Forbidden Fruit

Since the start of creation, Man (and woman) for that matter has always been faced with its biggest nemisis -- something we so affectionately call our forbidden fruits.

Whether those temptations grow on a tree or walk upright in front of us, they are always there, luring us ever closer to our eventual demise. Humans, by nature always seem to get stuck in this "bug in zapper" trance that draws us ever nearer to something that looks appealing, even nessesary for survival, but will surely take us down a path that we do not want to see or even awknowledge its existence.

It seems lately I have fallen victim to one of my own "forbidden fruits." I have never met someone who is everything I want and everything I don't at the same time. God give me the strength to walk away from my forbidden fruit while I still can.

Our Addiction to Racism

These past four weeks of the Dixie Sun have…appalled me. The opinions of Dixie State College students and faculty have proven to me that Dixie State College of Utah is not the school I once thought of it to be. Not because of the arrival of our new trans-gendered friend, not because Christa (I first met her as Eric) has crossed gender lines, creating controversy in this school, but because of the responses that disgrace all that Dixie State College of Utah supports – a world of equality and safety for all involved.

We have experienced on Dixie State College, what I call the New Face of Racism. In the past few weeks every Dixie State student and faculty member has borne witness to libel, mudslinging, and false judgments that force me to write this article.

Especially in this state, where the majority of citizens have been taught to “Love one another as Jesus loves you,” it scares me that here, on the home front, some students and faculty members lack the inability to be kind to others regardless of what they do.

It shocks me that 40 years after the civil rights movement, we say that racism is on its way out but we sweep under the carpet any mention of socially deviant behavior. Trans-gendered people are not the only ones who have been so affectionately called “it.” Humans use the term when they want to degrade their fellow man in order to justify prejudice. What about the Jews? Or the Blacks? Asians? Arabs? Irish? Mormons? Believe me -- the list goes on.

This addiction to racism controls our society and our thoughts. If we can’t persecute one group, we persecute someone else. “Okay… we can’t persecute Blacks or the communists any more so let’s move on to the next group.” Okay… that seems a little harsh but, just watch: when this “Sexual” revolution calms down, people will find something they have a problem living with. Do we have the power, as Americans and as humans, to end this dangerous cycle of racism? Can we quit our deadly addiction to hate and prejudice?

I am not a lesbian, and those who know me best can attest to that. I do not understand Christa’s desire to be female, nor do I think I ever will. But there is one thing I do understand: that I cannot change her, just as I cannot change where the sun sets or the direction the wind blows.

Do you remember that old adage, “God give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference?” Christa’s predilection for all things female is one of those things that we need to have the serenity to accept because changing her now is really a moot point.

We are not required to be best friends with the trans gendered and transsexual. We are not even required to make them a part of our life. But we are required to be civil and kind. They are they who will quote, “if thine eye offends thee, pluck it out.” But Jesus also says that, “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” is the greatest law in heaven, second only to Loving God. I intend to do just that – to love and care for my neighbors, as Christ would have me do.

I am a firm believer in world peace. It sounds idealistic, but world peace happens when we put down our own selfish desires and learn to live with one another without slitting each other’s throats. World peace does not happen when we are all best friends, it happens when we can understand that we all have differences, but we can live with that fact and not kill each other because of it. We need to look at each other with kindness instead of hate.

Let’s start “world peace” here at Dixie State College of Utah, and be kind to everyone. When this happens Dixie State College will become the college that everyone can be proud to attend.

Tell My Ma...

We are singing this song in Choir, called "Tell My Ma." Its an Irish folksong about a girl and all the boys want her, and would die if they dont have her. The song goes like this:

I'll tell my ma when I go home
The boys won't leave the girls alone
They pulled my hair, they stole my comb
But that's all right till I go home.

She is handsome, she is pretty
She is the bell of Belfast city.
She is courting one, two, three:
Please won't you tell me who is she?

Albert Mooney says he loves her
All the boys are fighting for her
They knock at the door and they ring at the bell
Sayin' "Oh my true love, are you well?"

Out she comes as white as snow
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
Miss Jenny Murray says she'll die
If she doesn't get the fellow with the roving eye.

Let the wind and rain and the hail blow high
And the snow come tumblin' from the sky
She's as nice as apple pie
She'll get her own lad by and by.

When she gets a lad of her own
She won't tell her ma when she goes home
Let them all come as they will
For it's Albert Mooney she loves still

Why is it that some girls tend to catch everyone's eye? They always seem to be in the spotlight: the center of attention, whereas there are good women, kind, gentle, strong, passionate, smart women who tend to get pushed aside for the other girl.

Take Jane Austen, for example. She writes some of the most iconic, romantic literature of our time, and yet, fails to make her own life one of the iconic romances of which she writes. She dies, single at 41, of Addison's Disease (or breast cancer, depending on your source). Maybe it was pride, or prejudice that did her in. The world may never know for sure.

But you know,

Its not all the blame can be placed on those lacking an x chromosome.

I have also noticed that many women throw themselves at one boy, leaving the rest of the male sex in the dark, even if they try hard to win the girl over. These girls want nothing to do with the good men that are pushed aside so the "fellow with the rovin' eye" can get a better look.

So what is left? a bunch of old maids throwing themselves at the handsome prince that may or may not whisk them away to some stereotypic "happily ever after", and thousands of boys chasing after this years prom queen or uber supermodel.

And when this war between the sexes is over, the refugees are good men and good women who lack the ability to stand in the limelight and will forever be banished to lonlieness. They just lack the courage and the stamina to head for each other, and find their own version of happiness.

I guess lonlieness is all our own fault, regardless of our sex.

Tears Streaming Down My Face

I did not cry when my Grandmother died. Not one single solitary tear. I felt...cold. I feld sad, sorrowful, sure. But tears never streamed down my face.

I rarely cry when I read books, watch movies, or listen to people tell stories that for normal people, really do bring tears. Don't get me wrong, I feel emotion, anguish, sadness. But I rarely, if ever, cry.

Why is it that crying is such a difficult task for me?

I understand, I comfort, I mourn, I anguish. I care, I love -- I feel.

But I don't cry -- at least not for others.

But I do cry. for myself. when my thermometer finally bursts, and all the anguish built up inside of me explodes like some roman candle, I do cry. But its a selfish cry. I cry for myself, and myself alone.

I guess that is the lesson I need to learn -- how to cry for others and forget myself.

Why Do I Care?

Last year, with my home ward, I went on a Pioneer Trek with the youth. I asked my father what he had learned the most on the trek and he said one thing: "Sarah, I learned how much you truly care about these people."

His remark suprised me. I did not think I cared that much. I don't talk to any of them any more, and needless to say, I have not done so since. But he said, I cared. But I guess I do care. I cared when I gave up my coat to Brittany when it was cold on those Wyoming plains, I cared when I wrapped bandages, cleaned bruises and tied shoes all while pusing those wretched handcarts across the wyoming plains. I guess, I just did not realise I cared. You see, I did this all automatically, without even a thought. So much that I had to me reminded. Its like I did all these things on some other plane of conciousness that I was not aware of or had any control over.

But it continues, you see.

I still care in this manner. The countless service hours, the time, money, energy spent on my friends, family, and... complete strangers still happens in this matter. I do it without a second thought, without even realising.

Yet it scares me.

It scares me that I do this to prove to them that I am not like them. That I am somehow better than the haters, players, and the manipulators. I want to be more than just me. I want to do more, to love more, to understand more -- to BE more.

By biggest fear is that I will never BE enough.