We Are Newtown

What happened at Newtown, CT on Friday rocked our nation to its very core.   

I can't imagine identifying my baby's body at the same school that I dropped them off at hours before.  I can't imagine my child, covered in the blood of other children, telling me that she played dead in order to stay alive.  I can't imagine being at a fire station, anxiously waiting for my babies to return, only to hear that there are no more survivors.

And yet I must imagine it.  Because this happened.  It really, really happened.  In a place where no one thought it could ever happen. 

We big people have to make sure that it never happens again.

Like most Americans, I've been glued to the news.  Probably because I live in a place a lot like Newtown.  A place where everyone knows my kids and where I know everyone - or at least their cousins.

Like a lot of other parents in America, I struggled with sending my children to school yesterday.

There's a doorbell on my son's junior high school - much like the one at Sandy Hook Elementary.  You ring the buzzer, and it unlocks the door.  A camera shoots an image to a fuzzy black and white screen, where a secretary not versed in law enforcement buzzes people in.   

There's an unarmed security guard at my son's high school, and someone at a guard shack who is supposed to ask me where I'm headed.  She usually just waves me on.  When I visit his school, I sign in, grab a badge, and go unescorted anywhere I want to go in the building. 

My mom has worked in an elementary school for 26 years.  She's the secretary at a large school in another town.   She also has the same security set up as the one at Sandy Hook.  She can see people coming in - but she can't see what they are carrying.  She is the first line of defense for her school.

We worry about her safety. 

A friend of mine is a teacher's aide.  She's been assigned to just one student.  He hits, claws, bites, and threatens to kill her.  Daily. 

She's afraid of him.  She continues in this position because she and her family need the income.

Right after watching the CNN coverage of the Interfaith Memorial Service in Newtown, the phone rang.  It was our superintendent with a recorded message about how we take security at our schools very seriously.

I love our school corporation, but the methods of security have not increased as dramatically as the needs of the population they are serving.

Recently, at a local Rotary Club meeting, I learned of the consequences of the severe lack of mental health services in our community. 

We had a young man in our town commit a murder - extremely rare in our neck of the woods.  He was suffering from untreated mental illness.  He was treatable.

Why?  He couldn't afford the treatment.

So now, this young man is in prison.  And the cost to society - a dead woman, children without a father, and the cost of prison upkeep - is far more than his medication and treatment would ever have been.

People around this county like to hunt, and I'm the rare person who doesn't own a gun.  But even my hunting friends scratch their heads and wonder why anyone would need to own an AR-15 for any purpose other than killing a person.  It is a semi-automatic version of the M-16.

And, hey boys?  Despite what this ad suggests?  A gun won't make you more of a man.

An AR-15 is a weapon of war that I can just go and purchase nearly anywhere.  And plenty of ammunition to go with it.  I don't have a criminal history, but what in the world do I need with an assault rifle if I'm not in Afghanistan? 

Can I use a different kind of rifle for hunting, or does my need to feel like a badass trump public safety?

As an aside, it's interesting how the NRA has been strangely silent throughout this tragedy.  Their Facebook page has disappeared, right after claiming 1.7 million subscribers.  Why not use this time to champion second amendment rights?  Where is the gun lobby now?

I keep hearing that it is time for meaningful dialogue.

I'm ready.

First, the lack of mental health care for people in this country is appalling.  I have a dear friend whose 18 year old granddaughter has started hearing voices.  The facilities can take her for three days at a time as an emergency, but that isn't long enough to get this young woman stabilized with any meaningful accuracy.

As this article suggests, the threat of someone with mental illness becoming violent - which is rare - diminishes considerably when that person can receive adequate treatment.

So, step one?  Get the APA and the AMA to give their recommendations for those facing a mental health crisis - and then put that at the top of the list for nationalized health care. 

And while we're at it, let's lose the stigma against mental illness and the need for therapy.  If we all had a good therapist and a Sunday afternoon nap, we'd probably have world peace. 

Second, create a buyback program where people can trade their guns for cash.

