January 9: Last Day, "The Wilder Life," I Am Not a Kook

Today is the last day of my vacation.  Of course, I'm a little melancholy about this fact.  I get two weeks off during the year.  The first week comes at the beginning of January.  The second week comes at the beginning of August.  I'm in for a really long eight months now.  All work, very little play.

I dropped my daughter off at school this morning, loaded my son onto his bus.  Later on, I will be visiting my son's a.m. classroom.  I'm trying to work myself up for this visit.  When you step into a room full of three- and four-year-olds, there's a certain energy that kind of drains you after about an hour and a half.  The kids want to take you by the hand, lead you around, talk to you, give you food that you don't really want to eat.  However, just seeing my son's reaction when I step into his classroom will be worth it.

I'm nearing the end of my reading of The Wilder Life, and I'm becoming a little annoyed with the author.  Wendy McClure is coming off as a little bit of an elitist.  On her forays into "Laura World," she encounters a lot of Christian people.  Some of these Christians are on the fringe, preparing for the Rapture by living on compounds and learning how to make soap and yarn.  Other Christian people she encounters are home schoolers and a little on the fundamentalist side.  McClure seems to treat any Christian she meets like a child.  She seems to think that her approach to Laura World is somehow better because she's more academic and, therefore, a little jaded.  The attitude she exudes borders on condescension at times.  At least for me.

Do I look crazy?

I'm a Christian.  I teach at a university.  I love William Faulkner and Jesus Christ (although Jesus beats Faulkner, hands-down).  I consider myself just as intelligent and urbane as McClure.  (By the way, Noel Coward she ain't.)  I'm not living in the middle of the woods, stockpiling ammunition and canned goods, waiting for the end of the world.  To borrow a line from Richard Nixon, "I am not a kook."

I'm hoping McClure does something in the last pages of her book to redeem herself, although it's a slight hope.  I think she's pretty satisfied with herself.  As I read her book, I can almost see her smirking behind every word.  Perhaps I'm being too harsh.  Perhaps I'm tired and hungry.  Perhaps I'm transferring some of my latent hostility toward my present economic situation onto McClure and her book.

Saint Marty isn't playing well with others at the moment.