In the first summer we moved in with Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack, not only did we need to get signed up for school, we also joined their church – Zion Lutheran Church. With my parents, we went to church and Sunday School every week. In fact, my parents were the custodians so it would not be unusual to be at Messiah Lutheran 2 or 3 times a week. Our church life was woven into our family life.

Like my parents, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack’s family went to church and Sunday School. But besides being signed up for Sunday School, John and I were also enrolled for confirmation class. For Lutherans, confirmation was a right of passage. It was to ‘confirm’ your beliefs in God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. It is you, as an individual, now confirming your faith that previously your parents and your godparents did on your behalf when you were baptized. Confirmation classes were additional classes during the week for 7th and 8th graders. At the end of your 8th-grade year, you would be confirmed and considered to be a full member of The Church. For most kids, this was just another thing your parents signed you up for that you did not have a choice in.

At twelve years old, the kids in confirmation class were just doing what they were told. At this age, many of us were trying to see what we could get away with. We viewed this as an additional 2 hours a week of school. How was I supposed to understand religion? How were we going to understand the complexities of faith? On top of that, I was learning how to live without my parents – and with a new family. At this point in my life, when it came to religion, I wasn’t even sure if there was a god. And if God was there, I wasn’t going to ask him how to pass a class, I was going to ask him why he took my parents away.

At twelve years old, I was a good kid. For the most part, I was obedient to what adults asked of me. School? of course. Confirmation class? ok – whatever. Mow the grass? shovel snow? yep. Paper route? if you say so. I didn’t want to make any trouble. I felt incredibly grateful to be taken care of at this point. As awkward as junior high can be for kids, I was just trying to figure out how to live because I didn’t know anymore.

I don’t remember who said it or where I heard it, but there was a family rumor that grandma Zilligen had wanted us Zilligen kids to be put in an orphanage. Thankfully due to the love the Beckman family showed Dave and me, we never felt like orphans. So there was a shock value when the word ‘orphan’ was associated with us.

So after a year of losing my parents, I was going to try to understand what it meant to be a Lutheran? Well, I would at least learn enough to pass this class – so I could be confirmed. Like I said, I was basically a good kid. Later I would tackle the bigger questions – like what being a Lutheran, or a Christian, really meant.

One aspect about kids in Sunday School that non-church goers may not realize is that because churches draw people from outside their school districts, ‘church kids’ don’t necessarily know the other kids in their church, even if they are in the same grade. So the 7th Grade Confirmation class – would not be just kids from your school. Deerfield had two junior high schools – Wilmot and Sheppard. But our church also had kids from Highland Park or Northbrook. I don’t remember where the kids in my Confirmation class were from but outside of Jim Reuter and Jeff Parker and a couple of girls who went to Wilmot Junior High. We would only see each other once a week, actually twice a week – once for Sunday School and again for Confirmation Class.

Like most youth organizations, churches understand this new cross-section of kids and the need for activities so they can get to know each other. Lock-Ins are classic church Youth Events. Again, for the non-church goers, Lock-ins are events that adult church leaders would plan. They consist of an evening of games and lessons for the kids and end with everyone staying overnight in the basement of the church. No one could leave – thus we were ‘locked-in’. Our church Zion Lutheran only had one Lock-In that I can remember. But we did a number of other activities outside of the church so we could get to know each other.

It was during one of these ‘other activities’ that I first heard “Blinded By The Light”. The 8th-grade confirmation class going to a roller skating rink. During the mid-seventies, Roller Skating rinks were experiencing a resurgence with the help of Disco and renewed interest in the 50’s. This was thanks to the tv show ‘Happy Days‘. Transportation was typically provided by volunteer parents. The class was split over 2 or 3 cars. I piled in the way-back of a station wagon with, thinking I was with the ‘cool Confirmation kids’. One could argue there were no ‘cool kids’ in Confirmation class – but everything is just a matter of degrees, right?

As we piled into the way-back of a station wagon (seatbelts be damned!) the vehicle filled with the buzz of adolescent dialogue and hyperactivity. Whoever’s parent was driving had the radio tuned to a pop music station, most likely WLS. Conversations droned on from homework to teachers, to tv shows, movies and music.

