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writings


Church


People always ask me what religion I am. This is a tuff one. I suppose nothing in particular, but it would be nice to be something, wouldn’t it? My grandma always said she was this or that even though she didn’t go to church. If she doesn’t go to church how can she be something or another, I thought? Well if she can do it, so can I, I would say to myself, There’s no reason to go to church, to physically travel there and put your foot through the door, other than to look at stained glass windows and make a social appearance. People say, didn’t your parents take you to church when you were a kid, haven’t you at least experience what it is like? Of course I went, or at least tried to go; I wouldn’t want people to think I talk of things I know nothing about.


I was young, very young; I don’t know how young, but just old enough to walk around and comb my own hair and the like, when my babysitter asked if her family could take me to church. Their family was very religious, or should I say the type that always put their foot through the door, and it would be no problem to take me along; I was getting to that age when you were expected to go, they would say in a round about way, and since they had six children, why shouldn’t I come along?


“Why shouldn’t I?” was a good question, because my mom and grandparents weren’t taking me. They didn’t go to church; why not, I asked myself? If my babysitter’s family went, then why wasn’t I going? They were good people and were very nice to me; maybe my family was being mean, and keeping me from becoming a good person or a CHILD OF GOD sort of kid. People always talked about meeting Jesus, You should meet Jesus in the Lord’s house, or somewhere, they’d say, and I was listening; I was giving in to the pressure. They all said it would be fun and all sorts of other good kids would be there, I could make some fine new friends and meet the kind teachers. Teachers, I thought, what teachers, this wasn’t school, was it? It was Sunday for God’s sake and I sure as hell wasn’t going to go to school on the weekends! That was cartoon time, and drink a whole bottle of pop time, and lounge around time; it wasn’t Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday or any of the other dreaded week days, it was my vacation! I suppose people think it is selfish to think that way, especially on Sunday morning. All I can say is I stepped up to bat, and went to church.


Sunday morning had arrived. My grandparents reminded me every ten minutes from Saturday morning on that I had church on Sunday. They were reminding me so much that I started to get nervous, anxious even, and I was getting a stomachache. I always got powerful stomachaches when I felt pressure of any sort and Jesus was making me even more worried. I had a feeling he was expecting a lot out of me and I must be at my best. I got dressed and was fussing around doing who knows what when my grandma said, “They’re here, they’re here!” My babysitter’s family drove over to pick me up and was parked in the driveway patiently waiting. I was terrified, this was it! I started to inch my way down the hall and started to worry about the way I looked. My hair was extremely thick and I was constantly battling a COW LICK directly on the top of my head. My grandparents always called it a cow lick because a bit of my hair would always stick straight up; they said it was as if a cow had snuck up from behind and licked my head. I hated that story and sure as anything didn’t want a dirty old cow licking me anywhere. So like I was saying, I got worried and ran to the bathroom.


It was a small bathroom right across from my room and it consisted of a pink sink and toilet. I had to take baths in the main bathroom down the hall, but this bathroom was kind of like my own private office so to speak. I could always hang out in there with the door closed and nobody would bother me. I climbed up on a little step stool so I could see myself in the mirror, and sure enough, my cow like was sticking up like a sore thumb. This was as bad as dreaming you were naked at school, and I felt as if church wouldn’t look too kindly on a boy with messy hair. I started to panic and ran my comb under some water, that was a trick I learned at the barber’s or someplace, and I proceeded to attack the uncooperative trouble makers. Uncooperative was an understatement because they were ruining my life! The comb under the water trick wasn’t working and I became desperate.


I figured the only way to smash down my hair was to get it pretty much soaked. I cupped my hands under the running water and bailed it on my head. I was trying to aim a bit because I didn’t want to look like a drowned rat. Then I combed it down with such force that I was sure it would inevitably become glued to it’s rightly place. It finally worked, and I was all set. I put the comb in my back pocket and looked at my hair one last time. As soon as I stepped down from my stool, things took a turn for the worse; the tremor of my feet hitting the ground caused the bastard cow lick to pop back up. I could barely see the top of my head in the mirror and I quickly got back up on the stool and started the process all over again. It was still wet, I thought, what is going on, what do I have to do to make it go away? All of a sudden I heard someone honking their horn. Oh my God, it was my babysitter! I had almost forgotten that someone was waiting on me, and things became unbearably tense. I had decided that there was no way in hell I was going to leave that bathroom with my hair sticking up, and that was that. I looked at my watch and noted the time. I combed and combed my hair like a madman and cursed whoever gave me my defective head. I became obsessed and tried to drown out all the people pleading for me to hurry up. It wasn’t like me to be late and disrespectful; I was a selfish kid, I thought, and I would get in trouble for my hair and being late!


