In my youth, it was hard to get a kid like me to sit long enough for dinner, let alone an hour on a hard pew. We were hard pressed to keep our minds busy during those sermons filled with warnings of fire and damnation, on hot Sunday mornings. I remember many a stern look and sometimes a threat of a trip to the basement, which meant a whoopin!
Sometimes, I would sneak in a western short story, hidden in my Bible. All the fogies thought I was reading the Bible, or maybe praying back there in the back pew, but not this kid. I was miles and years away, enjoying life the Zane Grey way.
I always managed to sit by someone who would get me into trouble. It usually started with a jab, or a poke. It wouldn't take long before one of us would snicker and the other would giggle. Then came to looks from the section where the old farts sat. I never thought at the time that those old fart were probably just like us, when they were young. If I had. . I would have laughed out loud.
As I matured, the games became more sinister. I learned to hide my activities. It was really cool when I discovered that I could distract the pastor, right in the middle of the scariest part of a sermon, and make him laugh. Those old farts must have crapped their nickers, when the reverand appeared to think damnation was funny.
What do you remember of those hot days in Church and Sunday School, before air conditioners, when electric fans lined the stage and women fanned their faces with the Sunday Bulletin?
Doc
Sometimes, I would sneak in a western short story, hidden in my Bible. All the fogies thought I was reading the Bible, or maybe praying back there in the back pew, but not this kid. I was miles and years away, enjoying life the Zane Grey way.
I always managed to sit by someone who would get me into trouble. It usually started with a jab, or a poke. It wouldn't take long before one of us would snicker and the other would giggle. Then came to looks from the section where the old farts sat. I never thought at the time that those old fart were probably just like us, when they were young. If I had. . I would have laughed out loud.
As I matured, the games became more sinister. I learned to hide my activities. It was really cool when I discovered that I could distract the pastor, right in the middle of the scariest part of a sermon, and make him laugh. Those old farts must have crapped their nickers, when the reverand appeared to think damnation was funny.
What do you remember of those hot days in Church and Sunday School, before air conditioners, when electric fans lined the stage and women fanned their faces with the Sunday Bulletin?
Doc