I didn't want to hijack D&D's wonderful thread here.

https://www.exmormon.org/phorum/read.php?2,2429495

So, the not even one club is for kids what the miracle of forced giving club is to adult Mormons. How? Well, if you can succeed as a young person before adulthood at avoiding everything bad for you except sugar and treats you get to progress into the club where money is required to be in their club.

And where is the miracle? For most it is being offered membership despite how many times over once you did all the things Wendy's book details. Isn't it wonderful, marvelous?

For a children's book The Not Even Once book captures a lot of Mormon culture and conformity. There is a club. You get in it by obedience and you get other people's company and their treats. There is even a club card. And to top it all off, you get to feel like you did nothing bad, not even once. Truly a miracle.

In a nutshell Mormonism is a kiddie club. You get to go to a special clubhouse and feel superior to others borrowing from the collective club "not even once" standards of behavior and treat non club members as if they could never be worthy enough to join the collective club conscience.

And just like all clubs there is a pecking order and more and less worthy and pay to play fees. It's a miracle any Christlike behaviors come out of Mormonism much less unconditional and unconditioned love.

That pretty well sums it up. Except for the part where some gain a sense of smug self righteousness and others self loathing. And all because they're not supposed to be humans or mortals with all that entails.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 05/18/2022 03:59PM by Devoted Exmo.

Yes. And Extortion Club may be applicable as well.

Pay your tithing, or else! No CK for you buster. You'll never see your kids again!!!! And no candy a pretzels either.

-It's a miracle any Christlike behaviors come out of Mormonism much less unconditional and unconditioned love.


That's what I used to think about, trying to do what Christ would do. So back when the church used to have these quarterly stake ph conferences/meetings, my Dad and I were late after stopping to help a stranded motorist, elderly couple. This was long before cell phones.

So Dad being a mechanic offered to help them. He couldn't get their car running. So he drove several miles to a nearby service station and got the tow truck person to follow him back. That's the kind of person my Dad was- trying to help others without rewards or recognition.

So we were late and I watched the eyes of the leaders sitting on the stand. They looked furious. Apparently, the stake presidency called every ph organization to stand and be recognized. My Dad had been recently called as an assistant in the High Priest group leadership.

After the meeting, the stake clerk ran over to us. We got a big rebuke- told off for setting a poor example for arriving late. None of them gave us a chance to explain- just a shitty reminder that god expects us to magnify our ph and duties- blah, blah blah.

That would make an excellent anecdotal story for General Conference. So up lifting. So Christ like. WWJD? Maybe it could end with making donuts in the church kitchen. Oh wait...

Love how your mind put that together.

My dad wasn't very active, didn't like having callings, especially ward clerk, but he always helped everyone. He was one tough guy and he was also a mechanic. He taught Ag Mechanics at Bear River High School. He was often called in the ward to fix something for someone and he always did it free. He was a good man and my mom was a good woman, but they weren't considered the royalty of the ward.

When my mom died and the new bishop came by the house to talk to my dad, my dad said he left thinking my parents were poor as they lived in the house they bought when I was 3 years old all their lives and they never remodeled it or anything. BUT my dad left us a farm worth a lot of money to take care of our 2 disabled brothers and one brother lives in that house.

My parents didn't put on any airs. They were just good people.

Your dad sounds like that kind of person. Mormonism is not the place for those people.

I'm sure that my Dad would have enjoyed meeting your Dad. He liked talking with people about their work, places and experiences- really nothing to do about church. He was such a clown that he would say different things to get a laugh. If every ward were to have a jester than that would have been his perfect calling.

He was such a goofball that it's no wonder he ever got promoted to the high priest office. He was a 60 year old elder before serving in the hp group leadership.

I think he gave two sacrament talks in his lifetime (once during my missionary farewell- he teared up but never my Mom) and the other one when he was called as a high priest.

During ward conference, they wanted to hear from the newly created hp group leadership. Each was to give a 5 minute talk. The hp leader gave a standard Mormon church leader talk. The next hp assistant loved airplanes. He went on and on about his passion for flying, different airplane models and makes. It was a nice diversion, but bishopric kept tugging on his shirt sleeve and he kept rebuffing him- I'm just getting to the exciting part where I was prompted by the still small voice. It was pretty funny that sacrament mtg was at least 15 minutes into sunday school time- the ss presidency were about to lose it!

