A Purple Shirt and an Open Book

When I was in San Antonio last week on vacation with the family, I purposely wore a University of Northern Iowa shirt because I knew we would run into somebody, somewhere, who was a Panther at some time. It happens every time we leave the Midwest - invariably someone will see our proud purple gear and we'll get a "Go Panthers" and perhaps a conversation from a complete stranger. We are part of the same tribe: we've lived in the same community, had classes in the same buildings, hold many of the same values, and feel the strong tie of supporting a university who has few casual fans, but many loyal alumni. In the few hours we were on the Riverwalk and at The Alamo, it happened twice: both times with smiles, well-wishes, and the knowing and comfortable look of shared experience.

As Panthers, we like knowing we are not alone in the world. There is not one around every corner;  in fact, I know of no other Panther flag flying in our community on game day, whereas Iowa and Iowa State flags and apparel are as common here as snow in March. There is a shared pride and boost in loyalty in the midst of fellow grads, an uptick in casual conversation and camaraderie. So the opportunity to wear the purple and gold outside of the state, particularly somewhere as far removed as Texas, is an opportunity for reciprocal gain.

The same seems to be true for those who dare to dawn superhero attire. I make this assumption as one who is not a superhero aficionado. I've seen some Batman movies, if that counts for much. But that is not my tribe. I do, however, now own a Superman t-shirt. I obtained this to satisfy the whims of my youngest daughter, a burgeoning member of the Wonder Woman clan, and her desire for all attendees to her most recent birthday celebration to be appropriately adorned in accordance with her theme. The shirt is comfortable, though, so I dared to wear it last week. I am afraid to do so again. In my few hours in public supporting the iconic "S," I was greeted as one of the tribe. It was clear I was somehow taking a side, making a claim of my love and history and rooting interest in the new Batman vs. Superman film. It was a little scary. I felt like apologetically explaining, that I was wearing this attire for the soft cotton, not the external brand. I was a poser, a fake, but I produced the same spirited response as if I had been legit.

A few days after our trip in San Antonio, I woke up earlier than my wife and kids in our hotel room in Oklahoma and decided to head down to the lobby to read before everyone got up. I picked up my iPad and a Time magazine and tip-toed out of the room. Upon entering the lobby, there was a separated square of love seats and couches next to a fire place and away from the televisions and breakfast area, perfect for avoiding distractions. There was already a woman sitting and reading on one of the couches, and I noticed she was reading a Bible. I sat down adjacent to her and asked if it would bother her if I sat down next to her. "No," she replied. "I'm just getting in my daily reading." I asked her which book of the Bible she was reading from, and we had a nice conversation for several minutes following.

"You know," she said, "not many years ago I wouldn't have ever dreamed of picking this book up. Now I start every day with it. It's such a treasure." I agreed, and she went on her way. On cue, I put the Time to the side and opened up my Bible app to start my day with some Psalms. A treasure indeed.

That brief exchange changed my day. Like me wearing my UNI shirt days before, she was stating her tribe in a hotel lobby at 6 AM. She gave someone else from the tribe an opportunity to not feel alone, a chance to exchange knowing smiles and connected conversation, and the motivation and pride to revel in that citizenship as well. A woman I'll probably never see again, in a hotel lobby in nowhere Oklahoma, during a morning I was merely killing some time, unintentionally joined with me. She properly turned my attention away from basketball scores, Twitter, and Time, and instead into words of Life. Later I met her family in the line for waffles, and she offered smiles and small talk with my daughters. We were all the better for it.

Some days that's all it takes: an open Bible and a smile. Seeing that made me a better father, husband, and disciple that day all the way north on I-35.

When a Strip Club Comes to Your Town. . .

When a strip club comes to your town, you realize a few things. . .

One thing you come to realize is that you may be poised, like a diver, arms pointed, feet ready, for a dip into hypocrisy. Because when it comes, particularly when it comes two blocks away from your own residence, you bemoan its existence. Loudly. You cringe at the thought of what it will do to your property value, to the reputation of your community, and to the atmosphere of your small town Main Street. You wonder how you will explain to your young daughters the taunting, hulking banner with provocative dancing women obnoxiously and unavoidably displayed on your walk to the post office and diagonally from one of their favorite restaurants. You hope the City Council can find a way to banish the establishment to at least the outskirts of town, to where the drunken imbeciles won't puke on your sidewalks or drive into your parked cars. Not in my backyard, you say. We have got to get this "business" moved. There's got to be a way.

And then you realize there isn't a way. Not right now. Not legally. Not without a book of matches and an accelerant. You become more educated. You realize more fully the plight of the the dancers. You realize they are victims in so many ways. You find out about the possible prostitution, about past rumors of organized crime and drug deals and forced labor. You look around, and you realize that what many see as victimless entertainment leaves a string of victims: the long-time shop owner next door who can no longer be open in the evening, the apartment-dweller above with the young children, the "dancers," and every other young girl who walks past and is told that she is worth more with her clothes off than her clothes on. These victims become your message.

It is at this point that you realize you're in the deep end of the hypocrisy pool. At least you do if you're me. Because the goal is to move the business. But the message is of the collateral damage. And removing the business will merely make the victims someone I can't see, in a neighborhood in which I don't live, where I am not directly affected. And then I see that my problem isn't with evil, isn't with victims, it's with my discomfort and inconvenience. 

Dear world: I repent of this hypocrisy. At least I will try to. I repent because in the past strip clubs were just a punchline for me, in the same way my town is a punchline to others. I casually ignored all the ways sex is sold in culture. I will joke no more. 

I cannot prevent every strip club in the nation from business as usual. I cannot protest or speak out against each one individually. But I can take the matter more seriously. I can speak about it as more than harmless, victimless tomfoolery. I can work all the more fervently each day to teach my daughters where their worth comes from. I can take the lead of the citizens of another community, the community that endured the most recent strip club from this owner on their own Main Street, the citizens who cared enough about the damage and the evil and the ethics to come to our town and help long after theirs was safe. Ambivalent acceptance and a mere shrug of the shoulders is no longer an option.

We are only a few weeks into this experience in my backyard. So far I've been so busy pointing out what's wrong there that I've been unable to see what's wrong with me. Hypocrite. This is what I've learned thus far. I am certain there will be more.