It was during this adolescent buzz that that radio played “Blinded By The Light.” Us kids in the ‘way back’ discussing the off-color lyrics of the song – “wrapped up like a douche when you’re roller’ in the night.”

“A what?” I asked.

“A douche,” one of the kids said.

“Oh, yea,” I said.

I didn’t know what a douche was. I had heard of a ‘douche bag’ and ‘being a douche’ but I didn’t know exactly what a douche was – just that they were bad. The conversations were punctuated with giggles and laughter. But one of the kids caught on to my ignorance.

“You know what a douche is, right?” he asked.

“Sure,” I lied.

“What is it?”

“It’s like a douchebag.” I said, “Like being a dick.”

“So you’re saying a douche is a penis?”

“Kinda,” I said.

Kinda – this is a word that starts the beginning of losing an argument. It is a foretelling of failure; a predictor of implosion; a first-person adjective for wishy-washy. ‘Kinda’ meant you were straddling two sides – the correct side and the wrong side. You were thinking you were on the wrong side but trying not to give that fact away. With experience and grace, the Receiver of a ‘Kinda’ would give try more leeway to the Initiator of a ‘Kinda’. To allow the Initiator a gracious departure of their failing argument; a retreat. This is not true for junior high kids. This was a signal to attack.

“Dude!” the ‘Kinda Receiver’ said. Then he leans over to me and says “A douche is how girls clean their private parts.”

Apparently, this was not covered in any of the three sex ed classes I had so far. I was beginning to learn I still had a lot more to learn about sex, even after 3 days of sex ed classes over the last three years. Apparently my shocked looked betrayed my ignorance because the ‘Kinda Receiver’ announced to the whole way-back of the station wagon, “He doesn’t know what a douche is!” Even the kids in the back seat heard this announcement.

For the rest of the ride to the rolling skating rink, I was quiet. Besides the embarrassment being called out for not knowing what a douche was, I was trying to figure out why this would be in a song in the first place. Surely the singer knew what a douche was. Maybe it was put in by accident. Last year we all heard the scream on “Love Rollercoaster” when that girl was killed in the studio next store when they were recording, so who knows what happens in those recording studios.

Besides moving in with Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack and changing schools, I was also starting Junior High – that magical time in any child’s life where a child find themselves and their spiritual well being.

OK, none of that is true. Most kids are trying to find friends and where they fit in. I was no different. So this confirmation class was just another set of kids that I had to figure things out where I fit in. Jim Rueter and Jeff Parker went to my school, but no one else did. The girls didn’t count because I was too afraid to talk to them. And there also was my cousin John.

At this point, the natural pairing of John and I was getting old. When Dave and I first moved in and John & I were paired off it was great. We were both into plants and fishing. Prior to us moving in, John and Jim had hatched chicks – which resulted in their pet rooster Fluffy. Because of this, I remember John and I designed an egg enterprise we were going to call BZ Eggs (get it – Beckman & Zilligen?). We would wander greenhouses together looking at different plants. We would spend hours together fishing Lake Eleanor behind the house.

But after a while, I didn’t want to always be connected with John. I’m guessing this is how twins feel sometimes. In hindsight, this was us becoming more siblings than just cousins or friends. Each time we were forced together, I was getting the feeling I didn’t always want to be ‘stuck’ with him. It was bad enough I was stuck with Dave but age provided a natural borderline. John and I were only two months apart in age.

This led to some unsavory social behavior on my part. Well, not really THAT unsavory – more like stupid kid stuff. Nothing to do with John, just part of my efforts to try to fit in with the cool kids, the cool kids in confirmation class, and typically centered around our extracurricular activities.

My Confirmation class was a cross-section of church kids. Which meant – there were no burnouts or surfer dudes in this class, or studly jocks or blonde bombshell, just your normal nerdy middle-of-the-road kids here. There were 12 kids in our class and we met once a week. And we did our obligatory ‘extracurricular’ church activities. This filled our Wednesday evenings with lessons about our Lutheran belief: Jesus, the Holy Spirit, the Lord’s Supper/Communion, Baptism, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostle’s Creed, the Ten Commandments, etc. Our lessons were based on Luther’s Small Catechism.

