Pop Quiz

I attended an Eagle Court Sunday evening. Remarkable young man; I was honored to be there.  They did something I’ve never seen before. When filling the “eagle’s nest,” they asked us each to come to the microphone and state our name and the year we attained the eagle rank. He said it was a pop quiz.

Uh oh.

No, I didn’t have a problem remembering the year. I know the exact date. December 22, 1979. (I was 5,353 days old.) I even know the date of my board of review: October 26^th. It was my half birthday and my mom’s due date, but the baby didn’t come for two more weeks.

I think I was good with the quiz. I was walking well enough not to create a spectacle, but that thought did cross my mind. The father of the eagle went first. He is a year older than me but he was 1982. I then realized the only drawback I’ve ever felt for earning my rank at a relatively young age. I was going to sound older than I am!  But no time to worry about that, it was my turn. I barely croaked out my name and year and then was glad to find a seat in the nest. Who would have ever imagined that such a simple little thing could be such a challenge!  It is just weird.  Talking?  Most people do it without a thought.  I even did for four decades.

A few minutes later a friend of mine said his name, 1988, and then added, “and I can’t believe Dave Hixon is so old!”

I was so glad he said that! Not only did it mean that I was intelligible but that he realizes that even though I walk like I’m 80 and sound like "near death," I am neither and I can still take some ribbing. I had to smile.

Eagle Eye

Last July I was asked to be an auditor for my newly formed stake. It really was a question. The asker was a good friend and was sensitive to my health condition. I had no concerns about the understanding the audit process. I oversaw dozens of audits professionally, I’ve taken a college course in auditing, and when I was ward financial clerk, I survived several stake audits. So could I do it? Well, it doesn’t require speed or distance walking and I could probably schedule around the fatigue (or medicate.) There isn’t a whole lot of talking involved, so it was down to the vision. Could I see well enough to do it? You have to be able to see small numbers printed on paper.

Brimming with faith, I told him I didn’t know. I was willing to try, and if I couldn’t do it (or could not do it well enough) I would let him know. I was assigned three wards; surely I could do three measly audits.

I found the actual audits to be challenging. Seeing the numbers was difficult, but I could do it. It just took a little extra time and effort. Conducting the interviews with the bishops was hard. Talking can be so difficult at times. When I finished the last one I decided that I was done auditing. I was just so tired and it was so hard on me. For pity’s sake, surely there were 50 men out there that could do audits as well as I and for whom it would require far less effort. Honestly! Maybe a lot more than 50. 100? 200?

However, the audits are done only twice a year so I decided to wait and see. I’m glad I did, not because my vision, voice or stamina have improved but because I have realized that “the question” is not whether someone else could do the audits with less difficulty but whether or not I could do them. Period.

If “work” always went to the most able, I would never do anything (except maybe write.) I can’t live my life like that. Performing audits is hard, harder than it should be; I’ll give that to you, but so is making the bed and taking out the trash. These little tasks aren’t that hard, but I still do them, and it makes me happy to contribute. Sure, for others it would be way easier, but there is a positive correlation between work and happiness. I’m glad that Kara lets me do little stuff around here and I’m glad that my church leaders are not afraid to err on the side of giving me too much.

Yesterday I did the year-end audits for two units. Different from last time, I did them in the morning which helps. I could see the numbers with less difficulty and I wasn’t tired. One clerk mentioned to his bishop that I have “an eagle eye” as I happened to spot (and inquire after) all their “irregularities.” If he only knew.  (But let's keep that between us.)

Retraction

To anyone who read a post called “Speech Impediment” late last night or early this morning, I’m sorry. I mean, it was an accurate description of my day, but with a few hours hindsight, a good night’s sleep, and a re-read, it sounded awfully “whiny” so I un-posted it. I think it was exactly what I feared this blog might become before I started it. Nothing good, positive, or encouraging can come from my whining. Suffice it to say that I taught my second lesson yesterday and I have got to find a way to teach with less dependence on speech!

A Silver Lining

Amanda’s boyfriend Sean was baptized last night and he asked me to perform the ordinance. He was a little hesitant in asking me because, well, he has been around me lately, but I assured him that I could do it. In fact, I would be honored. My legs could handle it, right? Sean is about my height and is an agile wrestler-type 17 year-old. And we’d be in water. I agreed to it and we proceeded.

All week I was concerned though, not about my legs but my voice. Could I be heard? I’ve baptized dozens of people but never was I as nervous.   I mentally rehearsed the prayer over and over again. Surely I could do this, it was only 28 words! Just 40 syllables! If I could just muster up the voice for 40 measly, but important syllables! I considered recusing myself mainly because I didn’t want to do anything to detract from the sacredness of the ordinance, or the focus on Sean on his special day. It was not about me and my willingness to tempt fate. Seriously, I had thoughts like this. Tempt fate to do what? It was a baptism, not a triathlon! I don’t know why I was so nervous.

