Categories: All Articles, Children, Family, Growth, Mission, My Heart is Brim with Joy
Weaning, Part One
Every winter I end up caring for four or five cats. They’re usually young, semi-wild cats that need help getting through the tough season. When spring arrives and the snow melts I taper off the feeding program by putting food out only every other day. That causes them to get a little desperate and start to cast about for another food source. They quickly learn about mice and how to hunt. Keeping the mice and gophers in check is the reason for their presence on our place. As soon as I see that they’re not desperate for food anymore I quit feeding them altogether. They transition from being very dependent on me to becoming much happier when they’re self-sufficient and off their diet of dry cat food.
In the livestock business this is called weaning. When calves are seven or more months old they’re penned away from their mothers. Unlike my less-precipitous weaning process with the cats, the calves’ separation from their mothers is sudden, and becomes a major event in the lives of the calves and their mothers. Both gather on their opposite sides of the fence and bawl until they become hoarse. The din is deafening. After three days both the babies and their mothers realize that the world hasn’t ended, and that life can go on independently. They quit bawling and go about their business.
The same thing happens with humans, but it’s usually even more gradual than my cat weaning. As an older teenager the child gets a driver’s license, begins making his own decisions, starts dating, gets a job, and goes off to college. In the case of a Latter-day Saint young man, he gets a mission call and goes away for two years.
“That’s quite a weaning process,” my non-member father observed.
And, indeed, it is. The kid goes away unsure of himself, with much trepidation, and comes back a man exuding self-confidence. He takes on a shine that stems from his righteousness and maturity.
The change can be quite dramatic. It was never more so than in the case of our good friend, Erin Anderson. All on his own, Erin joined the Church as an older teenager. Prior to that time he looked like a lost soul with long, stringy hair, and an unkempt appearance.
We saw Erin’s potential, and invited him to our place. We enjoyed him, and he enjoyed us and our children. He adopted our family and became a fixture, coming out from town at every opportunity, and staying as late as he possibly could. He basked in the atmosphere of our home and family, and soaked up the good feelings he felt there. He was on fire about the Church, and we’d often talk about gospel subjects late into the night until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any more. I’d go to bed, and still Erin would linger as long as he could talking with Marjorie.
It was my privilege to escort Erin through the temple when he received his endowment. It was again my privilege to drive him to Provo and put him in the Missionary Training Center. He bawled all the way to Boise. He reminded me of the calves.
Erin became a great missionary, serving in West Virginia. He came home astoundingly shiny. He had decided that he wanted to go to college, so he went to the high school to request a transcript of his work. Carmen Ott asked him his name. He replied, “Erin Anderson.”
“You are not!” Carmen stated emphatically. “I know Erin Anderson, and you’re not Erin Anderson.”
Finding oneself, learning about your capabilities, and getting out on your own often starts out traumatically, but quickly turns to a sense of satisfaction.
My own personal weaning process was the most difficult and traumatic that I’ve ever known. I didn’t have the Church, had no idea who I was, absolutely did not want to leave home, and was terrified about life and the world. I suffered for perhaps two years, and only found relief when I found the Church. As in Erin Anderson’s case, my change was dramatic.
The weaning of my sons was much less no. They were prepared and ready to go. Each of them was wide-eyed and nervous as he embarked on his mission, but in a very short time he was into the work, loving it, and relishing his new-found independence and capability.
I don’t remember any difficulty at all with my girls leaving home. They were all mature, and eager to go to college. The trauma in their leaving was all on the part of their would-be admirers.
One young man didn’t want to serve a mission, but was flatly told by the Kerns girl in whom he was interested that she’d never even consider him as a potential husband if he didn’t serve a mission. He reluctantly went, served a fine mission, and each of them found and married his and her proper spouse, and has lived happily ever after.
Another young man had a long-standing crush on another of my daughters and wistfully asked his mother, “Do you suppose Ivy will still be available after my mission?”
His mother replied comfortingly, “I’m sure she won’t. Kerns girls don’t keep! If you don’t serve a mission, she wouldn’t look at you anyway, so you may as well go and make the best of it.”
Weaning can be difficult, but the Church has the best system of all. If handled right, everything works out happier and much better for everyone than one could ever imagine beforehand.