The Island of Misfit Toys - via Ellensburg, WA

When I was growing up, we didn't have videos, DVDs, DVRs, or Netflix.  Shows were on TV, and you either saw them, or you didn't.  Each December there was anticipation for the Christmas season line up.  One of my favorites was the "Rudolph" Christmas special.  I loved Sam, the Singing Snowman, Yukon Cornelius, Clarice with her lovely long eyelashes, and Hermie the Elf who just wanted to be a dentist.  Although we watched all the Christmas shows and musical specials, "Rudolph" remains first and foremost in my memory. 

Most people don't like to watch the same shows over and over and over.  I am most definitely not one of those people.  I could watch a selection of my favorite shows regularly if it were left up to me.  Although the endings never change, I find myself hopeful that Scarlett O'Hara will tell Rhett Butler that she loves him, that Mary Poppins will decide to stay, or that the people of Christmas Town will encourage Hermie the Elf in his quest of becoming a dentist.

Let's face it, we're all just trying to get by in this crazy world of ours, totally unaware of our "misfittery" until we are either told . . . or more significantly, somehow made to feel that we are.  I came across a thought-provoking article regarding the compelling issue of  "fitting in" versus "belonging".  If I get to be me, I belong.  If I have to be like you, I fit in.  It left me with an intriguing query -  Is it possible for misfits to belong, or forever destined to simply fit in at best?

Misfits come in all shapes and sizes.  Many seem contented enough, sauntering through life oblivious to their unfortunate state.  I tend to see the world through rose colored glasses, having a somewhat idealistic view of things.  I suppose that's why it took time for me to realize that I've spent time on an "Island of Misfit Toys" myself.

There were three of us roommates who had recently become mormons.  Before jumping to the conclusion that being mormon made us misfits amongst the general population, not so.  Our predicament was brought about by a little-known fact of which we were painfully unaware.  Mormons are supposed to go to BYU.  Needless to say, we didn't get the memo.

Ignorance is bliss as they say, and life was good.  We loved school and all that went with it.  We lived in a dorm right in the heart of things, which made getting around perfect.  We enjoyed college life, and the newfound freedom that comes from being away from home for the first time.  It was kind of surreal - that short, yet significant period of time that bridges the simplicity of childhood with the impending responsibilities of adulthood.   

Located across the street from campus was an inconspicuous Little green house, seemingly unnoticed by most passersby.  It was owned by the mormon Church, a place set aside specifically for us college kids.  We had church services in the living room on Sundays, but to us it was much more.  It had a back yard, a kitchen, and rooms upstairs for studying, or to escape a hectic day to simply ponder life.  There was also an attic, with oodles of books that had accumulated over the years to thumb through.  It was always open, and we never tired of simply stopping by for whatever the reason.  Most importantly, it was a place where we all belonged, it was our home away from home. 

We truly had the best of both worlds.  We had our life on campus, providing a wide variety of life experiences preparing us for the world of which we would soon become a part.  At church, we were few in numbers, but a closely knit group of misfits, who for the most part would never have fit in at BYU.  We didn't come from typical mormon families steeped in generations of church culture, and we certainly didn't fit the "molly mormon" image.  While that made us a bit like the aforementioned misfit toys, there was one glaring difference.  King Moonracer tried to protect the misfits from the realities of the world, bringing about the perception that they were somehow better off living among themselves.  He may have had good intentions, but he was very wrong-headed.  

We had an influential mentor as well.  His name was Bishop McInelly.  And while he shared the compassion of King Moonracer, he possessed the good judgement and foresight that King Moonracer was lacking.  Looking back, he must have known that we were misfits, but he never led us to believe that we were less or somehow inferior in any way, appreciating us just as we were.  He and his family embraced us completely, and in doing so built our confidence to know that we could take on the world in whatever challenges might come our way.  We were family, complete with Sister McInelly's cinnamon rolls . . . made not only with love, but with chocolate chips replacing the unpleasantness of raisins.  We were truly kindred spirits, and hopefully we took that same mindset with us as we grew into our own lives and families.  

Some forty years later, I find myself both appreciative and admittedly nostalgic as well.  The passage of time has a way of seasoning memories, preserving them for the ages.  The three of us still speak of those times often, never forgetting the love and kindness we were shown, making efforts to pay that kindness forward over the years.  I have heard others fondly recalling their college years as well, many claiming that BYU is the only place to insure a proper education for both mind and spirit - and it always makes me smile.  It's true that I've never even been to Provo, and it's probably a fine school and all.  But we had the advantage of spending a most extraordinary time on the Island of Misfit Toys in Ellensburg, Washington, and in my mind there is genuinely no comparison.

Dedicated to Wells & Emma Lou McInelly

 Their love and kindness lives on in all who have benefitted from knowing them