Stage Parents

Hear the story read by the author.

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm.  The choir director, Shane Reed, is dating Audra Park, a young, single mother and member of the choir.  One recent Friday Shane went to pick her up for a date.  When she answered the door, she was laughing so hard tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes.

“Is it the shirt?” Shane asked.  He had bought his shirt a week before after being encouraged by a perky salesgirl, but he had suspected her compliments might not have been entirely genuine.

“What?  No,” Audra said.  “Look.”  She gestured into the apartment.  Her six-year-old son Tyler was singing a classic rock song into a microphone as his babysitter, Katie O’Donnell, accompanied him on a plastic guitar.  Tyler mimicked the rock star gyrations of animated musicians on the TV.  “It’s a video game,” Audra said, observing Shane’s confused expression.

“Tyler’s got a good voice,” Shane mused.  It wasn’t surprising – Audra was one of the best vocalists in the choir.  Clearly the apple had landed near the tree.

“Yeah,” Audra agreed.  “And some pretty impressive dance moves.  Shall we go?”

Shane thought about Tyler’s voice on the drive to the restaurant.  He’d been looking for a way to bond with the boy since he and Audra started dating.  Over dessert he asked, “Do you think Tyler would be interested in joining a children’s choir?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Audra said.  She’d also been looking for a way for her son and boyfriend to get closer.

Shane announced the children’s choir during the next church service, noting that he had posted a sign-up sheet for kids between the ages of four and twelve in the hall by the Sunday school rooms.  Audra added Tyler’s name as soon as service was over.  Tyler couldn’t understand why he would want to go to choir practice when there were perfectly good video games to be played at home, but being six he was forced to accede to his mom’s wishes.

Jill Boyer had not planned to sign her four-year-old daughter Mary up for the choir even though she was just inside the lower end of the age range.  Mary didn’t usually respond well to the “organized” part of organized activities.  But when Jill retrieved Mary from Sunday school, they passed Mary’s classmate Sierra and her father, Arthur, by the sign-up sheet.

“Would you like to be in a children’s choir?” Arthur was asking Sierra.

“Oh, yes, Daddy!” Sierra shouted, jumping up and down and clapping her hands with glee.  Arthur wrote her name below Tyler’s.

Mary saw this and asked, “Can I be in the choir, too?”

“It’ll be a great experience,” Arthur said as Jill considered her response.  “Sierra has a beautiful voice.  I know most children this age can’t really carry a tune, but I suspect Sierra might have perfect pitch.  I’ve been thinking I should get her a voice coach.  She could probably be a professional singer.”

Mary was tugging on Jill’s pant leg.  “Please, Mommy, can I be in the choir? Please, please, please, please…”

“Sure,” Jill said and snatched the pen from Arthur.  “I’ve always suspected you had perfect pitch, too.”

Of course Jill suspected no such thing.  But according to Arthur, Sierra was the most glorious little human being with whom God had blessed the world since the times of Jesus.  It got on Jill’s nerves.

Shane decided Easter would be a good opportunity for the children’s choir to make their debut.  He planned to have them sing that classic children’s Easter hymn, Morning Has Broken.

Shane had never conducted a children’s choir but he figured he could handle it.  After all, many of the adult choir members often behaved like children.  Sure, Arthur lobbied him to give Sierra a solo, but hardly an adult choir rehearsal went by without someone complaining about Shane’s choice of soloist.  And Arthur was easier to handle since Shane simply declared that there would be no solos in the children’s choir.

Of course none of the adult choir members had ever spilled juice on the sheet music, or broken into tears after skinning their knee, or started an eraser fight.  Mary did all of that in the first fifteen minutes of rehearsal. 

Shane had arranged the kids by height, the older and tallest kids in the middle of the back row, and the younger, shorter kids in the front row and to the sides.  Mary, being one of the shortest, was on the far left.  However, after the eraser fight, Shane decided to move her to the center.  He enlisted the girl directly behind her, twelve-year-old Becky Goodhart, to help keep Mary in line.  Shane’s plan worked for rehearsal, but was to have unintended consequences for the performance.

Unlike Mary, Tyler was quite well behaved all through rehearsal.  Which meant that by the time Audra arrived to pick him up, Shane realized he’d barely spoken to the boy.  His plan for bonding was not working out as he’d hoped.

On Easter morning, Mary talked excitedly about the impending performance all through breakfast.  Jill may have signed Mary up out of annoyance with Arthur, but now she was delighted by her daughter’s enthusiasm and commitment. After a thirty minute search, she located the family’s camcorder in Mary’s room where she had been using it to film a movie with her dolls.  Jill scraped a wad of gum off the camera and slipped it into her purse.  Maybe she would finally get some video of Mary that she could show the grandparents without having to edit out the embarrassing parts.

Arthur also planned to videotape Sierra.  This was no surprise to anyone.  Sierra’s short life to date was one of the most documented in the history of mankind.  Carefully labeled DVDs of Sierra occupied a whole shelf of the living room bookcase.  As the kids marched out to take their place for their performance, Arthur set up a tripod in the center aisle.

Jill had taken a spot on the opposite side of the aisle.  She hadn’t brought along a tripod, but she steadied her camera on the back of the pew in front of her.  A bit of gum she’d missed helped hold it in place.  And to her delight, Mary’s central position gave her a nice, unobstructed shot.

