I found this photo in the land of Google, and I've borrowed it to give you "young uns" an image of what this ever so sentimental blog of mine is going to discuss tonight. On the left, you see a young boy holding the American flag. On the right, you see a young boy holding the Christian flag. In the center, you see a very demure girl holding the Bible. I'd venture to guess about 30 years after this photo was taken in a Baptist church from across our land, I decided that I wanted to forgo gender stereotypes and carry the American flag. It was time for a girl to step up and take on the big job, or so I thought.
Why is any of this pomp and circumstance necessary? Oh, shame on you. If you've never seen this gathering before, you've missed out on a big piece of a good raisin' in Appalachia. This, my children, is the opening service for each night of Bible School. The "leaders" walk down the aisle from the church front doors and the children in attendance follow right behind. Everyone is seated with their teachers according to age (the kids' ages...not the teachers' ages.). Upon being seated, each child is given a small pamphlet printed on newspaper textured paper, and in that book, the child will find The Pledge of Allegiance to the American Flag, The Pledge of Allegiance to the Christian Flag, and The Pledge of Allegiance to the Holy Bible. Those three recitations will be conducted before the rest of the opening services begin. It is an honor and a privilege to be chosen to carry either flag or the Bible during Vacation Bible School....or so I thought.
It's important to remind you that I have baby book documentation that my mother noted I fell off a piano stool when I was an infant and thumped my head quite harshly. That can account for me being hard headed throughout most of my youth. Before I wrote this blog, I read back through her letters to me to make sure there was no more evidence of head injuries, and sure enough....I was clear. The tale you're about to read is true, and my mother didn't document it in my baby book because, I'm sure, it's an event she'd certainly love to forget.
Before I get to the action, I need to really give a lot of credit to just a few of the adults who worked so hard at East Cumberland Avenue Baptist Church every single year of my childhood to make sure each of us had a wonderful experience. Women like Wilma Ely, Diane and Rosemary Carnes, Lois Massengill, Willie Massengill, Etta Laymon, Jeanette Greene, Linda Ingram, Gigi Walker, Lucy Spangler, and especially my momma gathered, planned, and prayed as they led us through lessons in the scripture but also the Bible.
I remember details like having orange Kool Aid in donated cups from Long John Silvers. Cookies had no name brand. They were either black or white. I don't think there was enough flavor in them to warrant chocolate or vanilla. The kitchen staff would open up the windows beside the back parking lot, and Mrs. Laymon would hand the snacks out the window like it was a drive up at a fast food establishment, and I couldn't wait to get my hands on those goodies (still have that problem today).
Sometimes we played hop scotch, perhaps jumped rope, or maybe we had bubbles to blow. Regarding entertainment, we didn't have much time for that sort of play. The priority was simply to teach us the right way to worship and live....AND....to prepare for commencement services, which would be the following Sunday night.
I hear the word commencement and my head aches thirty some years after my tragedy happened.
I had held the Bible during opening ceremonies enough during my tenure as a Bible School student at East Cumberland. Boys always got to hold the flags, and I became exhausted with that tradition. Eventually, a few older girls got the chance to hold the flags, and I knew then I had a loop hole through which I would certainly wiggle. See, in our living room at home, we had some circa 1976 lamps whose bases were shaped like American Bald eagles. Ugliest lamps I had ever seen, but my parents loved them. The eagles on those lamps looked a lot like the brass eagle that perched atop the American Flag at church. If my parents liked the lamps, they'd love to see me carry the American Flag with its eagle at Bible School. I was certain of it. I began a campaign to get to carry the American Flag during Bible School during not just any night of the week...but during commencement. I did not beg, because I knew if I begged, my mother would kill me. So, I just subtly hinted my wishes to certain folks around the church....I knew who my weak links were, and I went in for the kill. I wanted to carry that flag.
In the days that followed my plot to be patriotic, Mom and I had to endure the never ending battle of finding just the right dress for commencement. Ann's Fashions and the Yum Yum Tree. Never failed. I was reaching the point where those two stores were no longer going to be options for me because I had eaten too many cookies and drank too much Kool Aid. I considered that even more evidence in my favor. I was bigger; therefore, I should carry the flag.
My hopes were high. My dress was white with little yellow flowers around the skirt. My hair was perfect, and I showed up at East Cumberland on commencement night fully prepared to carry the American flag with pride. Most of this had been confirmed in my own imagination because I knew better than to mention it to my mother. I don't ask the Beebster for favors. I didn't do it then when other kids were involved, and she'd still whip me now.
Mom and I walked up the huge front stairway to East Cumberland while I made sure to not scuff my toes on the concrete because I had on the ever-popular Aigner sandals. The gentlemen of the church were standing at the doors and I could see the flags behind them. Then........I saw the enemy.
One of the gentlemen approached me and asked me if I'd please carry my Bible for commencement. I knew if I argued, cried, rolled my eyes, or stomped my feet, we'd have my funeral that night instead of any Bible School commencement. I took the Bible, got in line, and when it came time to lead the students in, I dragged behind to watch what a pathetic job the "flag person" was doing. That flag was waving and swaying and the holder was jerking it back and forth like my daddy fought a rock fish in Lost Creek.
The three of us turned to face the congregation of children, and they remained standing. With each symbol of patriotism and faith stepping forward, all the pledges were said. In conclusion, I stepped forward and held the Bible ever so cheerfully because my momma was on the organ bench watching me like a hawk and death would be certain if I cocked out a hip, slouched, tapped my foot, or squirmed. I grasped both sides of the Bible I had been given upon my baptism and held it for all children to see so they could recite its pledge.
My peripheral vision typically never failed me until that moment.
Before the children could say, "I pledge allegiance to the Bible, God's holy word," the child of God holding the American flag lost grip of it and the beak of that brass eagle came toward me like a buzzard after a Yorkie. The beak of that brass bird thrashed right into the top of my head and blood shot out like Old Faithful. My mother jumped up off that organ stool and took flight over the banister that separated her from the pews. She jumped that banister like she was chasing a gold medal in the hurdles of the summer Olympics. Several other adults jumped the prayer altars and came to my rescue. I remember lying flat of my back and looking up and reading, "This Do in Remembrance of Me" on our Lord's Supper table. I decided right then and there that I had taken quite a thrashing in remembrance of my God, and I almost felt proud. I hadn't truly made a sacrifice for my God, but I came close. I'm pretty sure they used up all the napkins for snack that night to get my head to stop bleeding, too. I guess everyone had to juggle cookies on their own.
And now, I notice Vacation Bible School signs as I drive through the little roads of my happy little town. Each sign serves as a check point for me. Simply out of habit and fear, I reach up and scratch my head and make sure there are no injuries. You won't see me driving with my car's top down until Bible School has come and gone either. No way I'm risking that. Just as sure as I decided to take a convertible drive, some sort of winged felon would come out of the sky and peck my brains out again.
So, enjoy Bible School. Know it does make a difference in the lives of those you're teaching. Moments of tragedy often become hilarious stories to last a lifetime. And...if there's a girl in your congretation who wants to carry a flag, for the love of orange Kool Aid, let her carry it.