So my Dad finally gets a chance to speak.-Now that Brother Jones has told you all about these neat airplanes, I am going to share how you need to maintain and repair them! The ward congregation roared in laughter. One guy was laughing so hard, he fell forward and banged his head on the pew.

The stake president groaned and put his head in his lap. The only thing my Dad said was that he loved the savior and sat down.

My Dad was a top grade airplane mechanic, but he loved his choo choo trains even more!



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 05/19/2022 04:11PM by messygoop.

that I can remember. I'd have to ask my older sister. She'd remember. He may have spoke in testimony meeting when my brother was hit by a pickup and actually survived. I never saw my dad cry until that day.

My dad was a jokester. He was always playing jokes on his coworkers and they on him.

My dad was at least 60 when he was made a high priest. He complained about it as the said the elders were more fun.

He didn't serve a mission. He and my mom married at 19 and 20 (my mom was almost a year older).

Couple of interesting reviews on Amazon. BTW, you can get the hardcover of this atrocious book for only $18.83

From Amazon:

Verified Purchase
Normal good humans don’t teach their kids to act like these kids. Awful book.

98 people found this helpful

Verified Purchase
This book sends a terrible message to young kids. In the story, in order to belong to their club, you have to promise not to sin, "not even once." This message goes against everything Christ stood for: tolerance, inclusion, repentance, and forgiveness. This book teaches children to be exclusionary and that if a child sins, "even once," that they are somehow less than and aren't worthy of being friends with. This book should be retracted by the publisher.

198 people found this helpful

For most of my adulthood, I've taken an interest in the gray areas of life.

As most of you know, I'm an urban teacher. I spent the bulk of my career working with kids who would make your hair stand on end. They would appear at my classroom door in the morning, and when I would greet them and ask them to go to their desk and start their work, I would be pronounced a "b**ch* in return. I would be disrespected on the regular. I was hit, kicked, punched, tripped, and more. They thought nothing of destroying my classroom, my supplies, my files. They would throw books, papers, and pencils out the windows. They would fight each other. There was a time when I would attempt (sometimes successfully, sometimes not,) to break up those fights.

The statistics were dismal. There was a point long ago where the statistics were, out of an average class (of maybe 25 kids,) only eight would make it to high school. Of those children, only one would graduate. One. ONE. Every year, I would look over my new class, and wonder, who is the one? Who is the child that I can reach? And it's not like I ever gave up hope, or gave up working for the others -- I didn't -- but I was always there for that one -- the one who could be reached. The one who could be rescued, who could have a better life.

I am not a particularly religious person, but many times I saw my day as, "at work in the fields of the Lord."

Mormon morality is easy. Obey your leaders, follow the rules, pay your tithes. But a lot of moral decisions in life are not easy. A lot of the moral work of this life involves tough work, tough decisions.

I'm not a member of "the club;" I couldn't possibly be. I'm not a conformist. I find the Mormon formula for goodness to be far too naive.

My daughter was an elementary teacher right up until she just couldn't anymore. I saw what it took and what the children were living through. One of my daughter's students arrived for school one day after her mother had been murdered by her father.

teacher for FOREVER. She is 66 and she doesn't particularly like the idea of nothing to make her feel satisfied every day and so she was going to teach again next year. Her daughter and granddaughter both teach at the same school. She first decided to do splits and then decided to stay full time. So, I got an e-mail from her last night. RETIRING. Turned in my official letter. I can't take this anymore.

She works in Idaho. They have a lot of kids from California showing up now who are a problem. Her daughter has one who is out of control and brought a knife to school.

It seems it is everywhere, the problems. And she is tired of the CONTROL ISSUES that the board and principal want to have.

My dad retired YEARS ago for some of the same reasons.

> One of my daughter's students
> arrived for school one day after
> her mother had been murdered by
> her father.

    That absolutely tops 'the dog ate my homework.'


                                  (I can't always help myself...)