Quit touching my kid.

Would you get your hands off my child, please? How would you like me to poke you in the belly? Want me to try and tickle you? Maybe I'll insist you hug me and not take no for an answer? I'm sure we both think not.

Even the most well-intentioned adults around me lately have let me down. Sure, our daughter is off-the-charts-cute. Not just in the parents-always-think-their-kid-is-cute kind of way, she's simply gorgeous by most objective standards. She's also very small for her age with a huge head and huge eyes. Just calls out to the mother in most every person (male and female) she meets.

Why is it, though, so few adults on this earth seem to have a clue that children are people?

I heard the beginning of a great This American Life on the subject of "talking to children." It began with interviews with children about what annoyed them most about adults talking to them. The children were obviously older than Maya (she's 4 and a half), but they are still putting up with some of the same shit.

Adults seem to flail around wanting to say the right thing, thinking there's some kind of code language children speak. The adults get goo-goo gah-gah when talking to them. Really sing-songy. Trying to connect, they instead treat the child as some kind of stuffed fluffy toy who might enjoy being bent this way or that.

Maya even has a defensive "cutsie wootsie" mode she goes into where she swings herself all around, hanging on to my legs, looking up in an almost flirting coy sort of way that shocked the hell out of me the first time she did it. I asked her after why she was behaving that way (didn't say it was wrong, but was suprised) and she told me that when people talk to her in baby talk, she just wants to do that. The goo-goo-gaa-gaa talking tone that grownups often take with her sometimes slips past me until she begins her little "I'm just cute" dance behind my legs.

Some advice to those of you who really, truly would like to communicate with that little person in the shopping cart in front of you at the market? You are looking at a small person. An individual. A human being.

They like smiles, but feel weird if you stare at them too much. Sure, if they're very small infants (not holding themselves up, yet), they might like a little peek-a-boo. For any child, though, your best bet is to just imagine children are just small adults.

Speak in your regular voice. Bring up something you might bring up to an adult if you were going to be so outgoing and bold as to talk to a stranger at the market. Perhaps you might comment on the pretty flowers nearby, or compliment an article of clothing the person is wearing. Maybe you, too, enjoy sweets, so you could empathize with the experience of enjoying a lollipop (that surely some bank teller thrust into the child's hand without regard to her parents' wishes).

Think of how odd you'd feel if someone came up to you and started cooing, "Oh, you are so beeeeeautiful!" Sure, you might feel flattered. If you were available, you might hope to get lucky later that night. But, under most circumstances you might feel pretty freaked out.

Yesterday at Target I decided I needed to help out my little girl. I said, "When someone says something like that (a woman had just said over and over and over, you are so beautiful! adorable! so cuuuuuuuute!), they would love to hear you say, 'thank you.' What that means is you are telling them you appreciate they are trying to be kind. You don't have to say anything, but a 'thank you' is probably what they are hoping for."

Maya, like any normal human being, tends to freeze up in shock when these strangers begin gawgling all over here. And, no, she's not "shy," she just thinks you're being really strange and it makes her a little confused and uncomfortable.

And, no, I'm not going to make her give you a hug even if you are a relative. I'm not going to expect her to kiss you or even accept a hug from you. I understand she's so cute you want to gobble her up, but even her Father and I check in before we slobber all over her (most of the time).

Thankfully, my closest family dwells in the realm of respect. I think they may sometimes wish they could force the issue (LET GRAMPA HOLD YOU we all sometimes want to say). But they see clearly that Maya gives her affection and receives her affection on her terms (she loves being held by Grampa when she's in the mood). Knowing her body is hers, that she decides who touches it, how, and when, may be one of her greatest (thus far, well-learned) lessons.

We'll continue giving her tools for responding to adults who mean well but don't have a clue. We'll continue not forcing her to interact with strangers, and we'll continue not expecting her to give hugs or kisses to anyone when she doesn't want to. Without apology.

Once again, let me encourage you. The next time you are interacting with a child, try to imagine the roles reversed. Whatever you do or say to that child, what if someone did or said that to you? Would you be comfortable? How would you respond?

Because, seriously, the next time someone tries to tickle my child or tries to get her to say something to them ("come on, tell me about your little doggy-woggy-woo") I might just haul off and slug them. Now that's not a lesson I want to teach my cute as a button sweet as a plum little angel girl.

Christian with a lowercase c.

My four year old says, "I'm Mary and this is baby Jesus" and proceeds to sing all the words to "Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel." The time has come for me to explain why I'm christian. And why I'm not a Christian.

"I'm a Christian" vs. "I'm christian."

First let's be clear. I'm not "a Christian." The right-wing fundamentalists have taken over that term with disturbing voracity. It makes me sick to my stomach to risk being grouped with such generally hateful sorts. Christian (with a C) now means to me, and to so many I talk with, an almost drug induced state of bliss (denial of questions or doubts), glazed eyes (from crying tears of joy when someone is "saved"), rigid rules. Mostly, Christian with a C requires following the strict-father model of living. It means a woman has no right to say what happens to her body. It means taxing the wealthy, stripping social services to nothing, and expecting the poorest among us to support it all. It means same-gender love is wrong. I want nothing to do with Christian with a C.

