great work out tunes. Enter Ace of Base. Beautiful Life, Lucky Love, Never Gonna Say I'm Sorry, man, those are awesome songs. The rest of the album sucks, but those tracks were perfect for the 5BX.
....
The list goes on, but time runs short. Many great songs trapped in the time warp of '99-'01, but I guess it I'll have to save that for the next time I'm depressed about sports. There's a story about Enya and other New Age hits, a bad run in with Tom Jones' "Sex Bomb" and many, many more. I'd really like to write a book about my mission, but Traci ensures me no one would want to read it.

The Kooks - All That She Wants [MP3]
Ace of Base - The Sign [MP3]