On the surface, this was basic religious stuff. But digging into some of these topics were pretty tough for adolescents to really understand. Some were ‘no-brainers’, for example, there wasn’t much discussion about the commandment ‘You shall not Kill’ – well, duh! Really hard to argue against this. On the other side, we were also going into some already confusing concepts like The Trinity. So there’s only one God but he’s three different people: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. So the Holy Spirit is a person too? but its all around us? I thought that was God? Yes, the Trinity – wait, what?

One tradition of Confirmation class was the 8th-graders would go on a weekend retreat to focus on our studies. I was actually looking forward to this trip. The retreats were held at Lutherdale in Elkhorn, WI. This was the same bible camp my family used to spend a week at once a year under beautiful summer Wisconsin skies.

Lutherdale held some of my favorite memories growing up. We could swim in a lake, canoe, do crafts, read, hike, sing and have campfires. With my family, the boys stayed in the cabins to the north and the girls stay in ‘cabins’ by the main building with my mom. They weren’t really cabins like the boys’ cabins. They were more modern and seemed more like apartments. But we were boys and we were ‘roughing it’. Dad never came on these week vacations.

To this day, when I smell breakfast food outside it takes me back to those summer weeks at Lutherdale. All meals were served family-style. And it was not unusual for me to be up before 7:00 am and wandering around outside. And a few of us lucky early risers would be able to ring the big red bell that stood in a 10-foot wooden tower. The bell was used to announce to the camp that breakfast, or whatever meal was being served, was now ready.

Everyone would gather in the dining hall and the camp pastor would lead us in prayer and give instructions on who was getting the food for the table, who was getting the drinks, who was cleaning up the table and when we were dismissed. I remember the camp pastor, particularly because his left arm was shriveled – I think was his left arm. It was very distracting as a kid and we were instructed not to stare at it.

During family camp, we spend time in the Craft Hut where camp counselors passed along their creativity. I remember making sand candles (wax poured into sand), masked tape bottles and my first forages into macrame and sand art. The Craft Hut counselors taught me about the wonders of Mod Podge. Meanwhile, at the camp’s chapel, Mr. Owl would play piano starting 1/2 hour before the morning’s lesson. She was willing to play any requested hymn. Inevitably someone would call out a Christmas Carol. Mrs. Owl would happily play the requested hymn even though it was July. We were amazed at how she knew the page numbers of the called out hymns in the Lutheran hymnal. Our voices would fill the chapel as others would file in for the morning or evening lessons.

I especially remember the long sunny summer afternoons swimming in the lake in a section designated as the swimming area on Lauderdale Lake. The camp used the ‘Buddy System’ so if you wanted to swim, you would need to find someone to swim with. To track this, each swimmer would put their numbered tags on a single hook on a board together. Occasionally the lifeguards on duty would yell, “Buddy Up!” and you would have to find your ‘buddy’ and grab their hand so the lifeguards could see you were not swimming alone. Of course, this wouldn’t prevent a double drowning but it would certainly cut down the odds. My brother Dave was typically my buddy.

Dave and I also learned to canoe on Lauderdale Lake. The Buddy System was also used for canoers. This allowed us to check out the needed paddles and life preservers as well. Dave and I would explore the coastline on either side of the camp. One of my greatest discoveries was finding out some of the seaweed in the lake was actually bladderworts. I would pull out this ‘seaweed’ and examine the ‘bladders’ and imagine how their little traps would work in the water. Bladderworts are an aquatic carnivorous plant I learned about after receiving a Venus Fly-Trap bulb from Dad. This likely fueled my recurring dreams of finding Venus Fly-Traps, Pitcher Plants and Sundews while wandering around in a field.

