Leap of faith
Unexpected conversation resolves rift between sisters
ERIN REITZ is a senior the
atre performance major
and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist
On Monday, I walked by the
union. Okay, let me rephrase. I walked
by the union and was struck. Not by
something tangible, mind you, but an
image.
A guy was standing outside with a
huge cross, preaching to a mostly
uncaring group of students. I just went
by, as I normally would, not paying too
much attention to his exact words. I’m
sure he figured I was just another deaf
passer-by whose soul needed some
saving.
If that’s what he was thinking, he
was mistaken.
His being there set off a series of
reactions inside my brain that had
been waiting to be ignited for quite
some time.
I started thinking about the time
my dad told me I would make a good
pastor. (A pulpit’s just not the same
thing as a stage, though.) I thought
about how, as a Lutheran, I’m sup
posed to be spreading God’s word. (I’d
be too embarrassed to attempt what
this guy was doing - thank God he
was around to do the job.) I thought
about how my two sisters don’t care
about any of this.
To borrow from Sesame Street,
one of these things is not like the oth
ers.
My sisters, Amy and Kristen,
aren’t into religion. Amy hates going
to church. She says she doesn’t get
1 anything out of it and she does
n’t understand it. Kris doesn’t
hate it necessarily, but she’s
just kind of apathetic.
The kicker is that this
has bugged me for a
really long time.
For three people
who were raised in the
same environment,
why would the two
of diem have such a
different view from
me? How could
something like a
church service move
me to tears, but at
the same time leave
them completely
unaffected?
In my mind, it
didn’t make any
sense.
Prior to the sum
mer of my senior year, I
I shared my sisters’ atti
tude toward religion. I
didn’t like being dragged
to church by my mom, and
it only felt significant to be
there on Easter and
Christmas. It was an old insti
tution that felt forced on me.
In the summer of 1994,1 went
to a national gathering in Atlanta. I
was moved, and to sound incredibly
cliched, found God. In about three
seconds, everything negative I’d ever
felt toward church dissipated. It was
unreal, indescribable. No words could
do that moment justice.
Once I’d changed, I wanted my sis
ters to
Shawn Drapal/DN
feel the same way I did. No matter
how hard I tried to get across how
excited I was, though, they never
cared as much as I did.
Even though they didn’t know it,
the whole thing had started to cause a
rift between us.
I felt like I couldn’t talk with them
about everything, especially church,
because it began to feel as if I could
never completely connect with
them. It hurt me that they
weren’t willing to open up to
something that meant so
much to me. I resented
them for that
It began to make me
feel like our union was
crumbling, and I’d never
be close to them again.
So, I was bitter for
awhile and just didn’t
bring it up.
Then one night
while I was home for
Thanksgiving, Amy
and I started talking
about religion on our
way to Wal-Mart.
I told her why I had
such an amazing time at
that national gathering
and that I thought she
should try to go. I was
pretty sure she wouldn’t
have an argument
against it She did.
She said something
like, “Erin, you know I
don’t get anything out of
our church. The stuff we’re
supposed to believe in does
n’t make any sense to me.”
Me: So, what does make
sense to you?
Her: Native American spirituali
ty
Me: Really?
Her: Yeah. It feels right to me. It’s
in every aspect of their lives - the
wind, the water, the sun - it’s in every
thing that makes life. It’s not a huge
deal, it’s just there.
I sat in the driver’s seat wanting to
retort that it wasn’t hard for me to see
God in those things, and why couldn’t
she ... but I didn’t. I actually listened
to what she was telling me.
I realized that night that I’ve been
convinced for a long time that,
because she doesn’t believe the same
thing I do, her opinions aren’t as
grounded as mine. It was as if what I
said mattered more because I’m the
devout daughter who goes to church.
Pretty idiotic of me, eh?
The talk we had that night is prob
ably the best one we’ve ever had. Even
though I didn’t agree w ith her, it didn’t
matter. I finally understood her. I don’t
resent her anymore for not feeling the ~
way Ido.