We entered the font, took the customary positions and I began. I cannot report a miraculous healing here or even a temporary stay; the voice was weak and strained as usual, and evenings are worse than mornings, but it was audible. When I reached “Amen” I was so relieved. I had done it! Then I had about one second to consider the physical part, which was accomplished with ease. Here is the thing: I was so concerned about the voice thing that I didn’t take any time to worry about the immersion part, which worry would have been in vain anyway. That’s a Silver Lining, right?

Is it me?

I suppose it is natural to wonder if my malady is the result of choices that I made. Notwithstanding there are no known causes for MS, I can’t help but wonder if it was something I ate. Or didn’t eat. Do lima beans and walnuts somehow interact to form a myelin shield? I know, it’s silly but I find myself doing this a lot. I consider that most people don’t have MS and can talk well into their 40s. What did I do that was different from most that could have done this?

I habitually read road sign in reverse, you know, Regnirre, T-srif, and Aredam from my home town or even just “Tixe Txen” anywhere. Could that have done it? Maybe somehow the cerebral calisthenics were too much. When alone in elevators I used to take a couple practice swings with my air Easton – I don’t think a lot of people do that. I always lather and rinse, but I never repeat. That can’t be it. Does anyone repeat? Maybe it is thinking ridiculous things too often! I do that.

A New Calling

A few weeks ago my bishop told me he wanted me to teach the Marriage and Family Relations course during Sunday school. Now I love teaching and I have 19 years experience at marriage, so this should be a no-brainer.  But there is the whole “can’t talk” thing. Details, details.

We would only meet once a month which makes it easier, but it would supplant Gospel Doctrine those weeks so the class would be teeming. I told him I’d do my best. Today was the first class. I over-prepared, had several parts to be read by class members, and the subject matter lent itself to good class participation.  But still I was scared. It seems most Sundays it is all I can do to keep my head up.  I never comment or volunteer to say prayers. I could do it but I don’t want to subject everyone else to my condition, especially since I sound way worse than I feel.

How could I teach?

Well, I’m happy to report that week 1 is done and it went well enough. I introduced myself, apologized for my weak voice, briefly explained the situation, and requested their patience, prayers, and participation. I was self-conscious, fearing that my medical condition would be a distraction from the subject matter.

I'll be honest; it was very difficult.  At several points I had to stop, take an uncomfortably forced swallow, and then try to squelch out a few more syllables.  Also, I was careful not to stray into any areas of the slightest emotions.  I could not afford to do that to the class, unless the topic for the day was "How to sound like large aquatic mammals."  (It was not.)

Following the class, one lady who just moved in came up and told me precisely what I wanted to hear. She said, “I just wanted to tell you that your voice was not a distraction. Once we got going and the Spirit took over it wasn’t even a thought.” How prescient was that? And for a first-timer to boot!  It gives me the encouragement to try again in February.

I won’t transcribe the lesson here, but I will share a story that I shared today.

In my BYU “married” ward, a friend who was generally happy and seemed to have a perfect marriage one day looked troubled. He said, “My wife expects me to pick up my own dirty socks!” I gave him a puzzled look. He explained that he was raised on a farm, and when Dad and the boys returned from the field, they removed their dirty clothing and socks and mother would pick them up off the floor and wash them. In his frame of reference, husband and wife had certain well-defined roles and he was troubled that his wife wasn’t fulfilling her wifely obligations. I consoled him saying, “Buddy, I have the exact same problem! And she won’t wear an apron, fetch my slippers, or let me go to meetings at the lodge! Seriously, I only suggested that perhaps he should expect some role divergence since his wife wasn’t raised in his home (and because he was not currently working on a farm.)

Bonk

One of the casualties of my disease is minor loss of coordination. I am getting used to my new clumsiness, and it isn’t that bad, but I’m finding the effects in the most improbable areas. If I were building card houses or juggling knives, I would expect to do poorly. I take special care when putting away dishes or using scissors, but it’s those little things that you can’t anticipate that get you.

For example, last month I hand-washed a large frying pan. While drying it, I was holding it out in front of me, near where the handle is connected to the pan. I dried the pan part first, holding it somewhat near so I could see that the job was thorough. When I began drying the handle, I failed to properly counterbalance the new pressure I applied to the front of the handle, resulting in the pan swiveling forward and conking me right between the eyes. No broken skin, no mark, but it wasn’t fun.

Of course, as I was reacting to the pain, Kara walked by and asked, “What happened?” How do I answer that? A little pan drying incident? Do I have to say? There is no way to disguise or soft-sell this.

Now, there is nothing about MS that means you can’t dry dishes safely or counterbalance cast iron. If someone said, “Dry this frying pan without hitting yourself” I could do it, no problem. It is just an example of where a 2% loss in coordination can surprise you.