LDS like full helping of sugar

I had a friend in Logan who fancied himself a sophisticate. He wasn't LDS, but he had a lot of LDS friends. And he told me he loved to go to dinner at Mormon homes because the food was always superb. What wasn't so superb, he said, was the sweet, red punch they served with the meals. For him, a good dinner cried out for a good wine, and that red punch was like eating a Snickers bar between bites of tuna fish.

Mormon sweetness.

Latter-day sugar.

Call it what you will, it shows up in our food, in our music and art and in our personalities.

It's the calling card of most members of the church.

When comedians spoof the Mormons, they spin that sweetness into a \"too-good-to-be-true\" niceness to get laughs.

And if it's inside of you, it's there for good.

Last week I went to a reading of a new play by Tim Slover, who many consider the premier Mormon playwright.

It was an edgy play about the life of Hildegard of Bingen — the 12th century Catholic mystic and musician. The play had Joe Pesci's favorite f-word in it and other \"musts\" of modern American theater.

The problem was, it was also full of Mormon sweetness. In real life, Hildegard was something of a battle-ax, but in Slover's version she's almost girlish, talking about the other sisters as being \"a scream.\" She's buouyant and warm — as if she were a product of the Young Women's program.

The play was of two minds.

It was all tuna and Snickers.

A couple of years ago, a friend of mine died in Paris. He'd gone there to find himself. He was raised Mormon and served a mission, but later in life he decided to cultivate a kind of worldly edge. He took up smoking. He began using profanity.

But the profanity never sounded quite right in his mouth. The words seemed self-conscious.

What did sound natural, however, were the tender nicknames he'd give his friends — names like Boydie and Genie.

Despite his desire to be provocative, he remained a sweet man inside until the end.

He went for tuna, but he got tuna and Snickers.

One of my father's favorite sayings was \"There is no third way.\"

And for people born into Mormonism, that is often the case.

You can \"abandon all hope\" and court the dark side — like novelist Brian Evenson and playwright Neil Labute.

Or you can embrace your natural sweet side and use it to your advantage — like Donny and Marie Osmond, Michael Ballam and Mack Wilberg.

But trying to keep one foot in a bowl of \"latter-day sugar\" while stepping into the world of earthy art is a surefire way to get yourself stranded.

You may think you're being acid and tart, but your style and voice will be pure honey.

And that makes for an unsavory mix — like curse words in a chapel.

Like eating tuna fish with a big old Snickers bar.