My Mormon roots

This morning on the Meet the Press, Colin Powell endorsed Obama. He carefully addressed all the reasons that he wasn’t endorsing McCain and sounded absolutely credible and important, like his endorsement mattered. It was like hearing that the Emperor has no clothes. I especially liked it when he said that McCain’s running mate is simply not ready to be president, which is the purpose of that job. It will likely matter most for those who remain undecided especially those that voted for Bush last time, feel left behind, and are hoping for something to change. It was an exciting if not entirely surprising moment.

I am on my way out of Salt Lake City, sitting in the airport amidst thousands and thousands of Mormon children who belong to a parent or two in the crowd. It doesn’t really matter if they end up with their actual birth parents once the plane arrives because everyone looks and acts exactly the same making that kind of exchange not really that odd. I was here for the weekend—Park City to be exact—with my brother and sister-in-law visiting my Dad and his wife of 40-plus years (not my Mom). It was my Dad’s 78th birthday on Saturday; my brother Gregg, born on that same day, would have been 53. That makes nineteen years that he has/I have missed (him).

My brothers and I are a quarter Mormon. My Mom’s father was a Mormon and most of his family lived right here in Salt Lake City. About 10 years ago, my Mom had a sudden hankering for finding out more about her father who died when she was around four years old. She and I took at trip to Salt Lake to do some geneological research. After a few days, we located him on the Mormon database and found out that her long-lost half sister (supposedly from his first marriage), whose name is Alice, may have in fact been his first wife. We also learned that my Grandmother and my Mom were never entered into the database—nor my brothers or myself—for reasons that obviously had something to do with us being Jewish and not qualified to go to Mormon heaven. Despite that oversight, my Mom and I were happy to see that my Grandfather made it into the system and, hopefully, into Heaven considering that the Mormon’s don’t condone the way in which he left this planet.

I don’t have anything against the Mormons. Frankly, I think most religions are for the birds. I think that Utah, however, is a very strange place considering its history. Could it be the only state whose collective identity is wrapped around one single faith? Probably. For me, that just doesn’t sit right. Despite that I do love the land here. In my opinion, it holds the most stunning landscape that I’ve ever seen, anywhere. For that alone, I can say that I love this place, but I'm heading home.