Why I was convinced that my sis
ters and I have to feel the same way
about God, or anything, is beyond me
now. My conviction in my faith is
enough to keep me faithful, and how
they feel about it personally shouldn’t
affect anything, especially hcrtv I feel
about them. They know that my love
for them isn’t based on conditions.
I only wish that I hadn’t put that
one condition on it for four years.
So the moral of the story, I think,
is this: I truly love Kris and Amy
because I accept everything about
them, not just what I’d decided to pick
and choose.
Whether you agree with your fam
ily on issues like politics, sex. alcohol
or religion is insignificant. What they
say matters just as much as what you
say. Sounds elementary, but it took me
awhile to get it.
Don’t find excuses to find fault
among those you love.
Life’s too short.
Secure future?
_Social Security card benefits no longer appealing for this generation
eJ.J. HARDER is a senior
political science and
broadcasting major and a
Daily Nebraskan colum
nist.
Do you know where your Social
Security card is?
Is it in a file at your apartment, in
a box at your parents’ house, or maybe
in your wallet?
If you have it with you, go ahead
and pull it out. Take a good look at it.
Don’t you just feel good about your
self with that reassuring card?
Notice the smooth, clean blue in
contrast to the soft, speckled back
ground. See the strong, defined font
arching over the top. And the support
ive pillars, upholding, encouraging,
strengthening our nation.
Looking at that card, aren’t you
just proud to be an American? Doesn’t
that number tell you that you’re part of
a great country? Mom and apple pie,
stars and stripes, “America the
Beautiful,” winning wars, making
babies and donating that 7.65 percent
each month.
Social Security. Americana. Crap.
Sixty years of siphoning needs to
end, but Billy Bob Clinton has just
assured that Father Government will
secure us socially well into the next
century.
Surplus, surplus, surplus!
Bubba submitted the budget this
week, that is, the first budget with a
surplus in who knows how long, and
directed 62 percent of that lovely over
flow to the Social Security coffers.
; And what better way to spend the
country’s spare change than to save
Social Security, right? Everybody
knows that Gen Xers won’t have any
funds when we hit the rocking chairs,
so we might as well start saving up
now.
Better yet, let’s not only save that
extra wad for Social Security, let’s
invest it, Clinton says. He proposed
that we put $700 billion into the stock
market and wait and see what hap
pens. Let me repeat that, to see what
happens. The Prez suggests playing
investment roulette with our cash, but
just with the extra chips we have lying
around. I don’t care if we have enough
excess dough to start buying small
countries, we shouldn’t hire Dean
Witter and head to Wall Street.
Okay, so it’s apparent we shouldn’t
risk the surplus on the market, but
Social Security isn’t hardly a program
worth saving, even for us. Especially
for us.
The Raw Deal
In 1935, America’s own govern
mental wizard Franklin Delano
Roosevelt began to work his Financial
magic to save a Depression-stifled
America. I’m sure you’ve heard about
many of his “New Deal” works of
genius: the Agricultural Adjustment
Administration, the Tennessee Valley
Authority or maybe the Public Works
Administration. Along with these and
many other socialistic masterpieces,
FDR came up with Social Security.
And who could argue with a name
like that? The nation was trying to
recover from the economy-killing
Depression, and security didn’t sound
all that bad. The average American
naturally responded negatively to
hands-off capitalism. Many ignorantly
thought deregulation and too small
government was to blame for the
struggling economy.
Plus the program wasn’t really
going to effect all of America, or so
they thought. FDR stressed the assis
tance to the disabled and elderly that
were without family. But little did
John Q. know then that 142 million
schmoes like me would be getting
bent over each year.
Social Security made Americans
in the ’30s feel warm and fuzzy about
using big government as required
charity to help the underprivileged.
Unfortunately, most people feel the
same way still today.
Stupid security
Before Stupid Security, how did
elderly Americans even survive? Who
did they have to support them? How
did they pay their bills? Could anyone
retire? Did they just sell plasma until
they died?
