perspective changes 3-22-26

Perspective changes through time and experience. When my parents moved us from the hills of New York to the mountains of southwest Utah I encountered a new culture. It began with the frequent inquiry, “What ward are you in?”“Ward?” we asked. We quickly learned that in a state where 65 percent of the individuals attend the Mormon Church (The church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints), no B the community is divided into religious wards. Not being a member of a ward meant we were different.Mormon culture and religion entered the classroom when my English teacher compared the death of its founder Joseph Smith to a Greek tragedy. Teachers spoke of mission trips. A separate building beside the school offered religious training during school hours. We looked like everyone else but we came from a different culture. One question i answered was “Do girls in New York have hope chests like Mormon girls?” “Some do, but not most.”We were different. Different enough that our parents cautioned against dating Mormons.Differences can be dividing lines. About 30 years ago, an elderly man talked about growing up as a solitary child in a logging camp deep in the forest. In his loneliness he usually only saw loggers and train engineers. One day he discovered kids his age had just moved in with their newly hired fathers. All day he played with them. He went home all aglow to tell his father about his new friends.“You are not to play with those kids ever again,” his dad thundered. Stunned, he asked, “Why?”Because those children had the wrong color of skin. As a child of the South during the Great Depression, segregation permeated everything: facilities, schools and churches.Sixty years later, he still felt the impact of that childhood event when he saw children of all ethnic backgrounds now playing and studying together. Recently I listened to women as they talked about attending school during integration. “Sixth grade was the first year we had Black students in class,.” one recalled. Others remembered their grade the year integration began. “I grew up in Junction City, I saw the burning crosses on the lawns. We knew who was in the KKK.” another woman said. The national news broadcasts showed pictures of high school students jeering at the nine Black students walking into Little Rock Central High School that first year. Half a century later, my friends’ children and grandchildren only know integrated schools and communities. Their childhood stories sound foreign to this generation. This past year, the differences in skin color with the tensions and even animosity associated with it emerged again. This time it came as officers with covered faces and military grade weapons questioned folks with brown skin. Some insist loudly “Those people do not deserve compassion, mercy or the same legal treatment and if their young children suffer, it’s their own fault.” While some agree with all the actions and justify the face covering uniforms, others have picked up signs, written letters, petitioned legislators or provided food and shelter to families terrified of leaving their homes. Some filed lawsuits for perceived physical and legal harm done or protested establishing a large detention center in their communities. Across the nation reactions have varied. As my old friend experienced as a child, authority greater than ourselves holds sway now. While he reflected on the dramatic changes from his past. I am stunned with how much has happened in mine in a short time. Reflecting on past and current realities, I wonder what memories my grandchildren will be relating to the next generation. Will they look back on this time and say “It was the law. They deserved it.” Or will they shake their heads that once again differences resulted in such diverse actions?