the opposition

It was in grade 10 that I was first introduced to my favourite bible teacher- Mr. X.  He was born and raised as a Baptist, ergo most, if not all of the Baptist-mormon rivalries and misconceptions were quite apparent in both his teaching style and outlook on the Christian faith.  He was very bold in his faith, an attribute that I learned to look up to and strive towards.

When I was in grade 10, I was totally timid and unaware of all the pressure coming at me from all sides.  I wasn’t clued into the fact that every teacher knew of my religious orientation, and my behaviour was always in the spotlight.  I didn’t realize how strong the opposition to me and my beliefs were.  Mr. X was like a crash course in coming to the realization that I was in fact being watched.  As the year progressed, and it become more and more apparent that there was an underlying tension between us, I immediately geared up for battle, you could say.

Of course, being as young as I was- I was totally unprepared.  I didn’t have the years of experience, knowledge or a testimony like Mr. X did.  Never the less, I was unwilling to fold under the pressure.  I would never deny my beliefs (as shallow as they were back then) to make it easier for me.

There are times in life where there are, in fact, two scenarios: the way you wished it went, and the way it actually went down.  Throughout the course of my education at School B, I had quite a few of those.  Most of those events occurred with one teacher: Mr. X.  Now, before you start attacking Mr. X’s honour- he was actually a pretty good guy.  He taught social studies, English, P.E., planning and bible (can you say multi-tasking?).  He was also firm in his faith- unyielding.  As my association with him became more pronounced, a Mr. X verses Kirsten game plan seemed to appear.  We were (okay, are) both incredibly stubborn and would refuse to back down from either of our arguments.  We’d bible bash (yes, I admit it- I’ve bashed bibles with someone and I don’t recommend it), I’d glare at him with disdain and he’d meticulously break down every minute detail of an essay or an assignment.  In other words: we were perfectly matched opponents.....

* * *

 

         Silence.  Absolute silence that you couldn’t penetrate.  You could hear a microscopic pin drop.  The only noise filling the classroom was my teacher’s nervous laughter as he paced the front of the room.  No one was watching him though.  All 21 pairs of eyes were focused on me as my hand shot up in the air- my face flushed with anger.  Needless to say- he ignored my hand.  I didn’t care, I spoke anyways.  

                “Excuse me? Mr. X?”

                “Yes Kirsten.”

                “I have a question.” 

My mind was still- my responses worked out.  I knew exactly what I was going to say.  No one, and I mean no one, would make a joke which made eternal marriages and families sound dirty on my watch and get away with it.  It was wrong.

                Seeming to think that I wanted to agree with him- opening a discussion on why Mormons were awful, crude people he complied.

                “Do you love your wife?”  The question seemed to catch him off guard.  He stopped pacing, eying me nervously.

                “Of course I do.”

                “Do you love your family?” I asked again- my voice firm.  None of my classmates seemed to understand where I was going with this- their eyes darting between Mr. X and myself as if watching a tennis match.

                “Of course I do.”

                “Does Heavenly Father love you?”

                “He loves all of his children.”

                “Okay- so basically from what you’ve told me is that you love your wife and children, and Heavenly Father loves you.  He also commanded us to enter into the covenant of marriage and have families.  From my understanding, he’s a just guy.  He doesn’t do things that are unfair, cruel or evil.  I refuse to believe in a God who would set a commandment for us to have families, and love them only to tear us away from them in death.  He loves us too much for that.  I’d appreciate it if you would stick to the curriculum of Planning 10 instead of veering off to teach doctrine you quite obviously don’t understand.”

                “Excuse me?” Mr. X stuttered, taken aback by my monologue.

                “That’s exactly what I thought,” I spoke calmly, gathering my things and walking out of the room.  I didn’t slam the door- but as I turned to close it one of my friends gave me the thumbs up.  

Mr. X: 0 Kirsten: 1.

                Before you start applauding my bravery, and excellent on the top come backs- don’t.  That is a figment of my imagination.  Whenever I think of that class- this is what I wished I could have said.  For weeks afterwards I dreamt of what I should have said, and even now when I think back on it I shake my head forlornly.  But what could I expect, what could anyone expect from a little preteen after being humiliated in class?

