The Best Decision My Parents Ever Made

When I started this blog I intended to only write about the funny things that happened to me. I have occasionally slipped in some non-funny posts from time to time. My last post wasn't intended to be funny and neither is this one. I promise that after this one I'll get back to blogging about the hilarity in my life.

I love podcasts and I listen to them nearly every day. I especially like some of the podcasts on the Mormon Channel. One of the podcasts I listen to frequently is called Legacy and it discusses events in the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I really like it even though some of the podcasts really are incredibly boring (Do not listen to the episode about the history of the gardens at Temple Square -- it's a snooze fest). One thing that the historians on the show say over and over again is that everyone should could keep a detailed record of their life. They regularly recommend that everyone write their own personal history. I took their advice and started doing that in my spare moments in the evening. I figured that now is the best time to start writing since my memories are only going to continue to fade as I get older and I better record them before they get too hazy or I lose them completely.

Yesterday a girl in one of my classes asked me if my ancestors were Mormon. I said no. She then asked, "Then how did your family become Mormon?" I said, "I can't tell you that because we're at school. And it's a shame because it's a really good story." Since I've been working on my personal history I just so happen to have already written the story of how my parents joined the church and I'd like to share it here since I can't share it at school. Here's an excerpt from what I've written so far. It ends rather abruptly because in my personal history I go on to discuss other things.

My parents got married on 7 July 1971. One year later on 14 October 1972 they joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They stumbled into the church rather by accident. They weren’t looking for a church and they weren’t searching for truth or meaning in life either. When the missionaries showed up at their door they listened more out of courtesy than out of interest. My parents didn’t buy it at first. Really? An angel told a 14 year old boy to dig up golden plates from his backyard and then translate them? Why would God call a prophet with such an uninteresting name as Joseph Smith? My mom’s maiden name is Smith and the idea that someone with her incredibly common last name would be a prophet was absurd to her. My parents felt sorry for the missionaries because they acted so innocent and actually seemed to believe those silly stories. My parents believed that those poor, naïve missionaries had been duped.

Whenever the missionaries weren’t around they would make fun of the church and had no problem believing it wasn’t true. For some reason, however, they let the missionaries continue to teach them. During the fourth lesson about the Plan of Salvation my dad felt something. My dad felt something stir inside of him as they taught him about his life before he was born, his purpose here on earth, and his eternal destiny as a child of God. At each lesson the missionaries had given my parents pamphlets to read as well as sections of the Book of Mormon to read. They had also invited my parents to pray to know if what they were being taught was true. My parents faithfully did all the reading they were asked to do, but hadn’t prayed and asked if it was all true.

After learning the Plan of Salvation, my dad, for the first time, really wanted to know if what the missionaries were teaching him was true. After the missionaries left, on his own and without saying a word about it to my mom, my dad knelt down and asked God if what the missionaries were teaching him was true. He received a sure witness from the Holy Ghost that the teachings he was receiving were indeed true. My dad had stumbled upon Mormonism and in an instant was converted to it. This created a very serious problem for him. He had been teasing and mocking the missionaries for weeks and now he had to tell his wife that he believed them. He was apprehensive to tell her that he knew it was true because he thought she’d think he had gone nuts. He decided that whatever the outcome he needed to tell her what he now believed. Right before their next meeting with the missionaries my dad summoned his courage, pulled my mom aside and said, “Ginny, I have to tell you that I believe what the missionaries are teaching us.” She looked at him and with relief in her eyes responded, “Thank goodness, I believe it too.” They had both petitioned the Lord secretly and had received the same answer.

My parents were baptized on 14 October 1972, three weeks after meeting the missionaries. They were the first members of the church in both of their families. It was a bold and courageous thing for them to do and they have never looked back. They have been faithful, active, and exemplary members of the church ever since they joined it.

When my parents got married they were both school teachers. My dad had to deal with kids all day and didn’t want to have to deal with them at home too so he and my mom decided not to have any kids. And being a teacher myself I can understand his line of reasoning. My mom always wanted to have kids and assumed that my dad would eventually grow out of his I-don’t-ever-want-kids-of-my-own phase. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is a very family oriented church and it’s no surprise that my dad went from not wanting children to having four.