Third, create a license for firearms that feeds into a national database.  Make the license at least as difficult to obtain as a driver's license.  If we can require people to have automobile insurance, we can require them to have proof of a safe in which to store firearms.  Stop allowing unlicensed kids to do target practice at shooting ranges.  License the bearer as well as the firearm.

The final step is two-fold.  First, increase security at every school in America by placing a police officer at the front door or perimeter.  These can be recently discharged veterans who are trained to sniff out danger.  This need not seem like a prison guard - we need to teach children that police officers are their friends, and there's no reason why the presence of a cop - a helper - need be intimidating to children.  

Next, install an alarm system that a teacher or staff member can activate that would send teachers and children into lockdown mode, just as they would alert the school to fire or inclement weather.  No more principals throwing themselves at gunmen while yelling down hallways to alert teachers to danger.  No more students threatening teachers and staff without dire consequences and a strong action plan that secures the health and safety of all students at school.

Let's have a better way. 

How do we pay for this?  Tax ammunition.  That ought to generate some pretty good revenue.  Also, I wonder how much money we allocate for standardized testing, much of which is developmentally inappropriate anyway?  

In order to prevent another Newtown, we have to prevent criminals from ever becoming criminals.

How do we get Congress on board?  I know, these guys are willing to plunge us over a cliff rather than compromise.  

One of my friends said this:  "It is mighty easy for a politician who sits in an Ivory Tower in Washington behind guards and scanners to decide not to do anything about the gun laws and gun violence. They and their staff members lead protected lives of privilege. If they refuse to make serious change, I propose elimination of all Capital Hill security at the same time. Turn about is fair play, right?"

If it's good enough for Congress, it's good enough for our kids.  And I think in the light of this tragedy, where all Americans can see the faces of their children when they see these precious angels at Sandy Hook?  I think they are willing to listen.

Since we have tolerated violence as inevitable, and since we have denied money for mental health awareness and treatment to the most vulnerable of our citizens, we must deal with the consequences so that no other parents deal with the devastation at Sandy Hook.

While all I can truly do for the families and first responders at Sandy Hook is pray and offer meager condolences, I can honor the memories of these tiny people and those that cared for them by combining my voice with others to help bring about real change.

So can you.  We are Newtown. 

NerdCon2012

The spring before my junior year, I was invited to do something extraordinary.

A new residential magnet school for gifted and talented students was starting up in our state.  I had applied and was invited to become a part of this new venture.


In 1992, I graduated from that institution that I helped build with 141 of my classmates.

There are a few things that I've learned since that time about educating gifted children.  I've now parented four high-ability children for a number of years.  And mind you, these are strictly my observations of what I see as general trends.  Variances, of course, exist within individuals.  This is not scientific data.


Gifted children tend to be high-achieving procrastinators.


They are rebellious if rules seem arbitrary with unsatisfactory explanations.

They are compliant if they love the authority figure.


They don't make friends remarkably easily, as a general rule.  When friends are made, they are made for life.  Often friends outside their ability level are much older.

They read more than is probably healthy.

They do not wish to be rewarded for their giftedness with more tasks.

They sometimes have difficulty expressing their feelings but are also hypersensitive.

They 'think outside the box', preferring to believe that boxes are really just arbitrary constructs that may no longer be working models, if indeed they ever worked at all.  And yet a working model that they themselves generate will be cherished as a tradition for many years to come.

They save things - scraps of paper, ideas, material culture, people.

They compare themselves to other high-ability people, and they tend to negate their self worth based upon their personal performance.  This can sometimes look as if they are looking down on others when, in actuality, the opposite is true.

They play games and see debate as a sport.

They shame themselves for not being stellar students in every discipline.

They tend to overlook problems in others, mainly because they themselves struggle with appropriate social skills.

They appear to disassociate when, in actuality, they are making a connection or solving a problem.

They work better alone than in a group, and they will take on monumental projects just for the challenge.  If they work in a group, it is truly better for each person to take on a task and see it through to completion.  Alone.

They use big words.

They hate not knowing what something means.  They feel they should know what everything means.

