A Party on Good Friday

Several years ago - well before the boys were born - I came to Utah on business. I had meetings the Wednesday and Thursday prior to Greek Easter, so I took a vacation day on Friday and stayed in Salt Lake to celebrate the holiday with my family.

I wanted to make the most of this unexpected visit, so I made plans to see my friend, Aimz. Only thing was that she was only free on Friday, so we agreed to go out for drinks after dinner.

That afternoon, my Theia Sophie called me (for those non-Greek readers, Sophie is actually my dad's cousin, but in Greek that makes her my aunt...it's confusing to you, I know, but makes complete sense to us!) She asked me if she would be seeing me at church that night. Maybe I should have been non-committal and said "I'll try." Instead, I told her about Aimz and drinks.

That's when she let me have it: She was horrified that I would even consider going out and enjoying myself on Good Friday. She reminded me that Jesus had had only one chance and he didn't use it to have a good time. When I was unconvinced by her arguments, she made me promise not to go dancing and instructed me not to have a good time. (That evening, the irrepressible Aimz - a devout non-believer - told every bar tender and server we met that we were not having a good time.)

Well, my Theia Sophia must have influenced me. Saturday I was shocked to learn that Niko had been invited to a birthday party on Good Friday. A birthday party...on Good Friday!

The invitations posed a great conundrum for me: Do I let my son go to the party or do I tell him he cannot attend? I know many people - perhaps even some who read this blog - who without hesitation would keep him home. And I know people, who would smirk at me for even considering not sending him to the party.

But I think it's a greater issue that many ethnic and religious minorities probably also deal with: the conflict between personal "traditions" and the activities of a larger society.

The birthday boy's family are wonderful, loving people. But they have a different tradition. One in which Good Friday doesn't have quite the impact it does in Orthodoxy.

I want my kids to understand and embrace their dad's culture, but I also want them to be typical American kids. I remember what it was like to pull a blood-red egg out of my lunch sack weeks after "American" Easter, and have the entire table stare in disbelief - assuming the egg had long gone bad (or was a pink PAAS aberration.)

So we compromise: The Easter Bunny visits our house...even when American Easter falls during Orthodox Lent. My kids can have fun during Lent...even on Good Friday.

This whole situation reminded me of something I heard from Fr. John Bakas of Saint Sophia Cathedral in L.A.: statistics repeatedly show that people are more likely to attend church services as adults if they attended them as a child with their father. My boys will get their religious cues from me. The choices I make will influence their choices. The way I handle the conflicts of a 1st-century religion in a (thankfully) secular 21st-century country will determine how they deal with them.

So in the end, Kelly and I decided that he'll take Niko and Gus to the party. A three-year old won't understand why he's not having cake and playing games at his buddy's party. I will not attend. If asked by other parents or the boys, Kelly will smile and tell them I'm preparing for Good Friday services, and if pressed that in my religious tradition a party on Good Friday isn't appropriate.

As the boys get a little older, they will attend Friday-night services with me. And when they're men, I hope they'll follow the example I've tried to set - just like the example my much-loved Theia Sophie set for me. I hope they'll have a foot planted squarely in both cultures, will compromise on the insignificant differences, and stand firm on the bigger questions of our faith. Kalo Pascha.

Citius, Altius, Fortius! My Olympic Adventure!

You know a vacation is going to be good when the very first day includes:

- flying to another country on a plane with propellers that seats less than 60 people;
- praying you don't have to lie to Canadian custom officials by saying you're staying with friends (whom you've never met in your life)and whose surname you didn't jot down; and
- laughing so hard your stomach hurts because you and your best friend are crouched down in the hatchback portion of a Suburu hiding from the Mounties because you have 7 people in a car that seats 5.

Now that's a vacation!

Our Generous Hosts:

Long story short, our original accomodations fell through so all six of us ended up descending upon the home of Martin and Judith Siegert - whom John, Sabine and Mary had met last year while rafting some remote river in the Yukon. How cool are they to generously open their basement to six Americans? What amazingly folks - they made our trip.

Events:

We were hoping to get some additional tickets, but the Canadians bought the place out. However, we were able to see:

Curling - for those who don't know, curling is sort of like shuffle board...on ice... and with brooms. We saw a men's round robin featuring the Canadian team (that went on to win the gold), the Norwegians (who would get silver, and whose garish harlequin pants were the talk of Vancouver...and their King Harald), the Chinese, Swiss, French, Danes, Brits and Swedes.

A couple of days prior to the event, we took a curling lesson - I reminded everyone you never see ice on the Acropolis, and I naturally sucked. Kelly, of course was brilliant. It gave us a new appreciation of the sport and the night before we left we had a little match...I'd improved enough to be the Lead on the men's team as we trampled the women! Of course, the Lead is usually the weakest link...but I think I'm probably good enough to be Skip (as in skipper) of the Greek national team in Sochi in 2014...