The Best Compliment I Ever Received

The best compliment I ever received was given to me on March 25, 2007. And it wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Here’s the story.

I worked at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) for nearly three years teaching missionaries assigned to Spanish speaking missions how to speak Spanish. It is by far the best job I’ve ever had. Most of my districts (classes) were small and we spent hours together five days a week for two months getting them fluent (well, sort of fluent) in Spanish. Around their 6th week in the MTC we’d make a goal to only speak Spanish for the entire week. We called it an English fast and it applied outside of class as well. I probably tried this with a dozen different districts during my time at the MTC and they all gave up and reverted back to English after a few days – except for one.

Speaking a new language is hard work and it’s especially hard when you’re surrounded by people who speak English natively. The missionaries always struggled during the English fasts because they weren’t able to communicate in Spanish as freely as they wanted to which made it hard for them to be themselves. It was just a lot easier to speak in English. The English fasts were tough on me, too. I was very capable of expressing myself freely in Spanish, but the missionaries couldn’t always understand what I was saying. It was taxing on me to explain something in Spanish and know that they weren’t understanding me. It was so tempting for me to switch into English just to be understood.

This particular district struggled just as much as all the others had. We did everything in Spanish and I could see the frustration on their faces. I watched them struggle to form poorly worded sentences with sketchy grammar. I saw the defeat in their eyes as they searched their brains for words that just weren’t in there. I got frustrated, too when, after explaining something to the class, instead of seeing understanding on their faces all I got were confused stares. None of my districts had tried so hard before and I started to think that I was asking too much of them, that this was just too hard. But we pressed on and that entire week we spoke on Spanish. It was quite an accomplishment and their Spanish got so much better that week.

At the end of the week we had a little lesson in English to discuss what we had all learned during the week. Not to discuss the grammar or vocabulary they had learned during week, but the principles they had learned. The classes heaved a collective sigh of relief knowing that they were temporarily allowed to speak in English again. I started off the discussion by saying the first thing I’d said to my class in English in a week. Right after I finished talking Sister Spotten looked right at me and said, “It’s so weird to hear you speak English.” And that is the best compliment I ever received.

At the beginning of the week we had all made a goal and committed to follow through with it. It was a hard goal for me to keep, but I had promised to keep it and I did. Sister Spotten’s reaction to how I sounded in English was an affirmation that I had stuck with and followed through with my promise. And it felt so good. In essence what she really said was, “You did it, Brother Schilaty, you really did it. It was hard, but you did it.” I once heard a talk at church in which the speaker said that the best compliment a latter-day saint can receive is to be known a covenant keeper – someone who keeps their promises. I totally agree.

Once everyone had gotten over how odd it was to hear me speak in English I shared the story of Helaman’s 2,000 stripling (young) warriors from the Book of Mormon. The scriptures say that they were exactly obedient and because of their obedience and faith they all survived their battles with the Lamanites while thousands of their comrades were killed. It’s one of my favorite stories from the Book of Mormon and the missionaries agreed that they had been immensely rewarded for their effort and obedience to do what they had agreed to do. This is what I wrote in my journal that day:

“This week I understood a little better how Heavenly Father feels about us. He loves us and wants us to succeed and improve, but He allows us to have trials because He knows that they will help us grow. I’m sure it’s hard for Him, but He knows what we need to help us grow. I hope that I always remember the examples of Sister Spotten, Sister Ross, Sister Morris, Elder Halgren, Elder Cannon, Elder Rex, Elder Redford, and Elder Fielding. They are just as valiant and diligent as the 2,000 stripling warriors and they will be richly blessed for their obedience and effort. I feel so blessed to be able to know modern day sons and daughters of Helaman.”

I hope that I can always be known as someone who follows through on his promises because that would be the greatest compliment of all.

Going Viral

When I went to bed Wednesday night I felt a little sick, but was sure I’d just sleep it off. I woke up Thursday morning feeling about the same, but with a swollen gland on the left side of my neck and my cheek was swollen too. I didn’t really feel that sick so I decided to go to work. As the day went on my face got puffier and puffier and I felt sicker and sicker so I called in sick for Friday. Living alone and being sick is incredibly boring so I decided to spend the weekend with my parents. They pampered me and it was wonderful. I mostly slept and watched HGTV.

