There are times when Mormonism is harmless, amusing, and it certainly does help some people. But there are other times when the environment is toxic and poisonous and so narrow that one cannot even squeak through without becoming flattened, one-dimensional, and without depth or passion.

I always hear the argument, “It’s the people, not the teachings” that create these situations. But it is the TEACHINGS that have created the PEOPLE, and the environment, and the arguments and rhetoric they spew, so how can it not all go back to the main source?

My children have long been friends with Mormon kids, because, well, we live in Utah, and just about everybody here has been touched in some shape or form by Mormonism. The majority ARE Mormon, and a good deal of them are very active and BELIEVING Mormons. And I have often blogged about it, sometimes with humor, often with sadness, and sometimes with anger. What, anger you say? Yep, I’m a mother, and my instincts are maternal and fierce and I don’t like people messing with my kids.

For me, I have reached a point where I find it all quite amusing and rarely negative. It took me a lot of time and a lot of experience to get here to this solid, comfortable place where I rarely engage in negative feelings about my birth religion. My parents, as you all know, are breathe-eat-sleep-walk-Mormons and guess what? They believe it and they LIVE it.

And you have to respect that, even if from afar, with a slightly glazed look on your face as you contemplate just exactly what that belief system is

I’ve learned to accept it, slight glaze and all.

But there are times when it is not innocuous and innocent. Those times are times when my daughter is destroyed because her best friend admits to her that her parents think Chatter Child is a “bad influence.” Because she is not Mormon. Their child has done many things with boys that MY child has not even thought about. Their child sneaks out of the house regularly, something my child has never felt the need to do. Their child is impulsive and headstrong, and at least once a week MY child is stopping her from stupid impulsive behavior. If anyone is a bad influence, it is THEIR CHILD.

But MY CHILD is not Mormon. And thus, they have written her off.

How sad for them. For if they took a moment to get to know MY CHILD, they would discover that:

1. She is passionate, loving, and ardent, particularly when it comes to defending people. If I were in a dark alley surrounded by thugs, I would want MY CHILD in my corner. Not that I would want her in any dark alley, or near any thugs. What the heck would she be doing there? What the heck would I be doing there? But you get the picture.

2. She is random and rejoices in it. She likes Elmo, Disney movies and paraphernalia and animated cartoons. Sometimes she is so mature it scares me, and then she curls up in her Mater blanket and I see the child that is still there, the one I gave birth to 15 years ago.

3. She is anti-drug and anti-drinking, and has become the voice of reason for so many of her young Mormon friends who are rebelling against a strict culture.

4. She is old enough to look at me with disgust because I am just SO dorky, and the next second she is calling me Mommy and asking me to make her tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Comfort food.

5. When you have a conversation with her, it actually makes sense, and she only uses “like” a few times.

6. She knows all the words to the opening song from Beauty and the Beast.

7. She tells her 13-year-old sister that Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana is SO over, and then secretly watches all the episodes when she won’t get caught.

8. She’s gullible. If that stupid boy tells her he has cancer ONE MORE TIME, I’m going to have to go over and straighten him out. (No, he does not have cancer.)

9. She likes the scars on her legs. She figures she has earned them.

10. She has chosen to embrace her naturally curly hair, and only straightens it every once in a while. She also managed to convince her cousin who has even CURLIER hair that naturally curly hair is cool.

These are just a few of the things that her best friend’s parents will not know, because they have pegged her as bad. Because she isn’t Mormon. And this, friends, is when the Mormon environment becomes toxic. It’s been an eye-opener for my parents, because they do not believe this side of Mormonism exists, but they are seeing it now. They know it’s real. And they want to change it.

And who knows, maybe that is all it will take. Baby steps.

…and it was pretty boring. By it, I mean the comments from MB some of you may have noticed. There was nothing new, original, interesting, or worth arguing. As is ALWAYS the case, actual doctrine is not discussed. Instead, the commenter just tried to discredit me by silly attacks and the same old same old “Why can’t you just leave us alone.”

BO-RING.

And not worth addressing. I was thinking about this a little last night, and the truth is, if I WANTED to attack, I certainly could. Controversy sells, and if I were as mean and nasty as people want to paint me, I could have all kinds of readers, but guess what? I’m really not interested in that. I have opinions, and I’m open and upfront about those opinions, and I write fiction set in the closed Mormon world. It’s not a “pro” or an “anti” stance. It’s just reality.

So, as the teenagers say, WHATever…..

….flying in from New Orleans and landing in MIGRAINE LAND, which is not my favorite place to visit. And this one was a doozy. Five days later I am STILL fighting it off.