I also remember long lazy summer afternoons hanging out with Mom as she would spread out a blanket on the hill that led to the lake. I would bring my books to read next to her. Back then these were typically books about ants, carnivorous plants or cactus. With a cooling breeze coming off the lake, Mom would work on her needlepoint of the Last Supper or read. It seemed like she had been working on this needlepoint forever. She would eventually give her masterpiece to Pastor Keyes, our pastor at Messiah Lutheran in Park Ridge, IL. It really was a masterpiece, I was very impressed when it was finished. Other campers would occasionally stop by us and were equally impressed.

Mom was a meeting place for my siblings while we were at camp. I must admit, another reason I would hang out with Mom on those afternoons was to be around when the canteen would open. The ‘canteen’ was a little room with a window that opened to outside so counselors sell candy and ice creams to the campers. Ice cream on a hot afternoon as a rare treat at home would be an almost daily treat at Family Camp.

After supper, there would be an evening service followed by a bible study for adults and younger lessons for kids. Typically the kids gathered with the camp counselors down by a fire next to the lake.

I do remember occasionally accompanying Mom to the Adult Bible study. I’d like to think I was curious about one particular adult bible study on Esther. More likely I had done something to Dave. So my punishment was not being allowed to go to the campfire and forced to accompany Mom as she attended the Bible study. It turned out I found this Bible study to be very interesting and I returned the following evening to learn more about Esther and Mordecai. I don’t know if it was the reaction of the adults surprised I was not with the younger kids or if I actually outgrowing the ‘kid stuff’. I actually read Esther from Mom’s Living Bible, which I still have to this day. I think I was taking advantage of showing off my maturity and getting a chance to use Mom’s leather-bound bible. Nothing like sucking up to the locals at bible camp by reading a fancy bible on a sunny afternoon. That was the first ‘free reading’ of the bible I ever did until I attempted to read the Bible in its entirety after my parents died.

More typical was me going with my brother and sisters, and the Hippie youth leaders, sitting around a campfire and singing Kumbaya. This is when I learned this song. This was years before ‘Kumbaya’ became a sarcastic insincere moment of bonding. Once we were taught Kumbaya, we would sing it at church, at home or while we were riding our bikes. The counselors taught us many songs but Kumbaya was the song that would universally represent Bible Hippies singing around campfires at Bible Camps across the US.

The other song I remember learning at Lutherdale was “Pass It On”. This was years later during a different Family Camp but this time without my family. It was the summer after Dave and I had moved in with Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack, and John and Jim. It was a great, awkward and very different week.

That week we were joined by our cousins John and Jim. Later Dave and I would learn this was the first time they had spent time away from their parents. While it was great to be back at Lutherdale it was also weird sharing our family camp with our ‘new brothers’. Dave connected with one particular counselor who was in a singing group called Brethren. I believe his name was John and his group Brethren actually recorded a real album! At the end of the week, the counselor gave Dave an autographed copy of his album. I’ll admit I was a little jealous of the attention Dave was receiving. I also believe he inspired Dave to sing which led Dave to join Chorus in Wilmot Junior High, Deerfield High School, Valparaiso University and professionally (singing at weddings, etc.).

That week at Lutherdale, Dave’s new friend John and the rest of Brethren would sing ‘Pass It On’ after an evening meal. It would be a favorite request around the campfire that week as well. And it remains a favorite hymn for me to this day. It always brings me back to the warm glow of a Lutherdale campfire against the dark water background.

Another very strong memory from that week was when John and Jim called home because they were homesick. They were allowed to use the phone in the dining hall. Dave and I hung out on the screened porch just off the dining hall. There were many tears and alot of yelling about wanting to come home. They didn’t like Lutherdale. I couldn’t help choking up myself. At first, I didn’t understand how they could not enjoy being at camp, the lake, the Craft Hut, the campfires, the Canteen, etc. But then I realized my own homesickness – and mine was permanent. It was not lost on me, even while it was happening. Hearing Jim yell at his mom, literally screaming at times, to come to pick him and John up was heartwrenching. It also caused Dave and I to realize we had no one we could call. Despite our week of paradise, that phone call shook us back to our reality of life without our parents.

Besides being accompanied by John and Jim that week, there were a couple of additional guests at Lutherdale that week., Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were friends of my parents from our old church Messiah Lutheran. I’m sure this was no coincidence. I don’t remember my sister Hope being there. I mention this because their daughter Becky and Hope were very good friends and that seems strange she would not be with them.