On Friday I went to the doctor because something was really wrong with me. My face felt incredibly tender and shaving was painful. I couldn’t even floss because it hurt so much to open my mouth. Eating was accompanied by throbbing pains. My face had swollen so much that it looked like I’d gained 40 pounds, but only on the left side of my face. I no longer had a jaw line on my left side. I was eager for the doctor to fix me.

I hadn’t been to a doctor for an illness since 2007 and the guy I saw on Friday was a new doctor for me. My mom went in to the check up room with me and was present when the nurse asked me all the usual intake questions. Her presence was invaluable when I was asked if there was any history of heart disease in my family because my answer was, “Uhh…..?” I was then asked if I smoke. No. Drink alcohol? No. Use recreational drugs? No. Sexually active? No. The nurse then gave me a look that I interpreted as, “Are you lying because your mother’s in here?” so I said, “Don’t worry, I’m good Mormon boy,” and she smiled with understanding.

The doctor came in and poked at my tender face for awhile then sent me down to get some blood work done. I was extremely disappointed when I learned that my white blood cell count was normal meaning that I didn’t have an infection. I was rooting for an infection so that I could take some antibiotics and be done with it, but no, it had to be something viral. And a virus is only cured by lots of rest and inordinate amounts of fluids. My doctor brought in a second doctor to get another opinion. They had three ideas: the mumps, mono, or tuberculosis. All three of those possibilities were shocking. I’ve been vaccinated for the mumps and I thought that that was one of those diseases like polio that no one got any more. I really didn’t want to have mono because it’s often spread through kissing and I haven’t kissed anyone for while so it would have been really lame to get mono without the funsies. And tuberculosis just made me feel dirty. Having lived in Mexico I’ve been tested for TB a few times and never had it so it didn’t make sense to get it now since I haven’t been back for three years. The results came back and I thankfully had none of the three. I just had some random virus that would have to be waited out.

The swelling started to go down yesterday and it’s nearly gone today. I shaved today for the first time in four days. That’s the longest I’ve ever gone without shaving as an adult. I’ve never grown facial hair because I feel like it looks bad on most people. There are, of course, exceptions like my uncle, Robert Downing Jr. and Charlie Chaplin. Four days allowed for a large amount of hair to emerge and I was surprised to see a fair number of white hairs in my sprouting beard. While it’s disappointing to be going grey already, I resigned myself to that reality years ago. And now if I decide to become a pirate I will go by the name Speckle Beard. It’s fearsome sounding and accurate.

My Secrets

I recently watched a Youtube video where someone stops random strangers on the street and asks them what their secret is. They usually respond by saying something like, "What? Why would I tell you my secret?" after which they reveal their secret. The secrets often revealed an insecurity, something embarrassing, or were funny. I was trying to plan a lesson just now, but I got distracted and made a list of my own secrets instead. I tried to follow the theme of insecurity, embarrassing, and funny. Here they are in no particular order.

I’ve never driven 100 MPH because I don’t like breaking rules.

The worst part of my day is planning lessons because I feel like many of my students won't care (much like a flight attendant giving safety instructions).

I dance in my kitchen – a lot (mostly while putting away dishes).

I think The Golden Girls is hilarious.

I hate when my students lie to me. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world.

I once saw someone I knew at the airport unexpectedly, but I hid behind a pillar because I didn’t want to talk to him.

I never, ever, ever want to live alone again.

I don't use dryer sheets.

Teaching middle school has made me afraid to have kids.

I eat way too much junk food.

I don’t care for the game Apples to Apples.

I’ve eaten cow udder twice and liked it both times.

One of my favorite parts of the day is reading my scriptures, but I still procrastinate doing it every day because I forget how much I love it.

I feel smarter than people who drink energy drinks.

And now two quick teaching stories:
I have a student who is really quite funny (although I'd never want him to know that I think that). He often tries to get my attention by gently tugging on my shirt. Yesterday, however, instead of tugging on my shirt or raising his hand like a normal student would do, he reached over and squeezed my bicep. It was surprising and slightly odd, but it got my attention.