And playing catch up. And trying to recover from the HORRIFIC flying the unfriendly skies bit.

Did you see that movie SNAKES ON A PLANE? You know, the one with Samuel L. Jackson who is really cooler than any human being has a right to be. Anyway, he is on this plane, and as it TURNS OUT, it is filled with poisonous SNAKES. It may sound ludicrous, but let me tell you what, it is not. Okay, well it is. But that? THAT is not what happened on my plane. No, my plane was filled with angry Mormons and screaming children, most of whom had planned on a relatively short flight into Dallas-Fort Worth to catch other connecting flights.

Guess what? NONE of us made it. Not one. Because we first sat on the tarmac at Salt Lake City International Airport for two hours. They taxied us out, then we headed out for east Magna, just around the bend from the Great Salt Lake, and the pilot came on and said, “I guess you are wondering why we brought you out here.” Well, that had crossed my mind. Pilots are funny, aren’t they? But hey, we were a captive audience, so we politely laughed, because if we didn’t, it was entirely possible he would tip the wings at 30,000 feet and we would go flying like Barbie Dolls in a a Barbie Van crash off the balcony. Provided we actually got up INTO the air, of course. We sat there–on the ground in east Magna, for two hours, because apparently there was a storm in Texas, and DFW was shut down.

Finally, things lightened up in Texas and we were on our way. I would like to tell you that things got better from there, but that would be a BORING story and a big fat FREAKING ASS lie. See, I think somebody lied to our pilot, and told him things were looking up in the old Texas skies, because that somebody thought it would be funny. Like the airline industry isn’t in ENOUGH trouble, and it doesn’t already need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation with tongue.

Because things were NOT better in Dallas, and so we circled around in the skies for a while, then headed toward Wichita Falls (I think. It was SOME Wichita place) and were told we couldn’t land THERE either. Finally, the pilot came on and gave us the bad news. Bad news from a pilot usually includes the world LOW and FUEL strung together in a way you do NOT want to hear when you are CIRCLING ABOVE THE EARTH in a giant metal object. Where do they train these guys? Marquis de Sade school?

So, we meandered over to Oklahoma City and landed there. Of course, we could not actually go to a GATE, or get off the plane, because everybody else and their dog who had tried to get to DFW had landed in Oklahoma City first, and our pilot was on the remedial program and figured it out a little late.

They DID bring us out some snacks (cookies, chips and pretzels) and gave us all an EXTRA beverage. That water was MIGHTY tasty. Nice, huh? So we sat on the plane long enough for me to have gotten to HAWAII or someone else nice and tropical, and very NOT Oklahoma City. And the whole time, with people rumbling about getting off, they warned us that they would NOT take our luggage off the flight we were on, and there was NO flights available out of the airport, and quite honestly, if we got off the plane, we would have been stranded smack dab in the middle of freaking nowhere with NOTHING. The only people not scared shitless by the warnings were a lady and her sister, because they lived 20 miles outside Oklahoma City and apparently did not care that their luggage was going to DFW. They were GETTING off.

The rest of us cowards stayed on the plane, and finally we heard from our pilot again, and he told us that the weather had finally cleared up enough that we could fly into DFW! Hurray! A short jaunt later and we were off the plane and being told by a harried American Airlines agent where our NEW connecting flights could be found. You know what she told me? “Oh, you haven’t been booked on a new flight. You better run to Gate D27 and get on standby for the next flight to New Orleans.” So I stood in THAT FREAKING LINE for two hours while passengers who had NOT made it to Miami argued with the gate agent.

When I got to the front, the guy took one look at me, listened to my story and–apparently scared that I would go all MacGyver on him, and fashion an Uzi out of a lipstick tube, a 3 oz shampoo bottle and a bra–promised to get me a seat on the next flight. He even gave me a little ticket that said “confirmed.” But no seat assignment. No, no, I had to come BACK after the Miami hooligans had departed. I went into the bar, asked for a bottle of wine, straight up, no glass, and proceeded to calm myself.

The world was feeling warm and fuzzy when I tottered back to my gate, and stood in line again. And he DID get me the LAST seat on the flight. Everybody else had to be on standby. The flight was scheduled out at 7:25. Er, 7:45. Er, 8:15… You get the picture. We finally left DFW at 10:30 or so. By the time I got to my hotel in New Orleans, it was 12:30, and I fell into my bed.

This adventure started at 8:15 A.M. when our SLC plane taxied out to East Magna. I was on that very plane somewhere between eight and 42 hours. I lost track.

I also decided I would be HITCHHIKING home. It would probably be quicker.

I shall regale you with more New Orleans story in the upcoming week.