Women's Hockey - we were lucky enough to see the bronze medal women's hockey match between Sweden and Finland. Naturally, we split evenly between the Swedes and the Finns. Seeing how I had a LOT of blue and white, I was a natural Finn...and I like to think that it was MY inspiration that helped the team win its first-ever women's hockey medal! Oh, and before the game I got to eat an Yves veggie dog. That's right, VEGGIE dogs at hockey events! Is Canada great or what?



2-women bobsleigh - it rained at Whistler that day. But with the Greek flag draped around me I wasn't cold...no, I was warm in the embrace of Mother Greece. 'Least that's what I was telling everyone. And as the ONLY Greek flag to be seen the ENTIRE week we were there, I was also much photographed! (I reminded people that without the Greeks there'd have been no Olympics...or math, science, or history.) It was really great: when the Canadians came in 1 and 2 the crowd spontaneously burst into "Oh, Canada." Um, we politely reminded everyone that the US team took bronze...on the way to the Americans' record-breaking 37 total medals.






Other Highlights:

Well, taking a bus, train, seabus, different bus, and gondola to Grouse Mountain to go snow shoeing...only there wasn't really enough snow to warrant snowshoes, so we muddle our way to the top in our boots. Oh, then we slid down on our butts! (I stupidly wore Levi's, earning me the nickname "Sticky Pants"...that is until I body luged - head first - down the last part!) In the gondola with close to 100 other people, Kelly uttered possibly the best line of the Games. Crammed up against everyone, he looked at me he said, "So, I guess it's safe to assume I'm over my claustrophobia thing."

Even when the Games aren't in town, there's an hour wait at the Japadog cart in downtown Vancouver. John bravely stood in line for close to 90 minutes to get one regular and one veggie Japadog (again the veggie dogs!). Basically they're a hotdog with dried seaweed and teriyaki mayonnaise on them. Yeah, I don't think I ever need to eat another one...

Although if they opened in America, Kelly argues I'd never step in one, I couldn't get enough of Tim Horton's. It's kind of like a Duncan Donuts but with breakfast meals. Sabine and I really dug the (B)ELTs (Bacon, Egg, Lettuce, and Tomato, minus the bacon). Plus, they offered an array of donuts and donut holes, which we took back to Martin, who encouraged me to wash them down with beer. Donuts, beer and curling on TV, does it get any better than that??

But most of all, we enjoyed what the Olympics are really about: meeting people and laughing and for a moment forgetting what separates us as nations. Whether it was cheering with the Finns, or chatting with an older Austrian guy, or surprising some Russian athletes when I thanked them in their mother tongue for retrieving Terry's hat, it was nice just to be a citizen of the world.

Of course, it helps to have some of the greatest people in the world traveling with you. And meeting fantastic new friends like Martin and Judith.



Oh, and since this blog is about being a dad, yes, we missed the boys...starting about the third day. And when we walked down to the luggage claim area at Salt Lake International, they shouted our names and threw themselves into our arms. And honestly, that was better than winning a gold medal.

Bonnie Jean Scott Huntington

I've been gone for a bit, and I know most of you probably expected me to blog about our adventures at the Vancouver Olympic Games. And I will get to that in the next couple of days.

But the night after we returned home, Kelly's mother passed away. Bonnie had been suffering from Alzheimer's for several years, so in a way her passing was a great blessing. But it's still hard.

Per her request no funeral service is planned. Her kids have requested that no flowers or cards be sent.

So this blog posting is just for me.

Before Alzheimer's stole her, Bonnie was a gifted, recognized artist. Her paintings regularly received ribbons in county and state fairs. Her work was featured (and sold) in galleries across Utah and the Mountain West.

My favorite memory of Bonnie and me comes from one of the first Christmases we were together. Kelly's sister-in-law had made a huge feast and served if buffet style. As we were going through the line, RaeEllen noticed someone had placed the spoon in a pan of simmering potpourri. She naturally got angry and one of the kids got the blame.

Bonnie and I sat next to each other eating. She leaned in to me and whispered, "Dear, have you tried the stewed vegetables? They're kind of chewy." I looked over at her plate to see what she was talking about since I hadn't seen any stewed vegetables on the stove. And there spilling into her potatoes and everything else was a big pile of potpourri.

"Bonnie! That's not stewed vegetables, that's the potpourri!" She looked at her plate, looked at me and dryly said, "No wonder it's chewy." And we both burst into laughter.

My only regret is that my boys didn't get to know their Grandma Bonnie. And that she didn't get to know them. I'm afraid their memories of her will be of a feeble person unable to perform the most simple tasks unassisted.