I've struggled all year with getting my classes to quiet down. Yesterday every single student in one of my classes was actively working on an assignment and no one was talking. It was so peaceful. I broke the silence by saying, "Do you hear that, class? That's the sound of learning." A kid then blurted out, "But it's silent!" and I said, "Exactly."

Teenage Drama

I really enjoy supporting my students in their extracurricular pursuits and usually attend whatever I’m invited to. Two of my students were in the school’s production of Willy Wonka this weekend and one of them invited me to go. I didn’t have any weekend plans so I was more than happy to go. I wasn’t, however, thrilled about the $8 admission which seemed a bit steep for a middle school play.

My expectations for the play were very low (incredibly low, actually). Some of the performers promoted the play during the morning announcements the week prior to the performances. A lot of them had to do fake accents and they’d start out using the accent, but it would slowly fade while they were talking only to end up speaking in their normal voice. Like I said, my expectations were not high.

I invited my sister to come because I didn’t want to go alone and she was really excited to go which surprised me. I also sent out a text to a bunch of friends inviting them to come, but I really undersold the play and only Carrie came. When we got to the theater a few of my students excitedly shouted hello to me and some others looked embarrassed when I greeted them. I was happy to be seen with two pretty girls.

I was worried that the play would be so bad that it would be hard to sit through, but when it started all my worries melted away. The kid who played Wonka did a fantastic job and had what Lindsay described as “swagger.” I was a little perplexed by the makeup of Charlie’s family. Charlie’s four grandparents were all white, but his two parents were Asian and he was white. I’m not geneticist, but it seemed a little fishy. The kid who played Charlie seemed a little nervous on stage at first and I wondered why he had been cast as the lead role, but then he sang and it all made sense. He could hit notes that my long, thick vocal cords could never hit. I was impressed by his talent.

Overall the play was phenomenal with the slight debilities that you’d expect from a middle school production: not being able to hear what everyone was saying, awkward pauses waiting for the music to start, and occasionally forgetting a dance move. It exceeded my expectations is so many ways. I had a big smile on my face throughout the play and it really made me day. The kids were singing and dancing their hearts out and it warmed my heart to see them having so much fun. As frustrating as my middle schoolers can be, they really do make me happy.

My other school is having their play in a week or two and now I'm super-pumped to go see it.

The Case of the Missing Wallet

On Saturday as I was leaving my house to head over to a pizza party I went into my room to grab my wallet – it wasn’t there! I then checked the living room, the bathroom, the kitchen, and finally my car. It wasn’t in any of those places. I was completely bum-puzzled (a made-up word that I heard someone use on Survivor that I have now started using) because there are only a few places that I ever leave my wallet and it wasn’t in any of those places. I was going to be late to the party so left my house feeling rather uneasy without my wallet.

When I got home I searched all the places that I thought my wallet could be again and then I searched a bunch of random places. The most confusing thing was that the only place I’d been that day was the gym and I remembered taking my wallet to the gym. I keep my gym membership card in my car and when I get to the gym I put the card in my pocket and my wallet where the card was so that I don’t have to deal with my wallet in the gym. My gym card was where it was supposed to be in my car so I assumed that I would have put my wallet back in my pocket when I returned my gym card to its proper place. But still, my wallet wasn’t in my house so I called the gym to see if they had found a wallet. Nothing.

On Sunday I called the gym again and they still hadn’t found my wallet so I rechecked everywhere in my house one more time. I even checked the refrigerator just in case I had put it there in an extreme moment of absentmindedness. Nope, just milk in there. I drove to the gym and checked the parking lot and the bushes to see if I had dropped it on accident. Nada. I was now extremely bum-puzzled.

On Monday I decided to put the parable of the lost coin into practice. In the parable a woman loses a coin and then cleans up her house as she looks for it. In the end not only does she find the lost coin, but she now has a clean house. She’s so thrilled to have found the coin that she throws a party. I cleaned my entire house and didn’t find it. My house looked a lot nicer, but I still had no wallet.

