95 Theses 95 is a manifesto (published as fiction) by Garrison Keillor. The work consists of the thoughts of an adult whose life has been profoundly shaped by his upbringing.

I found it fascinating reading. I also found it to be one of the saddest, yet most thought-provoking things I've ever read. Some of you have probably read it.

I posted one earlier in the Orange Crop thread, but I believe they're all important.

Here, unabridged, one at a time, is the document.

1. You have fed me wretched food, vegetables, boiled to extinction, fistfuls of white sugar, slabs of fat mucousy casseroles made with globs of cream of mushroom, until it's amazing my heart still beats. Food was not fuel but ballast; we ate and then we sank like rocks. Every Sunday, everyone got stoned on dinner except the women who cooked it and thereby lost their appetites--the rest of us did our duty and ate ourselves into a gaseous stupor and sat around in a trance and mumbled like a bunch of beefheads.

Hey, sounds like a great dinner to me!

2. Every Advent, we entered the purgatory of lutefisk, a repulsive gelatinous fishlike dish that tasted of soap and gave off an odor that would gag a goat. We did this in honor of Norwegian ancestors, much as if the survivors of a famine might celebrate their deliverance by feasting on elm bark. I always felt the cold creeps as Advent approached, knowing that this dread delicacy would be put before me and I'd be told, "Just have a little." Eating "a little" was, like vomiting "a little," as bad as "a lot."

My nose is usually stopped-up during Advent. But even as a kid I loved to eat soap.

Soap?
And when you say "even as a kid", does that meand you enjoy it even more now?

"Over the years I got to be quite a connoisseur of soap. Though my personal preference was for Lux, I found that Palmolive had a nice, piquant after-dinner flavor - heavy, but with a touch of mellow smoothness. Lifebuoy, on the other hand...yecchh!"

- Ralphie, A Christmas Story

3. You have subjected me to endless boring talk about the weather, regularity, back problems, and whether something happened in 1938 or 1939, insisting that I sit quietly and listen to every word. "How's it going with you?" you said. "Oh, about the same," you replied. "Cold enough for you?" It was always cold, always about the same.

4. You taught me to worship a god who is like you, who shares your thinking exactly, who is going to slap me one if I don't straighten out fast. I am very uneasy every Sunday, which is cloudy and deathly still and filled with silent accusing whispers.

5. You have taught me to feel shame and disgust about my own body, so that I am afraid to clear my throat or blow my nose. Even now I run water in the sink when I go to the bathroom. "Go to the bathroom" is a term you taught me to use.

quote:

Originally posted by Doug Spaulding:
3. You have subjected me to endless boring talk about the weather, regularity, back problems, and whether something happened in 1938 or 1939, insisting that I sit quietly and listen to every word. "How's it going with you?" you said. "Oh, about the same," you replied. "Cold enough for you?" It was always cold, always about the same.

Hey, my old neighbor sounded like this.

quote:

Originally posted by Doug Spaulding:
5. You have taught me to feel shame and disgust about my own body, so that I am afraid to clear my throat or blow my nose. Even now I run water in the sink when I go to the bathroom. "Go to the bathroom" is a term you taught me to use.

Spaulding, this isn't semi autobiographical as well, is it?

quote:

Originally posted by embroiderer:
Spaulding, this isn't semi autobiographical as well, is it?

No. I had good parents.

6. You have taught me the fear of becoming lost, which has killed the pleasure of curiosity and discovery. In strange cities, I memorize streets and always know exactly where I am. Amid scenes of great splendor, I review the route back to the hotel.

7. You have taught me to fear strangers and their illicit designs, robbing me of easy companionship, making me a very suspicious friend. Even among those I know well, I continue to worry: what do they really mean by liking me?