One sunny afternoon I remember being in the cabin by myself. I was crying over the loss of my parents as I would occasionally do. Mr. Johnson came in and despite my best efforts, I could not hide the fact that I had been crying. Mr. Johnson sat down on the bunk across from me. After a few quiet moments, he told me how he was a soldier in World War II.

He told me, “One day my commander gathered us together. He told us we were going to take this hill from the enemy the next day. ‘There were going to be a high casualty rate, many of you will not make it,’ he said. All night I thought about that next day. I was so angry at God. The next day, the day we were going to take that hill, was my mom’s birthday. All I could think about was my mom hearing that I had died on her birthday. I couldn’t understand why God would do this to my mom.

“The next morning we took the hill. I cursed God as I charged up that hill with my buddies. Some of my friends were shot and some of them were killed but I kept fighting up that hill. After hours of fighting, I finally got to the top. I had made it, I was still alive. And I realized I had been cursing God the whole way up thinking about my mom and dying. But though I said some of the worse things I’ve ever said, God still protected me.

“John, I know losing your parents doesn’t make any sense but trust in God. As I stood on that hill I was so ashamed about what I said and I didn’t put my trust in God. No matter how bad things get, trust that God is always watching over you.”

It was the first time I had heard an actual war story from someone that was there. I knew he was sharing a very personal story because he took off his glasses to wipe his own tears. We sat on that bottom bunk not talking – just looking out the cabin’s dirty window.  Eventually, Mr. Johnson patted my leg, said he was going to find Mrs. Johnson and left.

I didn’t know how to respond. I was still very angry with God over the loss of my parents. It wasn’t fair. Contrary to Mr. Johnson, I thought, I had always trusted God so I didn’t understand why he took them away from us. The difference between Mr. Johnson and my story was he survived that day, my parents did not. If he hadn’t perhaps his mother and I could have cursed God together. But that obviously was not His plan. While I wasn’t sure how to take Mr. Johnson’s story, I understood it was a very personal moment he did not share with many people.

In the coming years, I would remember Mr. Johnson’s story. While my faith would eventually break, I learned that sharing your tragedy with others was very powerful. Like Love, when you open yourself up to your ’emotional core’ and allow that reopened wound to heal, it heals stronger then it was before. That afternoon I realized I was just beginning to charge up my own hill. And like Mr. Johnson, I would survive. And, again like Mr. Johnson, I would share my story with others. And while my telling would sometimes be painful, I knew I would be stronger for it. I would use my story to lend perspective to others. That week would be the last time I remember seeing Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.

Over the years, I have shared my story about how my parents died, in fact, many many times. People who know me, particularly those who know Dave and my other brothers and sisters, would often remark on how ‘normal’ we appeared. I always found this comforting. Because ‘normal’ was all I ever wanted to be. While our past threatened to overwhelm us, while it deformed, skewed, misshapen and warped us – we were all made stronger and weaker.  Normal? yea – for me, that would perfect.

So if we appeared ‘normal’ it meant our upheaval in the last two years did not perspectively seep into our everyday lives. This is given to the fact that today we live in an age where kids get special attention for anything that isn’t viewed as ‘normal’, Dave and I, nor Hope, Lee or Dawn as far as I know, ever saw a psychiatrist or social worker or spent extra time with clergy. We found our own answers and kept any deformity at bay.

I take particular pride in navigating the moral and philosophical issues of my parents’ deaths presented to me while I was growing up. That isn’t to say I didn’t make alot of wrong turns and mistakes. One of my first wrong turns was blaming God. This particular mistake would not be corrected for twenty years. But by blaming God I began to move on with my life. That isn’t to say I stopped questioning ‘Why?’ but I stopped waiting for an answer to my situation. This led to the following conclusions, what I would later refer to as  my mantra:

1. I became Agnostic. I liked to think there was a higher power but God did not play a part in my daily life. I found it ironic wanting a higher power but something had to have kicked off the Big Bang, right?
2. Religion was a crutch. A strong person didn’t need religion but there are times and points in your life when you are hurt and need to heal – at those moments religion can be a refuge. The problem is some people would lean on their religion too much and never truly take responsibility for their own lives.
3. People are basically good. In high school, I would argue that people were 51% good and 49% bad and individuals would run between those ratios as well. It was this basic belief that would keep me from wanting to condemn the entire human race and keep some hope.
4. Life was a series of random acts, most are without intent. We should appreciate the statistical anomalies that affect us in both good and bad ways.