I am christian, though. I strive to live like Jesus did. That's the essence of it, how I explain it to my daughter. In four year old terms, it's pretty simple. Love everyone. Do whatever you can to help rid the world of injustice. Forgive yourself and others for our human frailties. Know that all you can do is your best and that is enough.

The magical fairyland of miracles.

But what about the "miracles," the loaves and fishes, the healing blindness, bringing people back from the dead? Or, as Maya asked today at lunch, "Are angels real?" My answer is also pretty simple. I don't get hung up on whether or not those things are literally true (it might lean into the sort of magical fairyland kind of thing, would it not?) or if they are only metaphors and lessons. I recognize that humans wrote the Bible, so the stories are most likely stories. I take the lessons from them and move on.

But what about the rising from the dead? Again, I don't get hung up. Literal or not it isn't a huge deal to me. The lessons that we're all Okay, that we are always forgiven for our mistakes, and that the power of god is bigger than any human -- that's enough for me.

The truth is, though, at this moment I believe Jesus literally came back to life. When I'm in my "maybe it didn't literally happen" times, it doesn't scare me. Those thoughts fit perfectly in my faith, believing the truth of it as miracle or metaphor doesn't change the message.

I recognize being raised by a minister and faithfully christian mother has a great deal to do with the likelihood that I'll not find the story of the resurrection in the land with dragons, trolls, and fairies. Then again, as we all know, it could have pushed me farther away from believing the story. And, again, while I do happen to believe it actually happened, it's not the biggest part of christianity for me.

I believe christianity is a religion of social justice. Jesus ate with and talked with women. With tax collectors. With sinners and untouchables of all sorts. Talking seriously with such non-people was rebelious enough, but to wash their feet or share a table with them was truly radical. He told poor people that they were the most special of all. He said people should love their enemies. He was a teacher.

After the sadness and revulsion I feel for those people I feel are butchering Jesus' messages, those cap C's, I realized there was another great obstacle preventing me from embracing the christian label.

I don't believe Jesus would want our worship. The Jesus I understand would not want us to bow down to him. He would not want to be treated as someone more special than any other person. He certainly wouldn't want me calling him "Lord." Teacher, sure, but Lord, no way.

So, how could I be christian if I won't pray to Jesus? That's the question I grappled with for about the last ten years. But my truth has found me and I know now that, for me, being christian means I want to be as much like Jesus as possible. I want to be bold, courageous, and intelligent. I want to stay centered in my connection with god in all times of my life, as much as I can. I want to forgive myself and others every minute of every day. And, most of all, I want to help change the world. I want to help my neighbors near and far. I want people who are suffering to find justice, and I want to help make that happen.

What about Jesus as 100% god and 100% human?

The other hangup I had when I didn't consider myself christian was the stance that Jesus was 100% God, different than us humans. As with so many of my understandings of my christianity, I realize it's an issue of translation. The miracles were probably story telling tools. Jesus was a great healer (this is historical fact, not religious belief, though the ideas of what kind of healing he did are disputed), but was he as powerful as god? In my view, no. In my view, Jesus was astoundingly good at staying connected to god. He was clearly "centered" as we might say today. Serene. At peace most of the time. In no great hurry.

Again, I find Jesus to be a role model for my spiritual life. I know from my own experience that staying connected to what I call god keeps me relatively sane. I know peace when I am strongly connected to that strength. It's my view that Jesus really got it-- he found a way to stay connected more often than he was distracted by daily life. He was the ultimately god-connected person. Whether that was through prayer and meditation, through yoga, through great conversations with loved ones, or through times of quiet, I don't know. But from what I know of the man named Jesus, I can tell he wasn't easily distracted from his source of peace and strength.

But surely, you won't stand for the Father Lord King garbage, will you?

No. I won't stand for it. Mostly. My conception of god is not at all paternal. I certainly don't think Jesus would dig that kind of reference in this day and age. But, in those days when women were dismissed and not counted, using paternal references to describe power and strength makes sense. In the days of rulers like Kings and Emperors it makes sense that Jesus and others would use the language of the day. Shortcuts, if you will, to explain they believed that god was extraordinarily powerful.

When I go to church with my parents, or continue our search for a church that meets our own family's needs, I spend a lot of time translating so I can tolerate the paternal and inegalitarian concepts and language used. I usually don't even like to use a capital letter G on god, it's too high-and-mighty for me. Through the translation, though, I can still hear the message:

• Be kind.
• Be just.
• Be brave.
• Care for those who need help.
• Don't put up with shit from hateful people.
• Love yourself and others.

So as Maya plays Mary, sings the Christmas hymns with all her might, and hears a bit more of the Christmas story every morning when we sing Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel at breakfast, I feel good being christian. I feel honored that our child asks such probing questions, forcing me to articulate in the simplest terms what I believe. I always begin by saying, "Well, not everyone believes this," or, "Some people believe that is true, but I don't." But I almost always end up telling her the truest truth I know. The most important thing is that we try to love everyone in the world and help people who need it most.

Later that day she was playing store and announced, "I work for the giving store. We prepare food to give to people who don't have enough."

I believe Jesus would be glad.


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