Ten minutes had gone by. I was in a daze from my delirious mission and I walked out to the car waiting for me. It was the first time that these people were actually a little angry at me and they said next Sunday I’d better be ready sooner or else! I was terrible, I thought, and promised I’d never be that late again. I sat in the backseat and immediately stood up and checked my hair out in the rear view mirror. The back of my head was all wet and matted down but I’ll be damned if that cow lick wasn’t trying to come back up. I was getting the feeling that my hair was a separate entity from myself, and it had a mind of its own. I thought it was hair that really didn’t like being hair and was struggling to become something else; that was why it was so unhappy, because why would my own hair put me through such misery? I thought that whatever would be would be, and church was just going to have to accept me the way that I was.


We arrive, and park out in front of the building. I call it a building because it didn’t look like any church I could remember seeing. The ones on T.V. or on postcards were magnificent and castle like, and this church was extremely plain and consisted of many square buildings that just kind of sat there. The biggest building was the most intriguing and I asked if I was going in there. “Oh yes, that’s the church, it’s going to be so much fun and it’s so neat to sit in there because it is so big.” one of the other kids said. I was starting to get excited and almost started running. It became more intriguing the closer I got. What kind of things would be inside, I thought, everyone is so amazed by church and Jesus that I was expecting to be transported into another world.


As I walked towards this big building the others kept saying, “No, no, come over this way, this is the door that we are going in.” And so I followed. We walked in the door to one of the little unexciting buildings and into a hallway that reminded me of my school; it really reminded me of my school! It looked almost exactly the same. It had long hallways and short ceilings and all kinds of doors everywhere with coat racks and big bulletin boards. This is no fun; I thought, but wait, there’s the door to the part that was the church! I started to walk over and proceeded to look through. It was full of people and all kinds of things seamed to be happening. Just then a woman kind of yelled at me and said I must come with the others. The others, I thought? I looked over and all the kids were walking into a room down the hall. I could tell something was going on because the kids really weren’t too enthused and some even carried their heads hung low. The adults kept motioning me over and I got in line like the others. It was like little lambs being led to slaughter and I sure as hell was going to find out what was going on.


We were all sitting in a small classroom. Large tables were situated in the middle and somebody announced that Mrs. so and so was going to be teaching today. Teaching today, what was this, I asked myself? This can’t be happening. I started to ask questions and people were clearly annoyed. I wanted to know what this place was and when I could go. They said, “Sunday school,” and “in half an hour.” The class started with quotes and little speeches, and the book of this, and the book of that, sort of talk, and I had no idea what to do. This teacher was going around asking the kids questions and they all knew the answer. At regular school you would have a few correct responses but this place was full of young pros; I was in trouble. I figured since I was new they would maybe skip me because after all this was all foreign talk as far as I was concerned. Then the teacher asked another question and looked around the room. I dropped my head to hide, and was kind of studying my fingers. I felt her staring right smack dab at me and I carefully looked up. She wanted me to answer the question. I was speechless from fear and from the fact that I sure as hell didn’t know what she was talking about. She repeated the question and I just looked around the room. She wasn’t the only adult with us. The place was surrounded by them and they were circling the perimeter like the secret police carefully recording our every move. The other kids were trying to give me the answer but I was too scared to understand what they were trying to tell me. All I could say was this is my first day. Then this woman wouldn’t leave me alone. She towered there like an awakened monster and was giving me a piece of her mind. She went on about Jesus, and thorns, and blood, and dying, and on and on until I had a bloody mess indelibly imprinted on my brain. She made me feel as if somehow I had caused his gruesome death and my stomachache was coming back full force. All I could see was some man with a beard being slowly tortured to death and to make it worse they said he loved me and was doing it for me. I didn’t even know this guy, and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.


Class was over. It was almost as if these people were trying to kidnap my mind or something. They were trying to indoctrinate me into something I wanted no part of, and they kept telling me what to expect next week. We all were walking down the hall and I heard it was time to go into the big room, the main church, and a feeling of relief showered my body. I no longer had to endure the punishment of drill sergeants and brutal verbal attacks. I was going into God’s part of the church and thought I’d tell him how these people were treating me. He’d be angry and tell them a thing or two because I wasn’t a bad kid, they’d see. I was so excited by my new found freedom that I started skipping with joy. I could see the people that I had seen previous to my CAPTURE, and people were wearing these costume like robs and carrying candles. And all of a sudden a woman ran over to me and gestured that she wanted to grab my arm. She was trying to yell and whisper at the same time and said, “There’s no running in the house of the Lord!” The intensity of her gritty words and clenched teeth rattled my soul. This woman was a complete stranger and no stranger had ever talked to me like that before. I hadn’t been running, only skipping a little, because for the first time through this whole ordeal I felt comfortable, and now she ruined it, I thought, and I never want to come back!


I followed the others into the church and felt completely lost. I was now once again uncomfortable and was bewildered by my feelings of anger and shame. I went home and told my grandparents I never wanted to go back, and it wasn’t until years later that I stepped foot back into a church.


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