With this ‘mantra’ I started my life. I knew I had a unique perspective. I would test these core beliefs with discussions with my friends and a lot of thinking. I felt empowered by these conclusions but I also knew some were contrary to my family’s beliefs. So this led me to hide my true feelings and thoughts on religion. It also was the beginning of my multiple personality disorder.

OK, so I don’t really have a multiple personality disorder, but by the time I had figured out my way around high school, it felt like it. While my birth name is John, in Junior High I was given a nickname of ‘Waba’. At the same time, to avoid confusion at home with my cousin John and my Uncle Jack, whose real name is John, I received another nickname – Trike. On my path to figuring out my past and my life I wrote this poem:

People say I’m so different,
they say sometimes I’m someone else
Only my best friends know me all,
we all have our characteristics

First, there’s John, he’s rather depressed,
he’s always live in the past
His mind is just a one-way road,
it always seems to be death, death, death

Then there’s Trike, he’s rather quiet,
he always does what he is told
If you want to find him there’s two places to go,
he’s either at church or he’s sitting at home

Then there’s Waba, he’s rather strange
he goes out to drink and smoke
He’s rather crazy and he’s never alone,
I’m afraid someday, he will go too far

Well, that’s me, that all of us,
we get along most of the time
When I grow up I don’t know who I’ll be,
somedays I wish I could just be me

The poem spoke to the various roles I thought I played. In hindsight, it was easier to ‘go with the flow’ when playing these roles. In high school, I was not very active in the church. While John and I volunteered to take care of the plants in the atrium, this was really about our interests in plants rather than to serve the church in the form of stewardship. But by the time we got to high school, we all had part times jobs on the weekends and occasionally this included working Sunday morning. And while we still went to church services but we didn’t always stay for Sunday School. Trike was the more demure character that would take care of the plants at church. Or play guitar for the summer services. And he was always polite and respectful of his elders.

John represented my past which I was trying to put behind me. As I would learn, this was not always possible. He still loved ants, cactus and carnivorous plants. He would fly model rockets, look for mushrooms in the Olson’s woods and look for, and some times transplant, wildflowers (Soloman Seals, Prairie Trillium, Jack-In-Pulpits, Mayapples and White Trillium) into our backyard. And it was John that would learn to play Dungeons and Dragons. He would always have a book he was reading, which included Stephen King novels and later fantasy and science fiction. He also collected pop cans and monster magazines.

Waba became my extroverted self – my carefree, talkative, confident character. It was Waba that first smoked pot at a party senior year. And Waba that would have an assistant manager at Franks Nursery where he worked fill the trunk of his car with bottles of Jack Daniels and beer (and Southern Comfort for Jeff). But Waba was still shy around girls but he would be the only one of the three to make any progress. And Waba loved his music.

It was easier to act a certain way in certain situations. It was these roles and these characters that I began to use in school and confirmation classes. Trike would really try to understand what Luther was trying to tell us about the foundations of our Lutheran beliefs. John would play ‘doubting Thomas’ asking unanswerable questions and blaming God for the pain in his heart. Waba would sit in class and look at the girls. And try to find ways to connect with the guys that could talk to the girls.

So eighteen months after Mr. Johnson share his story with me, John and I, and our confirmation class, found ourselves at Lutherdale. But on a cold dark January weekend, Lutherdale was a strange place. It was not the warm family playground I had spent 3 or 4 summer weeks with my family. But my family had now changed drastically as well. That January night as my confirmation class got out of the cars that night, I stood in that cold parking lot next to the silent dark buildings as the adults figured out where we should go. I surveyed the snowy landscape that was both familiar and strange. The dormant slope that played host to so many fond memories which I knew laid below the light of the parking lot.

