As a child, Sundays meant church. Sunday church meant curled hair, Papa in a jacket and tie and a roast beast in the oven for lunch. Well, unless Granny happened to be working and Papa turned the oven temperature down so low, that there would be NO way that the beast would be ready for lunch. Which meant a swing by the Farah Khouri market, to pick up the ingredients for a pot of chili and THE best garlic bread in the whole town, but that's a story for another time. Sunday also meant that I could sit with my best friend Ellen, during "big church." Granny had no trouble with me sitting with Ellen and I'd have no trouble from Granny as long as we behaved.
One particular Sunday, I think Ellen and I came to church with our funny bones curled as tightly as our hair! I want to say that we even got scolded in Sunday School for being so silly. We weren't trying to be unruly...it just happened. Once it got started, it was hard to stop. Have you ever noticed that when you're in a situation where laughing out loud is NOT an option, everything is beyond hysterical? This was one of those days. If we'd been wise, we would have separated during worship service...but we were maybe all of nine years old...NO ONE is wise at nine. (OK...maybe nine-year old Solomon and nine-year old Jesus...but those are two exceptional cases!)We made our usual stop to greet Ellen's Grandma Daisy. She ALWAYS had Lifesavers candies for us because she knew that the Smarties we'd inhaled during Sunday School wouldn't hold us through worship and we'd collapse from hunger. I think Granny could sense what was going to happen...I seem to recall getting "The Look" from her as Ellen and I snickered our way to our seats.
Service started and it was like someone flipped a switch. EVERYTHING was funny. The way the preacher said the opening prayer, the way Ellen's daddy (our music minister)was directing the music, the sound of Granny scooping up to hit the high notes and pouring them back out. We were fighting a losing battle with hysteria. From a few rows behind me, I heard Granny clear her throat. A warning shot across the bow, if you will. An undeniable signal to tell me that I was ridiculously thin ice and better straighten up, PRONTO! Ellen's mama was giving her the eye from the choir loft. Somehow, we managed to get control of ourselves...not daring to even look at each other. And then it happened...Ellen's aunt blew her nose, emitting the sound of a flock of Canada Geese, and we LOST it! We were trying SO hard to be quiet...grabbing each other's hands, leaning on one another, shaking and trembling.
All of the sudden, I heard a very sharp, snapping noise in my ear. It was Granny; she'd slid into the pew right behind us. We were so caught up in our merriment, that we had no clue she'd moved! Oh, but she had and oh, were we in t-r-o-u-b-l-e! Scathing looks from ALL sides...Ellen's big sister, my little sister (who was probably relieved that it was me and not her); Ellen's other grandparents...her mama, daddy, and my Papa from the choir loft; Ellen's rowdy boy cousins (who NEVER seemed to get into trouble for doing the same exact thing). Even her aunt...the one who sent us over the edge with her nose blowing! If she hadn't done that, we'd have been fine! We tried that as our defense...yeah, it didn't work.
To be quite honest, I don't remember much after that. The mind has a way of blocking unpleasant memories. I kid...but I am quite certain that we both received the punishment we deserved. We'd been taught better and better was expected of us. The rules of acceptable church behavior had been established and we'd crossed them, flamboyantly so. I seem to recall that we were not allowed to sit next to each other for a few weeks...not even in Sunday School or G.A.'s or Training Union. We'd wave to each other from our separate locations...tearfully and longingly. When our restriction ended, it's safe to say the reunion was joyful.
Laughter is a POWERFUL thing, dearest ones. So is the sound of a goose-honking nose blow!
One particular Sunday, I think Ellen and I came to church with our funny bones curled as tightly as our hair! I want to say that we even got scolded in Sunday School for being so silly. We weren't trying to be unruly...it just happened. Once it got started, it was hard to stop. Have you ever noticed that when you're in a situation where laughing out loud is NOT an option, everything is beyond hysterical? This was one of those days. If we'd been wise, we would have separated during worship service...but we were maybe all of nine years old...NO ONE is wise at nine. (OK...maybe nine-year old Solomon and nine-year old Jesus...but those are two exceptional cases!)We made our usual stop to greet Ellen's Grandma Daisy. She ALWAYS had Lifesavers candies for us because she knew that the Smarties we'd inhaled during Sunday School wouldn't hold us through worship and we'd collapse from hunger. I think Granny could sense what was going to happen...I seem to recall getting "The Look" from her as Ellen and I snickered our way to our seats.
Service started and it was like someone flipped a switch. EVERYTHING was funny. The way the preacher said the opening prayer, the way Ellen's daddy (our music minister)was directing the music, the sound of Granny scooping up to hit the high notes and pouring them back out. We were fighting a losing battle with hysteria. From a few rows behind me, I heard Granny clear her throat. A warning shot across the bow, if you will. An undeniable signal to tell me that I was ridiculously thin ice and better straighten up, PRONTO! Ellen's mama was giving her the eye from the choir loft. Somehow, we managed to get control of ourselves...not daring to even look at each other. And then it happened...Ellen's aunt blew her nose, emitting the sound of a flock of Canada Geese, and we LOST it! We were trying SO hard to be quiet...grabbing each other's hands, leaning on one another, shaking and trembling.
All of the sudden, I heard a very sharp, snapping noise in my ear. It was Granny; she'd slid into the pew right behind us. We were so caught up in our merriment, that we had no clue she'd moved! Oh, but she had and oh, were we in t-r-o-u-b-l-e! Scathing looks from ALL sides...Ellen's big sister, my little sister (who was probably relieved that it was me and not her); Ellen's other grandparents...her mama, daddy, and my Papa from the choir loft; Ellen's rowdy boy cousins (who NEVER seemed to get into trouble for doing the same exact thing). Even her aunt...the one who sent us over the edge with her nose blowing! If she hadn't done that, we'd have been fine! We tried that as our defense...yeah, it didn't work.
To be quite honest, I don't remember much after that. The mind has a way of blocking unpleasant memories. I kid...but I am quite certain that we both received the punishment we deserved. We'd been taught better and better was expected of us. The rules of acceptable church behavior had been established and we'd crossed them, flamboyantly so. I seem to recall that we were not allowed to sit next to each other for a few weeks...not even in Sunday School or G.A.'s or Training Union. We'd wave to each other from our separate locations...tearfully and longingly. When our restriction ended, it's safe to say the reunion was joyful.
Laughter is a POWERFUL thing, dearest ones. So is the sound of a goose-honking nose blow!
Oh my goodness...I'm laughing and I wasn't even there! That happened, of all times, at my grandma's funeral. The man doing the eulogy tried singing a couple songs acapello and couldn't carry a tune in a basket. Our whole row was shaking, trying so hard not to laugh, making it all the more funny. Everytime I hear "Nothing but the blood..." I start giggling again at the memory. Ugh!
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