Mutts

On Tuesday I was walking to the subway with the conductor of one of the kids' orchestras that I work for. We got to talking about dogs. That morning she had met an adorable three-month-old puppy who had been rescued from Hurricane Katrina, and she was considering adopting it. Not only was it well-tempered, cute, and a host of other desirable dog qualities, but she has a soft spot in her heart for mutts, especially since she considers herself one. "I have every type of blood running through my veins," she said, "and I'm convinced it's the reason why I am in better health than anyone I know." I'm pretty sure that for dogs, mutts are known to be healthier than pure-breds, but didn't know that applied to people too, although I guess it kind of makes sense in a way. (Or maybe not--because people of different races are all of the same species?? Scientists? Julia? Help me out here.)

I am not a mutt. I am white, white, white and of European descent through and through. But I am the product of an interfaith marriage. Wouldn't it be nice if being a religious mutt came with similar perks that mixed-species dogs enjoy? A stronger spiritual immune system, if you will: less susceptible to crises of faith, better equipped to communicate with God (or whatever/whoever), less likely to kill yourself and/or other people in the name of that whatever/whoever, more likely to live a longer and healthier life. Unfortunately for me and a lot of other people, I don't think that's the case--the reason I personally don't suffer from crises of faith is more likely just because I don't have a lot of it in the first place.

Being a religious mutt is not really that big a deal, at least not in New York and not at my college, one of Princeton Review's Top Godless Universities. At worst, it's confusing; at best, you learn more about different traditions and get a lot of presents in December.