Neighborly Advice

Dear Fellow #1: Are the people next door fundamentalists?

Dear Tia,

I have Mormon neighbors that have 4 kids from 5-12.  My son and their son are so close.  But I've noticed since the friend has turned 8 that he's barely outside anymore.  Even the youngest that was always outside is never ever outside.

It's seems quite obvious they don't want their kids hanging around my son anymore....or is that possibly not the reason? 

My father and the mormon father next door get along great. They do paid jobs for each other and chit chat, etc.  My heart breaks for my son because he's 8 and doesn't understand why all of a sudden his friend doesn't play with him.  Sometimes his friend comes out, but seems like he has to run home after 5-10mins.   

Is it an elder thing? Is the friend (now 9) expected of different things?  The fam seems normal. They go to church on I believe only Sundays and sometimes the dad volunteers for disaster emergencies.  I just don't get it.  I know they have their own thing going on, but it's just rude.  I mean, have a heart ya know?  The mother one day is nice, but another day won't even wave or acknowledge you.

So are fundamentalists just regular Mormons?  Or extremists?

Thanks,

Not a Nosy Neighbor But I’d Like to Understand What’s Going On

Dear Fellow Neighbor,

When my children were young, I never wondered for a minute if we were fundamentalists or regular Christians. I thought we were run-of-the-mill evangelicals.

But, we had strict rules about everything from what we ate to what we wore, and where we did and didn’t go. We worried about a sudden rapture and stocked gallons of non-perishables for Armageddon. My children couldn’t watch TV and I didn’t want them learning about culture from the kids next door—my mentors spoke often about the evils of being socialized by peers.

My next door neighbor’s children were the same age as mine and she often asked if the kids could come out and play. She also liked to come over after naptime––but before dinner prep time––to chit chat with me. If I came outside to hang laundry (I hung countless loads of cloth diapers and baby laundry in those years), she’d see me at the clothesline and try to have a friendly chat over the fence.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like her. I just knew we had opposing lifestyles and I wanted to avoid any confrontation. There was no way she was going to live the same way we did––and we only socialized with friends from church.

I also spent a lot of time managing my husband’s moods and avoiding anything that might set him off. I couldn’t risk having to cajole my kids to come home on time while I was supposed to be cleaning, or dealing with their begging if they wanted to play instead of do homeschool.

So a lot of times, when she waved at me or showed an effort, I turned the other way. I pretended not to see her. Or I’d wave and call, “Gotta hurry! You know how potty training goes” while I shuffled the kids into the house. My children begged to play, so sometimes I gave in, but I’d call them back quickly, afraid of what they’d be exposed to if they stayed too long.

This story haunts me because I know I was being a jerk to her. And now, looking back, I also know we weren’t “regular” Christians at all. We were fundamentalists, and we were increasingly isolating ourselves against any outside influence.

You’re a good neighbor, Neighbor. You’re reaching out in kindness to someone who you may disagree with on some things, but you’ve sought common ground. You haven’t rejected her or her children for what might appear to be strident religious views. That is simply not easy to do these days. But it’s what good neighbors do, and I’m sorry your efforts haven’t been returned in kind.

Since you found me through social media, and I educate on what fundamentalism looks like in our culture, I can only assume you’re also trying to understand (respectfully) why someone’s religion could trigger rude behavior. That’s going high when someone else goes low and your letter made me want to give you (and your undoubtedly confused son) a giant hug.

I think the first thing you need to do is recognize you’ve identified you’re dealing the tip of an iceberg––and it’s not about you. Your intuition is rightly guessing there’s more going on than what’s on the surface. But I don’t think it’s about you or your son.

The saying, “No one knows what’s going on behind closed doors,” is relevant here, yet caring people are adept at recognizing there is something going on, even if they can’t see it all clearly.

The men get along––and I’m not surprised. There’s money involved but more importantly to the deeply religious––men act as representative for the family. When I was in that lifestyle, my hands were kept busy with the children while my husband became the social one. And with our neighbors, he was chatty, friendly, and jovial. While it might be easy to personalize this and say, “Well if our husbands like each other, it must be me she doesn’t like,” I think a more nuanced and subtle force is at work, specifically because this is a situation that involves high-control religion.

A few years ago in therapy, I was examining the years that led up to my high-control marriage, and my stepping over the threshold of mainline evangelicism into our cult years. I had to take a good hard look at how earnest I’d been as a child, and how there came a point when my strident views were not the fault of my pastors and teachers or parents––I sanctioned myself.

Eight is not too young for this. It’s entirely possible your son’s friend is succumbing to the shame and indoctrination he hears on Sunday. Even in sermons of love, a child may register stories of crucifixion, persecution, and eternal damnation as trauma. And in response, they may self-identify that mainstream kids are a “temptation” to be avoided.

I was that kid. When I realized religious trauma is trauma––and that trauma is not what happens to you but how your mind experiences it––I had to also look at the way I’d indoctrinated my children the same way. I’d taught them, at least for a few years there, that neighbors could be threatening, and that we were better off keeping to ourselves.

I’m so glad you are not that way. I understand why it hurts and how, as a mom seeing your son struggle with confusing rejection, it hurts even more. So my advice is to start there: with acknowledgment and validation.

Your job as the adult in this situation is to provide your son language for his feelings. I know it hurts to feel rejected by a friend. It’s hard not to understand what the reason is. Don’t try to save him from his pain or sugar-coat the list of possible reasons. He will experience this again in his life and chances are, he won’t have a clearer view to the iceberg below than you do now.

What matters here is your model to your son of how to live in community with people who hold extreme views. You don’t have to adjust your efforts––keep smiling, waving, and being kind. Your son will learn to go high when others go low and he’ll also learn that it’s okay to grieve loss. He might even gain the language to speak this himself the next time he gets a few minutes with his friend. It hurts when you reject me but I’m here if you ever want to talk.

And then, neighbor, you do you, because who you are is love. Keep paying attention and observing healthy boundaries. Keep setting an example of community. Golden rule the crap out of this situation. My guess is that she’s watching more than you realize.

Shine On,

Tia

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