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As a child, the commentator1 went door to door with his mother to share the tenets of the Jehovah's Witnesses. The experience led to his belief that tolerance2 is the foundation of freedom and liberty
Welcome to This I Believe, an NPR series presenting the personal philosophies of remarkable3 men and women from all walks of life.
From NPR News, this is Weekend Edition. I'm Liane Hansen.
I believe in mystery.
I believe in family.
I believe in being who I am.
I believe in the power of failure.
And I believe normal life is extraordinary.
This I Believe.
Our This I Believe essay this week was sent in by Joe Ingardio of San Francisco. Ingardio is a writer and filmmaker who currently works as a program strategist for the American civil liberty's union. Here's a series curator, independent producer Jay Allison.
Many of our essayists write of beliefs formed in childhood. Joe Ingardio ended up breaking away from the beliefs he was raised with. But that process led him to a value that underlies4 his freedom to believe whatever he chooses. Here's Joe Ingardio with his essay for This I Believe.
I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. If I ever knocked on your door when you were mowing5 the lawn or taking a nap, please excuse me. I understand: A kid with a Watchtower magazine on your front porch isn't a Girl Scout6 with cookies, but, hey, you didn't have to sic your dog on me.
I believe how we treat the people we dislike the most and understand the least — Jehovah's Witnesses, for example — says a lot about the freedoms we value in America: religion, speech and personal liberty. And all of these freedoms rely on one thing: tolerance.
I learned this as a kid when I went door-knocking with my mom. We were preaching that Jehovah's kingdom was coming soon to solve the world's problems. I prayed no one from school was behind those doors. Dogs I could run from. It was hard enough being singled out as the kid who didn't celebrate Christmas or say the Pledge of Allegiance. There was little tolerance for my explanation that we only worshipped God, and that God wasn't American. There was no tolerance when I announced to my third-grade class that Santa Claus was pagan and a lie.
Still, I didn't have a bad childhood. Our Saturday morning ministry7 meant sacrificing my Saturday morning cartoons, but our 10 o'clock coffee break was a blessing8. That's when we would gather at Dunkin' Donuts, trying not to get powdered sugar on our suits and dresses, while we told stories and laughed. We always knew when you were "home but hiding."
As a teenager, I decided9 fitting in at school and in life was worth sacrificing some principles. So I never became a Jehovah's Witness. That was the first time I broke my mom's heart. The second time was when I told her I am gay.
Obviously, I don't agree with my mom's belief that same-sex relationships are wrong. But I tolerate her religion because she has a right to her beliefs. And I like it that my mom doesn't politicize her beliefs. She has never voted for a law that discriminates10 against gay people, or anyone who isn't a Jehovah's Witness. Her Bible tells her to love, above all.
My belief in tolerance led to a documentary film I made about Jehovah's Witnesses, and my mom actually likes it. The message is about being open to letting people have views we don't like, so in that sense, it could also be about Muslims, gay people or NASCAR race fans. The point is the people we don't understand become less scary when we get to know them as real people. We don't have to be each other's cup of tea, but tolerance lets a variety of kettles peacefully share the stove.
I believe our capacity to tolerate both religious and personal difference is what will ultimately give us true liberty — even if it means putting up with an occasional knock on the door.
Joe p. Ingadia with his essay for this I believe. Ingadia told us that not surprisingly. His work with the ACLU is directly related to his belief and tolerance. He also noted11 that his mother knew something about tests of tolerance, being the only member of a large Italian Catholic family to become a Jehovah’s witness. We hope you'll consider our open invitation to write for this series as Ingadia did. Find out more at NPR.org/thisIbelieve or you can also find a link to our podcast. For this I believe. I’am Jay Alison.
Jay Alison is a co-editor with Dan Gateman, John Gregary and Vicky Marry of the book this I believe, the personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.
Next week on NPR.org an essay from listener Bob Barret of Charlotte, North Carolina on his belief in integrity. A belief that for him has been painfully tested.
Support for this I believe comes from Prudential Retirement12.
This I believe is produced for NPR by this I believe, incorporated at Atlantic public media. For more essays, please visit NPR.org/thisIbelieve.
Welcome to This I Believe, an NPR series presenting the personal philosophies of remarkable3 men and women from all walks of life.
From NPR News, this is Weekend Edition. I'm Liane Hansen.
I believe in mystery.
I believe in family.
I believe in being who I am.
I believe in the power of failure.