At this point I started to get really worried. Friends had recommended that I cancel my credit cards right away, but I hadn’t because I was sure that my wallet was somewhere in my house. Now I wasn’t sure what to think and I started to think about all the things in my wallet that would be a pain to replace (debit card, credit card, drivers license, insurance card, temple recommend, and a nearly completed Café Rio stamp card that I was going to use on my next trip to Utah).

When I got home from FHE on Monday night I decided to check the bushes by my driveway to see if I’d accidentally dropped it there. It was dark so I took out my flashlight and scanned the area around my driveway, but nothing. My landlady’s car is parked in the garage and I had previously looked under it for my wallet, but not with a flashlight so I decided to check again. As I walked towards the car I saw my wallet in the garage lying on the ground next to an old hose. I was shocked and elated, but I was also rather bum-puzzled. You see, not only had I already searched the garage, but I had walked by my wallet about a dozen times without noticing it and it wasn’t very hidden at all. In fact, it was kind of out in the open. How could I have missed it? Here’s my sinister theory.

For the last few weeks a man has been rebuilding the deck at my house. We’ve chatted a bunch and formed a nice, casual friendship. He really likes to tease me about my Mormonism. He calls me a jack Mormon and often asks how many girls I had over the previous night. I’ll say eight and then he’ll laugh and I’ll pretend to laugh at my unwitty response. He had been at my house for hours the day my wallet disappeared and I even mentioned to him that I couldn’t find my wallet as I was leaving for the pizza party. His response was, “I hope there wasn’t too much money in it,” and I responded, “Don’t worry, I’m a teacher.” He didn’t come over on Sunday, but he did come over again on Monday afternoon. My sinister theory is that he snatched my wallet off the kitchen table, felt guilty, and returned it to a place where he knew I’d find it.

Is it possible that this jovial deck builder stole my wallet? Maybe. Is it likely? Probably not. It seems much more likely that I dropped it in the garage and somehow didn’t manage to see it for three days. And I can’t be too suspicious of him because he was nice enough to patch the hole in the wall that my dad made. It appears that the case of the missing wallet has been solved and the culprit is my clumsy hands and under observant eyes.

March Madness

March was awful, really awful. I didn’t blog much during March because the only thing I could think to write about was complaints about my job. I was trying hard to be a good teacher and I just felt like I was constantly failing. My outlook has improved lately so I’d like to share some fun stories from school.

I have one student who always gives me high fives. One day he raised his hand to ask a question and I walked over to him and gave him a high five instead. He laughed and said, “No, I have a question.” His hand was still in the air so I gave him another high five and then another. Another student yelled, “Hold up both hands!” thinking that that would get me to stop high fiving and finally answer the boy's question. So the high fiving student held up both hands and I gave him a high ten. After that I felt like I’d annoyed my student enough and I answered his question.

One of my classes constantly asks me who my favorite student is. This sort of dialogue always interests me so I kind of fan the flames more than I should. For instance, when someone is absent I’ll often say, “So-and-so isn’t here? But she’s my favorite student?” That usually leads to an outraged student saying, “She’s your favorite!? What about me?” I usually respond by shrugging my shoulders and saying, “Sorry,” as if I had nothing to do with selecting my favorite student.

I was in a good mood this week and decided to fan the flames a bit more. I told the class that they would be voting for my favorite student. They each got to write who they thought my favorite student should be on a piece of paper and they were not allowed to vote for themselves. As I expected most of the ballots were jokes and my favorite student is now a kid who consistently tries to be annoying. I was 95% sure that that particular student would be selected before we voted so I was prepared for the outcome. It was a fun few minutes.

On an unrelated note, I was accepted to a PhD program at the University of Arizona which means that I’ll be packing up and moving to Tucson in August. When I first started telling people my good news a common reaction was, “Aren’t you just jumping up and down with excitement?” and I’d respond by saying, “Yeah, but I’m not jumping.” I really am excited, but I also realize that it’s going to be a ton of work. Also, I’ve moved a lot in the past and the idea of packing all my stuff into my car again is less than thrilling. And I'm really going to miss my family and friends here in Washington. But still, this is what I want to do and it’ll all be worth it.

One last thing: this is the view from my deck. I love living in a beautiful place.