They see incredible value in things that seem statistically or socially arbitrary to popular culture.

So, imagine 142 gifted and talented teenagers with varying degrees of introversion, self-aggrandizement, self-depreciation, and socio-economic backgrounds all being thrown together in what amounted to a two year melting pot of a summer camp.

Yes, we fought.  Epic battles of will and anger that only teenagers can call forth.  Well, teenagers and third-world dictators.

Yes, we procrastinated for the adrenaline rush of waiting until the last minute (and sometimes beyond the last minute) to finish a task.

Yes, we took liberties.  When our professor told us we could bring in a 3x5 card with notes for an exam, we brought in a 3 foot by 5 foot card.  Because scale wasn't specified.

Yes, we bucked the system.  If we didn't respect you as a professor, i.e. if you made arbitrary rules that you could not explain to us, we chose not to perform for you.  And if you're reading this, we probably talked about you.  Mercilessly.  And we still probably do.

Yes, we worked hard.  If we did respect you as a professor, we would work round the clock for days, shunning food and sleep to exceed your expectations.  And if you're reading this, we probably talked about you.  Adoringly.  And we will never forget you.


Yes, we dated each other.  Generally, this ended badly.  If you are wondering why, see the aforementioned attributes of gifted teenagers.  But unlike other teenage dating experiences, we chose to maintain people as friends.  Perhaps there was a hiatus.  A cooling off period, if you will.  But gifted kids can't throw people away.  We worried about these people and could never seem to permanently write them off.  They are part of our collection, and we are hoarders.

Fortunately, we matured and learned boundaries.  But we still maintained an appreciation for one another, regardless of how big the drama truly got.

Like most teenagers, we wondered if we had what it took to make it in this world.  But by 'make it', we wondered if we had what was necessary to make a difference.  Shake up the status quo.  

Yes, we were needy.  Yes, we were horny.  Yes, we were jealous of each other.

And yes, we've grown up.

We reunited this weekend after twenty years of being separated.  It's tough to get 142 adults in the same room together.  A few couldn't come because of scheduling conflicts or abject circumstances.  One of us has gone to his reward.  We missed everyone who wasn't present.

Thankfully, we've matured.  Well, at least enough to recognize that as lone wolf individuals, we aren't really all that important.  And yet we are incredibly important as both individuals and a collective.  It's a strange paradox.  I am not sure that I have my head quite wrapped around it yet.

My family lovingly dubbed this reunion NerdCon2012.  But this shouldn't be seen as disparaging. My children have benefited tremendously from their relationship with my Academy friends.  They are helping my kids prepare for SATs and choose college majors.  They have given my kids advice about life.  They have taught my kids to play games and to relax, something that was damned near impossible for us at their age.  Well, I mean we played plenty of games, but that relaxation part was something else.

As a reuniting class, it doesn't matter how much money we make.  It doesn't matter how many degrees we hold.  It doesn't matter what we wear. What matters to us now is that we are together.  That we see each other as quirky, crazy people who have a place in this world even if that place is only within our group.  We shelter each other from storms.  We love ourselves in spite of ourselves.

We're married and partnered.  We're falling in love. We have offspring.  We've changed careers almost as many times as we've changed colleges.  We've had tough losses.  We've been hurt.  We have missions in life.  We fight good fights. We are creating and achieving, and we are relaxing and laughing more instead of less.  We are still anxious, but we're healing.  We still read entirely more than is healthy.  We inspire each other to try new things.  We will never be finished with our life's work.

And like no other people on this planet, we understand each other.

I think we're far more compassionate than we used to be.  We're older.  Hopefully wiser.  We're gentler with one another.  We know that our time on earth is limited.  We're hoping to make the most of it together.

I'm really glad that I accepted the invitation to become a part of the Indiana Academy.  I thought I was just going to a school.  I didn't realize that I was choosing new family members.


I love you guys.  Looking forward to our next 20 years.