Like all confirmation retreats, the boys went to one cabin and the girls to another. Once we were inside the boys’ cabins, the sense of familiarity became stronger despite how cold it was. The boys claimed their bunks and were told to stay together on one side of the cabin. Each side of the cabin was capable of sleeping 12 people so almost everyone could have a top bunk. We were to unpack and then meet the girls in a room in the main building for our first lesson.

The weekend was a chance to focus on our lessons. We had 4 months before our confirmation. Besides diving deep into our studies on what it meant to be a Lutheran, the class had one more chance to bond together. But also keeping in mind we were all 13 and 14 years old. Even if we viewed Confirmation class as one more thing we had to get through, this retreat brought us closer to being done. I was doing what my aunt and uncle wanted me to do. But beneath that veneer, I was looking for an answer – why did God take my parents away.

My religious beliefs prior to their deaths were childlike. God was just part of who I was. In the years that followed I would try to understand what my brothers and my sisters and I did to deserve this.  Why had God turned against us? Confirmation class was not prepared to deal with my situation. And I did not use these classes to test Pastor Trendel. Like the social circles in junior high, I was learning what role I should play. I would not be the center of attention. I would act normal, or like the other kids, ignoring my questions and doing what was expected of me. If I was called on, I would give the right answers – or what I thought was the right answer. I would search for my own answers by reading the Bible or the Small Catechism.  But I did not find my answers there. And like the other kids in class, some of this stuff just didn’t make sense to me.

For the most part, our class was pretty well behaved – for the most part. Pastor Trendel would occasionally need to deal with the boys trying to show off in front of the girls. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was reacting to some of the topics we discuss. There were some heavier questions. For example, while I knew I wasn’t perfect, it didn’t make sense to me that babies that were not baptized were still sinners. Logically, they couldn’t do anything yet so why would they not go to heaven? Also, I found the ‘Three-in-One’ confusing. Yes, One God, but there were three of them. I found a better explanation later as the states of elements – like ice, water and steam. The lessons were more about giving the right answers described by Martin Luther in his Small Catechism. This was not a philosophy class after all. Many of my questions were much deeper, more complex, more on an adult level. But trying to find my answers in the Bible was like a schizophrenic trying to find out what is wrong with themselves by reading an intro to psychology book. It was not going to happen in Confirmation class

So depending on the setting and other things going in class, I would slip in and out of my various characters. This led me to do some stupid things. For example, on our retreat at Lutherdale after dinner but before resuming our studies, two of the girls, two of the guys, and I went to explore the frozen lake. We were really just trying to get away from the chaperones. Being winter, the only places we could go to were the boys’ cabin, the girls’ cabin and the main building. So walking around on a frozen lake seemed like a perfectly logical place to hang out. And besides getting out from being ‘supervised, the cold dark lake hike seemed like the ‘cool’ thing to do. And who knows, maybe I could actually talk to the girls Jim and Jeff were hitting on.

While we were on the lake, someone realized the time. We were supposed to be meet back with the group at 7:00 to continue our lessons. So someone came up with the brilliant idea that if we all set our watches back by 10 minutes, we could just play dumb and we wouldn’t get in any trouble.

Not a brilliant idea but I was pleased just to be in on the scheme. All I had to do is figure out how to change the time on my digital watch. When we all strolled into the room at 10 minutes after 7:00, the assistant minister Giesela’s frustration with our tardiness was apparent. We all gave the best looks of astonishment we could mustard. We quickly conversed with each other – “What does your watch say?” “I’ve got seven.” “Yea, me too!” “So do I,” I announced, probably too loudly. I was happy to be on the bad boys & girls team.

Pastor Trendal or his assistant Giesela didn’t buy our story. We were told to sit down and to open our books to the continued the lesson they had already started. Jim, Jeff and the girls exchanged silent giggles. And while I was on the lake as well and turned my watch to the agreed synchronized time, I was really not part of that team. But I would keep trying.

