It is hard for me to talk about religion or my roots in
theatre without talking about my grandfather.
Boasting the nearly ridiculous full name: The Reverend Dr. Kenneth Ackerman Friou,
Senior, he is, in many ways, the man
with whom this journey began.
As with any parents, my parents definitely had things they
excelled at more than others. Despite
their splitting up when I was nine, one of the things I’m very grateful for was
the approach they took to religion. My
mother had been raised Catholic and went to Catholic school through the eighth
grade. My father on the other hand was
raised by a United Church of Christ Minister.
We had a bit of a Brady Bunch family.
My four older siblings are all from my dad’s first marriage. I don’t know if it was ever a formal
conversation or not, but I remember very clearly the rules regarding church in
my family. My parents felt it was their
responsibility to raise us in the church but that ultimately religion was a
very personal thing that only we could decide.
So the rule was, we went to Sunday school through the sixth grade and
then it was up to us.
I imagine this came about for a few reasons. My mom being what she called a “recovering
Catholic” had never been particularly pleased with the fact that she felt like
religion had been something that you just had to swallow no matter if you
agreed or disagreed. And my father, well
he was raised by the Reverend Dr .
As a child Grandpa was one of those magical figures. We all have memories of him teaching us to do
things like cartwheels, declaring rainy days in the summer days for painting,
and I certainly remember that for as many years as he has had my address, that
I have gotten a birthday poem. He seemed
like a man from a different time, I
never remember him wearing jeans, and he wears his 30 year olds suits on any
occasion possible. And Grandpa LOVED the
theatre. Every year he treated us to
something. I remember seeing Christmas
Carol, the ballet of Romeo and Juliet and various other things. When I was sixteen, he brought my cousins and
I to New Yorker (where he grew up, coincidentally about half a mile from where
I now live) and took me to see my first Broadway show.
I remember Grandpa’s library filled beyond the brim of
ancient books. Most of them about either
religion or theatre. This, in and of
itself seemed magical. I don’t remember
most of my friends having grandparents who even HAD a library. My mother had gone to school to get her LPN,
but that was it on her side and my dad didn’t get a degree until I was about
14, so there was something exotic and impressive about both my Grandfather and
Grandmother’s level of education.
Grandma had studied biology in undergrade and received a Masters of
Nursing from Yale when she was only 22.
Grandpa, likewise was educated.
One might say OVER educated. If I
remember correctly, he has a Masters of Philosophy, a Doctor of Divinity, and a
PhD of some sort that I can’t quite remember.
He was specifically interested in Art and Faith.
Anyone who has met the Reverend Dr. will tell you that if you
even come remotely close to the topic of either of those that you may very well
end up with a story/lecture that can literally last for HOURS. But it was in his living room, dining room, in
the cabin in Maine
that I first heard the names of Ibsen, Strindberg and so forth.
As a child I remember he and Grandma being very devout. They would shuttle us to church even when we
were visiting their cabin in Maine
during the summers. We always dressed up
and as the minister’s grandkids, we were ALWAYS on our best behavior. But even in my earliest memories, I also
remember religion being something one wrestled with. It wasn’t something one blindly
accepted. Sure they read a bible passage
before dinner and we all politely folded our hands and blessed every meal. But I always associated my Grandfather’s
faith with that room full of books. And
I always thought of theatre as something imbued with philosophy, and faith – or
why else would he have been fascinated enough by it to want to do a PhD on
it.
One day, most likely as a teenager, I asked him about being
a UCC minister. If my memory serves me
correctly (please excuse anything I remember incorrectly,) the response was
something to this effect. He had grown
up Methodist, as had my Grandmother, and went to Union Seminary in NY. After living here for a number of years his
approach to religion/life/philosophy and the fact he went to school there all
makes soooo much more sense. But at the
time he told me that the Methodist
Church
I remember my parents telling me about a time when my
Grandfather used to do liturgical dance (!!!) and do readings of Walt Whitmann
poetry. I was always very sad I had
missed that.
But when I got to college I discovered there was way more
there even than that. I was visiting
them around the time we invaded Iraq
and before my Grandmother’s Alzheimer’s had set in. Something about it came on the news and I
remember my Grandmother exclaiming, “This administration is a bunch of
Fascists.” I’m pretty sure my jaw
dropped open. It certainly seemed to me
that she had used the “F” word of her generation. Also, it had NEVER occurred to me, for some
silly reason, that my grandparents were political beings. Academics yes, but political? In the conversation that followed I remember
telling them that I was going to go to an anit-war protest with the chapel at
school when I went back to Macalester.
My grandmother looked me in the eye and said , “You do it for us,
because we can’t do it anymore.”
In telling my mother about this later, she was like, oh
yeah, you didn’t know that your Grandfather was involved in some of the major
civil rights protests in the late 60’s?
I was like, what???? How did I
miss that part?
Sadly, I became an adult just as my Grandmother began her
regression. I have more questions for
her than I ever knew I would. I’ve asked
my Grandpa about it some and he certainly has stories…but she was always the
one to corroborate them. And one of
which, will be a later topic for this blog.
I have however, also gotten to talk to my grandfather’s brother who was
also a UCC minister who actually had a church in DC in the late 60’s. From the pieces I’ve put together. Beyond just being devout, the church, and the
UCC church, represented an opportunity to be actively involved in social
justice. As a family equal rights were important
to them. My grandfather, from what I’ve
gathered, was largely responsible for the first parts of integrating his first
church here in New York
State
When I got to Macalester and many of my classmates were very
down on organized religion I was super confused. I started thinking that maybe what I believed
was some sort of something I had just made up.
Even after three years, I wasn’t completely sure that I hadn’t conjured
up my own religion. To me, the church
represented love and forgiveness. It
represented peace.
It wasn’t until I lived with a couple of religious studies
majors who were like, oh, you were raised UCC?
Oh yeah, that’s the UCC’s thing. It
is a mostly progressive congregation denomination. They have a very long history of ordaining
women, and GLBTQ ministers. Social
justice is one of their primary tenets. And
to this day they have had their adds banned on major news channels because they
are all inclusive. Suddenly, it made a
lot more sense.
Needless to say, we were raised with that philosophy. Strangely, I’m not sure I really know how
strongly either of my parents believes in their faith. Maybe I should ask? But I do feel like they gave me a real
gift. I never had to rebel against my
religion. There was nothing to really
rebel against. In fact, the church is
probably one of the best social service organizations I’ve ever been aligned
with. As an adult, I really appreciate having the
freedom to choose my faith, and the understanding that it isn’t something that
I should take lightly, or ever let someone else decide for me. Faith is, in so many ways, one of the most
personal parts of us. What we
BELIEVE. I mean seriously, my Grandpa
is still studying it. He is 92 years
old. He spends his spare time learning
Greek as he translates a Greek bible into English. Last year he came to visit New York to attend a reunion/seminar about
the King James Bible. A bunch of
ministers geeking out about various translations.
On the same trip, he insisted I take him into Second Stage
where I was working on The Blue Flower at the time. I took him into the space, and I watched this
man I looked up to so much as a child have his breathe taken away. As we got back in the elevator, he looked at
me and said, “Your Great Grandfather would be so proud of you. You know, I would have spent my life in
theatre if I could have.” Its easy to
forget our accomplishments, and for a moment, seeing it through his eyes it was
magical. Like any family, ours is very
complicated, okay, that’s an understatement, it’s very complicated, and this is
in many ways a sugar coated version of our religious history. But in that moment it was so clear to me that
I am my grandfather’s granddaughter, and for that, I too was incredibly proud.
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