Writers Group Stories

For all of those years we sat near the front of the sanctuary. My mother, my sister, my brother, and me. It was just the way it was; all families had similar arrangements. To a casual observer it would seem we had seat assignments because we invariably went to the same place each time. Habits are an interesting phenomenon. So every Sunday morning and every Sunday evening we could be found in “our” place and, with a minimum amount of fighting.

But, now I was in 7th Grade. The other kids that age were now sitting together in the back of the church and I wanted to join them. I broached the subject to my parents; I got a resounding “no.” I waited for what I thought was a reasonable time like four or five Sundays and approached them again. And got a resounding “no.”

Later that week my Mother took me aside and said she and Dad had decided to let me join my friends. But she had several reminders and admonitions. Like “behaving properly,” setting a good example,” and the familiar “if you misbehave it will seem worse than if the other kids misbehave.” I assured her it would be all right.

The next Sunday I was allowed to join my friends, at the Sunday evening service. The attendance was always less than the morning service, then four kids. So there would be a total of six of us that night.

We sang the hymns and were attentive during the announcements. Then Dad began the sermon. Dad was not a hellfiredamnation preacher. He was more of a scholar and his style of delivery and the content of his message was quieter and more thought provoking instead of being loud and confrontational.

It was a very warm Tennessee summer evening and the 7th Grade attention span began to wane. It so happened that I was wearing the three celluloid bracelets I had received for my birthday. (Celluloid was a forerunner of plastic.) There were three of them, big, colorful, chunky bangles.

The girls in the group were fascinated with them; we passed them back and forth. One of them dropped on the wooden floor. There was a giggle. From the pulpit, Dad said, “Sister, bring those to me.”

So, here I go up the aisle, it seemed a block long, and handed him the bracelets and returned the block long aisle to my seat. He continued his sermon.

It was quite a while before I sat on the back pew with my friends.