And I believe normal life is extraordinary.
This I Believe.
Our This I Believe essay this week was sent in by Joe Ingardio of San Francisco. Ingardio is a writer and filmmaker who currently works as a program strategist for the American civil liberty's union. Here's a series curator, independent producer Jay Allison.
Many of our essayists write of beliefs formed in childhood. Joe Ingardio ended up breaking away from the beliefs he was raised with. But that process led him to a value that underlies4 his freedom to believe whatever he chooses. Here's Joe Ingardio with his essay for This I Believe.
I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. If I ever knocked on your door when you were mowing5 the lawn or taking a nap, please excuse me. I understand: A kid with a Watchtower magazine on your front porch isn't a Girl Scout6 with cookies, but, hey, you didn't have to sic your dog on me.
I believe how we treat the people we dislike the most and understand the least — Jehovah's Witnesses, for example — says a lot about the freedoms we value in America: religion, speech and personal liberty. And all of these freedoms rely on one thing: tolerance.
I learned this as a kid when I went door-knocking with my mom. We were preaching that Jehovah's kingdom was coming soon to solve the world's problems. I prayed no one from school was behind those doors. Dogs I could run from. It was hard enough being singled out as the kid who didn't celebrate Christmas or say the Pledge of Allegiance. There was little tolerance for my explanation that we only worshipped God, and that God wasn't American. There was no tolerance when I announced to my third-grade class that Santa Claus was pagan and a lie.
Still, I didn't have a bad childhood. Our Saturday morning ministry7 meant sacrificing my Saturday morning cartoons, but our 10 o'clock coffee break was a blessing8. That's when we would gather at Dunkin' Donuts, trying not to get powdered sugar on our suits and dresses, while we told stories and laughed. We always knew when you were "home but hiding."
As a teenager, I decided9 fitting in at school and in life was worth sacrificing some principles. So I never became a Jehovah's Witness. That was the first time I broke my mom's heart. The second time was when I told her I am gay.
Obviously, I don't agree with my mom's belief that same-sex relationships are wrong. But I tolerate her religion because she has a right to her beliefs. And I like it that my mom doesn't politicize her beliefs. She has never voted for a law that discriminates10 against gay people, or anyone who isn't a Jehovah's Witness. Her Bible tells her to love, above all.
My belief in tolerance led to a documentary film I made about Jehovah's Witnesses, and my mom actually likes it. The message is about being open to letting people have views we don't like, so in that sense, it could also be about Muslims, gay people or NASCAR race fans. The point is the people we don't understand become less scary when we get to know them as real people. We don't have to be each other's cup of tea, but tolerance lets a variety of kettles peacefully share the stove.
I believe our capacity to tolerate both religious and personal difference is what will ultimately give us true liberty — even if it means putting up with an occasional knock on the door.
Joe p. Ingadia with his essay for this I believe. Ingadia told us that not surprisingly. His work with the ACLU is directly related to his belief and tolerance. He also noted11 that his mother knew something about tests of tolerance, being the only member of a large Italian Catholic family to become a Jehovah’s witness. We hope you'll consider our open invitation to write for this series as Ingadia did. Find out more at NPR.org/thisIbelieve or you can also find a link to our podcast. For this I believe. I’am Jay Alison.
Jay Alison is a co-editor with Dan Gateman, John Gregary and Vicky Marry of the book this I believe, the personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.
Next week on NPR.org an essay from listener Bob Barret of Charlotte, North Carolina on his belief in integrity. A belief that for him has been painfully tested.
Support for this I believe comes from Prudential Retirement12.
This I believe is produced for NPR by this I believe, incorporated at Atlantic public media. For more essays, please visit NPR.org/thisIbelieve.
点击收听单词发音
1 commentator | |
n.注释者,解说者;实况广播评论员 | |
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2 tolerance | |
n.宽容;容忍,忍受;耐药力;公差 | |
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3 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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4 underlies | |
v.位于或存在于(某物)之下( underlie的第三人称单数 );构成…的基础(或起因),引起 | |
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5 mowing | |
n.割草,一次收割量,牧草地v.刈,割( mow的现在分词 ) | |
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6 scout | |
n.童子军,侦察员;v.侦察,搜索 | |
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7 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
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8 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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9 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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10 discriminates | |
分别,辨别,区分( discriminate的第三人称单数 ); 歧视,有差别地对待 | |
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11 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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12 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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