Oh, the horrors of pre-New Deal
America. Old men digging ditches
and building bridges, old ladies selling
themselves on the street! Insanity.
Wait, maybe they just thought a
little differently. Maybe they had to
use common sense. People could take
their earnings and, get ready for this,
save! Or even invest. They could do
with their money as they pleased. Big
Brother wasn’t there to put each
week’s allowance away for us.
And when people felt like retiring
after they had saved up enough, (you
guessed it) they retired - some at 54,
others at 76. Depending on how wise
ly they had planned financially. They
weren’t punished for making money,
either.
The government’s brochure Basic
Facts About Social Security says,
“There is a clear link between how
much a worker pays into the system
and how much he or she will get in
benefits.” I’ll show you a clear link.
Come Social Security time, a low
wage earner receives 60 percent of his
pre-retirement earnings, average-wage
earner receives 42 percent, and an
above-average earner receives 26 per
cent. So just like the tax system, if you
make a lot, you’re screwed. We’re not
allowed to benefit from the capitalistic
propaganda that we’re force-fed, but
instead Daddy Guv-guv can donate to
the poor for us.
Does anybody think we’re getting
scammed here? After the bosses kick
in their share, 15 percent of our money
is being skimmed by the Washington
Gangsters. I bet you could think of a
few things to use that extra 15 percent
on. Your minds are probably filled
with visions of Puff Daddy videos and
swingers’ parties as we speak, dream
ing like you won the lottery. Well
friends, that jackpot could be yours
with a few legal changes.
Too risky’?
I want that money, not because I’m
greedy, but because it’s mine. I want to
be able to make choices and feel the
consequences of them. I realize that
may scare some of you, but as humans
we are supposed to be free thinkers
and doers. We were made to make
decisions, and benefit or suffer from
them. And we need to decide to
change this flawed program. We need
to privatize.
Lester C. Thurow, former dean of
economics at MIT wrote in his USA
Today column: “There is no room for
the privatization of the basic benefit
itself. It is simply too risky for the
individual.”
Well, Les, I know you’ve got a
degree and all, but all signs point to at
least partial privatization. The GOP
may be split on the issue, and our
buddy A1 Greenspan might nix fully
privatizing it, but there is a national
consensus that we should be able to
invest if we want. Were Americans
just “too risky” for our first 150 years?
Let us at least have the option of
investing part of our money ourselves.
Just don’t let us cry if we make dumb
investments.
I want consequences. I want gov
ernment to give me my money and let
me paint the town red. I want to be
able to purchase bonds from the
nation of Sri Lanka. I want to have the
power to buy stock in the RonCo Food
Dehydrator. I want to take my chances
in emu futures.
I don’t want to be the prodigal son
if the republic is my father. If I spend
my money on wild women and par
ties, go broke and run back to daddy, I
don’t want a big hug and a fattened
calf. I want a slap in the face and a
kick in the butt. I want the responsibil
ity.
Folks, I’ll end on a personal note,
with a picture of my granddad. He’s
73 years old and lives in a tiny house
in Hebron. He eats bacon and bean
sandwiches, wears a crooked baseball
hat with netting in the back and loves
Nebraska football. He lost two wives
to cancer, has kids that never call and
has every right to sit around collecting
checks for nothing each month, enjoy
ing his retirement peacefully. He did,
after all, pay into the system. But I
wish he didn’t have to.
Now do I like how he’s able to take
trips to Vegas to enjoy the cheap buf
fets and cheesy concerts? Yes. Would I
rather have him sit around in a week
old Depend making Christmas orna
ments because he didn’t save enough
during his lifetime? Obviously not.
But wouldn’t it be nice if w'hen we
got to be like Granddad, we wouldn’t
have to sit by the mailbox waiting for
a check each month. Instead, we could
have financial freedom that we
earned. Not from giving Uncle Sam a
cut each month for a lifetime, but from
being responsible citizens who saved
our own money.