Part of my problem was I still interested in geeky stuff. That’s why 2 hours later when one of the kids convinced the Pastor we could play a new game he was playing called Dungeons and Dragons, I stood with Jim and Jeff and quietly scoffed at the kid and Pastor as they tried to get 15 of us to roll up characters to play this new game – that frankly, no one understood. After an hour, Pastor finally decided that Dungeons and Dragons was not the group game he was told it could be. He reorganized the chaos that had evolved and we settled down for the night. But when we left the next morning, I make sure I was in the Dungeon and Dragon kid’s car. You see, his car was stopping at the Dungeon Shop in Lake Geneva on the way back.

It turned out The Dungeon Shop was the hobby store that Gary Gygax, the inventor of Dungeons & Dragons, first distributed the game. I don’t know why I wanted to go to the Dungeon Shop, I didn’t have any money. What I really wanted was to learn more about this Dungeon and Dragons game. It turned out, according to the man behind the counter, that next year they were releasing their new version of the rules in the Players Handbook. So I gawked at the original box of 3 books. A year later I purchased the Player’s Handbook at Waldenbooks. This led to forming a group of 4-5 friends that would play Dungeons & Dragons on weekends and school days off. These sessions were typically held in Steve Olson’s basement. The group would consist of me, Steve Olson, his brother Mark, Jeff Riviera and Todd Combs with Steve or I playing the Dungeon Master. Those were good times.

While the trip back home allowed me to learn more about this Dungeon and Dragons game, actually playing the game was still over a year or two away. John and I were picked up in the church parking lot that Sunday. We still had to pass our confirmation class and get confirmed. Honestly, I never thought what would have happened if someone didn’t pass. Waba would not be the right character to use to finish up the few classes we had left. I suppose a kid that couldn’t pass confirmation would likely have other issues beyond passing a class for church.

By ’77 what I was really doing was finding my way in life. This included defining who I was and what I was expecting out of life. My various nicknames were convenient ways to split up the different backdrops I was playing against and dependant on who I was interacting with. It was the beginning of me looking at myself objectively. ‘John’ was decidedly part of the past and had the burden of understanding death. ‘Trike’ was the demure side of me that didn’t have the weight of death around him. ‘Waba’ was the reckless, carefree side of me that struggled to fit in with others. He was furthest from my past and would carry, sometimes crying, into the future.

Part of my solution was to tell the adults what they wanted to hear. They wanted me to be ok – so I was always ok. I would struggle with the senselessness of life when weighed with the death of my parents. This brought my first thoughts of suicide but with it, the tension of further pain to my brothers and sisters. It was a line I would not cross but dance back and forth over for relief to my pain.

It would be years before I would understand religion in any substantial way. In Eighth Grade, it was another class I needed to get through. Another backdrop for one of my characters to play in front of. Trike did a fine job giving the adults the answers they wanted to hear. He would keep John quiet with all his questions about hypocrisy and double standards. Because of this, it would be years before he would understand forgiveness and grace. Trike could be very practical and patience to a fault.

It would be Waba that would learn what a douche was from a bunch of kids in the back of station wagon on the way to a roller skating rink. And when I would hear ‘Blinded By The Light’ again on my new boombox I would learn it was a song by Manfred Mann. Occasional the radio station would play the album version which was about 2 minutes longer if you were lucky enough to catch it. And the kid that told me he was singing about a douche? He was the ‘douchebag’ – Manfred was singing about a deuce. The lyric went “wrapped up like a deuce when you’re roller’ in the night.”

I never felt like I was blinded by ‘the light’. Even when my faith grew stronger, there was never an epiphany or an awaking. In fact, I was just beginning to feel I was understanding ‘The Light’ – The Light of understanding this life. It was a feeling that I was understanding. In my ego, I thought I understood Life better than most of the people around me. It was this faith in my own understanding, not my religious faith, is what would anchor me in the coming years. And while this Light would guide me in the years and decades to come I would constantly lose my way and make mistakes – just like any other kid. I would continue to learn about Life and Death. How these two things would balancing me and my beliefs. And how The Light shined and brightened my living and my loving of the people in my life.