What I Am Is What I Am

I wrote and co-produced this film called Paradise Recovered.  And I've been really busy at it, building an audience, networking with independent film people and spiritual abuse survivors and advocates alike.  It's been the most rewarding and brutal work I've ever done, and it has rocked me to my very core.


Fortunately, I've had some strong champions shoring me up throughout the whole process.  They keep me sane, and they keep me calm.

Some people wonder what my motives were/are in creating this film.  Some answers:


I am not anti-Jesus, nor am I anti-church. I belong to a church. I enjoy the people there, and I feel very free. Sure, there are things I'd change. There are things I'd change about my marriage and my family as well. There are things I need to work on.  We're all works in progress.   


What I am against is a church controlling people, demanding allegiance to something that is more akin to a human resources model than a *biblical* one, and denying people their human rights as free thinkers.


But that's not all. 


I grew up in a very controlling, legalistic church.  I never met the men to whom my family gave 30% of their pre-tax income.  My only experiences were with the middle management, so to speak, and the lay members.  On the whole, these people were some of the finest people I have ever known.

These well-intentioned, salt of the earth people, systematically recruited by this abusive cult, were taught that they and they alone were specially and uniquely called to be a part of God's End Time Work.  That a doomsday was coming, and we were going to be whisked away to a place of safety if we were faithful to our leader and his edicts.


They believed that our leader was an apostle and a prophet and that he alone had the key to understanding the bible.

If we did what the leader said, we were rewarded.  If we did not, we were cast out.  


In other words, if we questioned authority, God had no use for us at all.

So, additionally, I am against spiritual leaders who claim omniscience and make fallible people feel like dirt for making the mistake of thinking freely, all while claiming that their way is the only way.  


Their claim to speak for God is also a bit of a problem.


I can tell you about friends that I saw one week at a worship service, and then never saw again.  Why?  Because they had dared to question.  And it was like they never existed.  We never spoke of them again.

I never forgot those people.  Never.


It's amazing to a lot of people that after such an experience, I remain a Christian.  But my faith and practice looks quite a bit different than it did growing up.  Growing up, we rarely talked about Jesus, for example.  Learning about the person of Jesus and how he loved broken, forgotten people informs my faith.  


As a result, I err on the side of grace.  Always.

For me, Jesus is the model for dealing with spiritual abuse. He called the Pharisees on the carpet. He took a bullwhip to some moneychangers who were telling people that their sacrifices were substandard. He fought for children and prostitutes and people who couldn't walk and Gentiles. And he championed them, calling them 'faithful,' even when the religious authorities called them 'sinners.' 


He asked a ton of questions.

He told stories about running fathers and parties where everyone was invited and derelict Samaritans who were more faithful than preachers.

And the Pharisees plotted to kill him. Why? Because he questioned their power and authority.  Because he made them look bad.  Because they lost money.


And so they did kill him.  They hatched a plot and killed him.  To shut him up permanently.  Or so they thought.

I believe in the power of the resurrection. Because you can't kill truth. It might be buried for a short time...all hope may indeed seem lost...but then the stone gets rolled away.

In creating Paradise Recovered, I talked to over 100 survivors from 18 different abusive churches.  Since that time, I've had the opportunity to talk with a great many more.  And while the doctrines and practices of their congregations and groups differ, the elements of narcissism and control are nearly identical.

The fact that people have trusted me with their stories of pain at the hands of pastors...the fact that former pastors have shared with me their stories of pain at what they did to serve an abusive system...the fact that pastors have shared with me how they've been hurt by congregations...the fact that I have been loved by people who didn't understand my pain but who sought to love me in spite of me...all of this is truly humbling.

And these stories are terribly real.

No amount of marketing or slickness can make them less real.

The abuse needs to stop. Doctrine and dogma should never trump a person. A pastor might inspire you, but s/he has no greater standing than you do when it comes to understanding spiritual matters.

And if you need help, or if you have a friend that needs help, I'm here.  Along with the rest of my team at Paradise Recovered.  And we believe you. 


We believe every word.


E-mail me if you want at producer@paradiserecovered.com.  All of your e-mails will be kept in the strictest confidence.


Thank you for reading.