So it's up to Kelly and his brother David to tell them who Bonnie really was. A dynamic, funny, gifted person, who saw the good in everyone, loved to laugh, and made a loud, talkative Greek guy feel welcome as a part of her family.

May her memory be eternal.

I'll be back and more frequently beginning next week - starting with my Olympic recap!

The Fr. Andrew Amendment

When I was in college, the priest at Prophet Elias was Fr. Andrew Mahalares. He was a pretty nice guy but, well, maybe a bit too pragmatic in his approach to a 2,000-year old religion.

One Spring day in 1985, my parents, sister and I were getting ready to head to church when the phone rang and my parents' best friends suggested they go golfing. In a New York minute, they were into their golf attire and out the door - leaving Sandy and me to head to church alone.

Apparently, similar calls went out to a lot of other folks that morning because there weren't a whole lot of people in church that day.

Of course Fr. Andrew noticed his diminished congregation, and he addressed the situation in his homily. He acknowledged that after a long, cold Utah winter during these first warm days of Spring it was tempting to skip church. He opined if a person says he or she is going to be with God on Sunday but goes, say, golfing instead that is a sin. (Sandy discretely elbowed me upon hearing that!) But, he continued, if you say you're going to be with God and go golfing AND thank God for the warm weather, rejoice in the fellowship of your friends and are grateful for the beauty of nature then you didn't need to be in church that day!

A lot of our fellow parishioners missed Father's point. It may have been just too pragmatic for them. Indeed it wasn't too much longer after that day that he was transferred to another parish.

But Sandy and I understood what he meant. If God is everywhere then He can be worshipped anywhere - not just at a church.

Over the past quarter of a century, I've recalled that homily several times, invoked the Fr. Andrew Amendment and skipped church to go to a ball game, hiking, or even to watch football on TV.

And I did so again yesterday. Rather than worship at Prophet Elias, our family worshipped at Lindsey Gardens Park - half a block from our house. And we were thankful for the snow, we rejoiced in the fellowship of our family, and we were grateful for the sound of children's laughter as we sled down the hillsides.

Don't get me wrong: The Fr. Andrew Amendment must be used judiciously and infrequently. Next Sunday we'll be back in our pew again.

I think when the boys grow up, they'll remember their years at Prophet Elias fondly. I hope the priests, Sunday School teachers and their dad can instill in them the deep faith we all share. I hope they look at their Orthodox Christianity as a blessing. But I also hope they remember that now and then we worshipped God by sledding down a snow-covered hillside!

I'm Sort of Mormon

I like to joke with my LDS friends that I'd make a pretty darn good Mormon. I'm pro-family. I go to church every Sunday. I don't drink coffee. They like to respond that I drink like a fish and can swear like a sailor. Oh, and then there's the whole gay thing...

One cannot escape the influence of the LDS church when living in Utah. Sometimes that does drive me nuts. Like their annual private breakfasts with the Legislative leadership. Then there are times I'm grateful for their pull. Notwithstanding the amazing efforts of my friend, the late state Senator Frances Farley, if the LDS Church leadership hadn't come out against the MX missile plan in the early 1980s, I'm sure those rockets would be in the Utah and Nevada desert today. And I can't deny that their support of Salt Lake City's anti-bias ordinance helped pave the way for a similar ordinance being adopted in Salt Lake County.

What I've learned is that in nearly every belief system good ideas abound. And long ago I discovered that some times all it takes to adopt those good ideas is to tailor them to fit you.

For example, in Utah you cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a car sporting stick-figure decals telling fellow drivers just who comprises your family. Well, we are as proud of our family as anybody on the I-15. So our car rear window is home to a decal family too. Only, well, ours reflects our family.

It's funny. Cars will race up to catch us and look over. Often the faces we see in the other car are confused - you can almost see them doing the math in their heads...two dad figures, two men in the front seat... Other times we see smiling, laughing faces and people giving us a thumbs up.

The decals seem to be a never ending source of confusion. One of my uncle's friends saw our car parked in my parents' driveway, noticed the decals and called my uncle to ask if I had become LDS!

I hope he never finds out that once a week we have Family Home Evening, only ours usually includes Dad having a beer!

Like I said, the LDS faith has a lot of good ideas: once I've tailored them to fit me.

Mr. Optimist Predicts 2010 Will Be A GREAT Year!

Recently, the "Lexington" column in The Economist opined about the virtues of pessimism and the role of optimism in America. To provide outside support, Lexington included information found in two recent books: one by a "left-leaning" American woman, the other by a "right-leaning" British man. Regardless of their individual political beliefs, they both, "confront optimists and beat them down."

With all due respect, in my opinion, both of those authors are dead wrong.