What really happened?  Instead of bravery- my face went beat red, my hands started to shake and my eyes stung with tears.  I had never encountered such a head on opposition before on such a personal level.  Of course- I had never had Mr. X as a teacher before either (other than P.E.).

                What really happened?  Well the class went completely silent.  Everyone still looked at me- knowing that I was LDS.  My friends looked outraged, and my acquaintances frustrated at the lack of tact.  With tears pooling in my eyes, I glanced at the girl sitting next to me- mouthing the words, “I’m mormon.” As if it weren’t obvious enough.  I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.  Even worse than that- feeling as if I couldn’t even fight back.  He was a teacher,  my teacher.  Hate to admit it- but I was a goody- two shoes.  I respected my teachers, handed work in early and was often to class early too.  School was my thing remember?  I was at a loss of what to do in the situation; my cage had been rattled and the most inner and defining parts of me had been poked at and prodded crudely.

                The silence in the classroom didn’t last long.  Soon there were numerous hands shooting up in the air wanting to discuss further.  My hand shakily rose as well.  I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I had to say something.  The joke wasn’t funny- I was the punch line.  I felt like he ignored my hand as long as possible.  Eventually though I had my turn.  It went something along the lines of this:

                “I’m a mormon and I don’t appreciate your comments,”  I stuttered, mumbling and choked through tears.  

                “I know, but your church authorise taught this specific doctrine.”  I felt tears stream down my face, while internally I panicked.  I couldn’t remember anything a church authority had said on the subject.  What if he was right?  It didn’t feel right though.  I knew that, and he knew that, but in this situation he had the upper hand.  He knew I was a mormon, yet thought it appropriate to still make such a crude joke.  He was an expert, no, the expert on my religion.  I was just a little girl.

                “No offense, but seeing as I’m a mormon, I think I know my religion better than you thanks.”  Again, mumbling, over emotional tears streaming down my face.  I tried to ignore the pitying glances from my friends.  Thankfully, another one of my friends shot forward turning the attention to her.  She, like myself knew what it was like to be a minority.  Catholic in upbringing, my friend knew what it felt like to be on the outside looking in- in regards to social and cultural differences regarding worship and a few doctrines.

                “I don’t think it’s appropriate to single out a specific religion or denomination in a class setting like this.  It’s wrong.”  That’s really all I remember her saying.  She did go on about Martin Luther King- but I can’t be sure.  I was too emotional.

                The rest of the class shot back retorts and defended me.  Silent tears still ran down my face.  With 5 minutes of class to spare- Mr. X finally regained control of the discussion, turning to me to offer a public apology.  It was insincere, and unfortunately the damage had already been done.

The seeds of doubt had been planted in the back of my mind and the forefront of my heart.  From then on, I felt out of place in bible class and during anything of a spiritual nature.  I doubted myself and my ability to stand tall as a Latter-day Saint in a group of people that obviously, to me, didn’t want me there.

                I didn’t know what to do.  As soon as I got in the car after school that day, I broke down in tears.  A classmate who carpooled with me told my mum everything on the ride home.  I felt heartbroken.  It may have been naive thinking, but I thought I was making a difference.  I thought people had actually seen me, instead of the stereotypes.  Mr. X didn’t seem to care at all.

                After a lot of pondering and prayer- I decided to give Mr. X “A Proclamation to the World,” and a Book of Mormon with my feeble testimony written in it.  If he had said those things, he was obviously misinformed- right?  I know I was being bold, but he had started it.  If he wanted to teach Mormon Doctrine, I wanted him to have the correct source.

                After becoming the butt end of a joke that was more cruel than funny, I noticed a negative vibe coming from Mr. X.  I felt as though I wasn’t allowed to participate in discussions.  More often than not I came home in tears from some little off handed remark Mr. X had made in class that only I was able to pick up on.  I even had is E.A. approach me and  essentially say that I wasn’t allowed to participate in class discussions anymore.  I was frustrated- and powerless to do anything.

Official score?  Mr. X: 1, Kirsten: O