Today I received a (late) holiday card from my friend Anne. She and I have known each other literally our entire lives. We grew up just three houses from each other. Our grandparents had been friends in Bingham Canyon.

A couple of years back, Anne emailed to tell me that her daughter had just been diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Syndrom. She was paralyzed from the waist down. Anne and her husband turned to their deep LDS faith and believed with all of their hearts that one day their girl would walk again.

This year their positive attitude paid off: She's walking with braces! WALKING!!!

Eight years ago, my brother Ted was on the wrong side of an auto - train accident. The doctors told our parents he'd never make it. But he did. When I saw him a few weeks later, he was still in a coma, and I tried desperately to make my parents understand that this was it for my brother, and they needed to start planning for his long-term care. I remember telling Kelly I felt like the ancient Greek prophet Cassandra: doomed to tell the truth but be believed by no one.

When I made my impassioned, reasoned, educated arguments, Dad would just smile at me and patiently remind me that Ted would be fine.

Dad was right. Ted came out of the coma and now leads a life pretty much like any one else.

It made me wonder: were the esteemed authors quoted by Lexington parents?

Nothing has changed my world view for the positive more than becoming a father. Two little boys moved me from seeing the doom to seeing the hope. Hope for a better future. Hope for my family. Hope for, well, everything.

The economy still stinks - but it WILL get better.
The president has let me down - but he IS trying.
The environment is threatened - but we ARE doing something to change it.
Everything WILL be alright.

I'm so glad my parents patiently smirked at my predictions about my brother. I'm so glad that Anne always knew that the Lord would take care of her daughter. I'm so glad Gus and Niko have shown me that it's better to hope than despair.

2010 is going to be a great year, trust me, I can just tell.

My Favorite Christmas Present Ever

Sometimes I remember weird events from the past. I suppose some of them stuck with me because they're associated with really good or not so good events in my life: like when my best friend growing up, Russ, accidentally hit me in the knee with a shovel one afternoon when we were sledding down the little hill in his backyard; or the time my yia yia, mom and theia "Mimi" came to my Kindergarten class to make Greek cookies for us. (Um, I was the "ethnic" kid in school growing up, LOL.)

A couple of Christmas events are also burned into my memory. Like the Christmas Eve when I was 5 and I got to open the doctor's kit my brother John gave me. Or when I was a teenager and we thought we were so smart because we could tell that the package from Santa was a VCR...only to open it up and discover the box contained 3 Duralogs - placed there by Dad, convinced to teach us a lesson!

Well, Gus provided me with a wonderful memory this year that I hope I remember the rest of my days. Not just because of the Christmas "message" he provided, but because it was a glimpse that we're doing something right in raising our kids.

We had spent Christmas Eve with our families - lots of fun, lots of food, lots of sweets. It was well past the boys' bed times when we left our last stop at Kelly's nephew's, and both Gus and Niko had fallen asleep on the drive home.

As I laid Gus on the couch, he popped one eye open, looked at me and said, "Hey, you guys said I could open one present tonight!" (He had made his pitch earlier in the day, too. Much earlier...6:15 a.m.!)

Well, we had indeed made that promise, so when Kelly finished putting Niko to bed, we directed Gus to small box under the tree, which he ripped open in record time. At first, he thought the camera box was holding something else, but the look on his face when we realized that we'd gotten him a small point-and-shoot was priceless.

He looked at the camera, turning it around and around, smiling from ear-to-ear.
Almost meekly, he said we could open our present from him if we wanted. Earlier in the week he'd placed his small treasure chest under the tree - shooing away anyone who went near it: mostly Niko.

I hadn't paid much attention to the treasure chest. Hearing it contained a present for us took me completely by surprise since we had both individually taken the boys shopping in order for them to pick something out for us.

Kelly popped the lid and held the chest up to me. There nestled in the red felt lining were a dozen or so different colored crystals his Nouna had bought him at Clark Planetarium a few weeks ago. They are his most prized possession.

When asked why he was giving them to us, he kept looking at his new camera and almost embarrassed said, "I couldn't think of anything else to get you."

My kid couldn't think of anything else to give us, so he gave us his most prized possession.
We thanked him profusely but told him it wasn't necessary, he had after all gotten us presents.

He took another look at his camera, smiled from ear-to-ear and said, "I love you guys!" and threw himself into our arms before heading to bed.

The amazingly touching moment was fleeting, giving way to the morning chaos resulting from a visit from Santa. And his focus moved from the camera to the real tool set St. Nick brought. But that's OK. He's a kid, beyond the birth of Christ, the magic they believe in is what the holiday is all about.

In 10, 20, 50 years, I don't know if he'll remember the camera or not. But I know I'll remember the amazing present he gave me.