Sierra’s position at the far edge of the choir did not offer such a clear shot to Arthur.  He wondered what Shane was thinking putting the most talented vocalist off to the side like that.  “Sierra,” he hissed as the kids were lining up.  She looked over and he gestured for her to move toward the center.

Shane had not seen Arthur’s gesture and did not know why Sierra was leaving her assigned spot.  “Sierra,” he whispered, “get back to your place.”  Sierra returned to the edge of the choir.  Shane signaled organist Walter Tibble to begin.

Arthur glared at Shane’s back.  The man was clearly an idiot unqualified to lead a choir of dogs.  He motioned urgently for Sierra to move back toward the center.  Sierra was a little confused by the contradictory messages, but she obeyed her father’s latest instruction.  Shane tried to motion her back again, but the little girl’s gaze was fixed on her father.

Meanwhile, Jill had zoomed in for a close-up of Mary.  Her daughter looked like an angel.  This was uncommon – usually Mary seemed to represent the other team in the divine rivalry.  Suddenly, a carefully coifed head of hair topped by a pink bow filled the viewfinder.

Jill zoomed out.  Sierra had come to a stop directly in front of Mary.  Jill waved to get Mary’s attention.  Mary waved back.  Jill motioned for her to step out from behind Sierra.  Mary tried to obey, but Becky, ever alert to her mission, pulled Mary back into place.

Jill looked over at Arthur and hissed, “Would you please get your daughter to go back to her spot?”

“But I can’t see her way over there,” Arthur whispered back.

“Well, I can’t see Mary over your daughter’s head,” Jill replied.

“Then maybe your daughter should move,” Arthur snapped.

“Maybe your daughter should learn to cooperate with others,” Jill shot back.

“Mommy, shh!” Mary shouted from the front.  “We’re singing.”

The congregation laughed.  Jill flushed with embarrassment.  Arthur gloated until Shane took Sierra’s arm and guided her back to her proper place.

The children finished their song without further incident.  As they walked off, Sierra and Mary held hands.  Jill was proud to show the video of the performance to the grandparents, but only after editing out the part where Mary had shushed her.

After service was over, Shane noticed Tyler going up to the youth group room.  He followed and found Tyler playing a football game on the youth group’s video game system.  “Can I play, too?” Shane asked.

“Sure,” Tyler said.  They spent the next hour bonding.  When the game was over, Shane was quite happy, even though he lost seventy-three to fourteen.

The Sweetheart Dance - Part I

Hear the story read by the author 

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm.  During coffee hour on the first Sunday in February, Kevin and Jill Boyer asked Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s fifteen-year-old daughter Katie if she would babysit for them on Valentine’s Day.  Unfortunately, Katie already had plans to go out with her boyfriend, Alex.

In a small town like Normal, Valentine’s Day was a perfect babysitting storm.  Everyone with kids needed one and most of the older teens wanted to go out on dates themselves.  Kevin and Jill compared notes with some of the other young parents at the church.  Audra Park, a single mother who had just started dating the choir director, Shane Reed, hadn’t found a babysitter for her six-year-old son Tyler either.

Carrie and Carlos Lopez smiled sympathetically.  They knew who they were going to have watch their baby – Carrie’s mother, Karen Winslow, who also happened to be a Sunday school teacher at the church.

“I wonder if your mother would be willing to babysit all the children,” Audra mused.  Kevin and Jill immediately perked up.

“I don’t know,” Carrie said.  “I mean, she might if it were for a church event or something, but otherwise…”

“Maybe it could be a church event,” Kevin suggested.  “Maybe the church should hold a Valentine’s Day dance.”  Kevin was finding it as difficult to get a dinner reservation as it was to get a babysitter and this sounded like killing two birds with one stone.  Carrie and Carlos agreed it was a good idea.  They had moved in with Carrie’s parents, Karen and Del, after the company they worked for went bankrupt.  A church dance would be a nice yet economical date.

It was kind of last minute to put something like that together, of course, but when they proposed it to Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell he was surprisingly enthusiastic.  It turned out he was having trouble getting dinner reservations as well.

Henry rushed over to twenty-eight-year-old Associate Pastor Michelle Tellum and her boyfriend, Ian Wells, who was a jazz guitarist.  “We’re thinking about having a Valentine’s Day dance,” Henry said.  “Ian, do you think your band would like to perform?  We could pay you, say, $200.”

“Absolutely!” Ian replied.  His band usually played in clubs for free drinks.

Michelle frowned.  This was the first time since college that she had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day and she was kind of hoping for a romantic evening alone with Ian.  Spending it at the church felt a little too much like work.  She didn’t want to come off as selfish, though, so she tried to be subtle.  “Won’t that mess up the plans you made for us?” she asked, hoping Ian had actually made some plans.

“Nah,” Ian said.  “I was only able to get an early reservation at the restaurant anyway.  We’ll have plenty of time to eat before the dance.”

“It’s settled then,” Henry declared.

“Great,” Michelle sighed.

The first major wrinkle in the plan came when Henry talked to Karen about handling childcare.  “Absolutely not,” Karen said.  It turned out Carrie and Carlos had just assumed she would babysit for them.  They’d never actually asked her.  “Del and I are going out to dinner,” Karen sniffed.  “He made the reservations a month ago.”  Henry decided Del could be pretty annoying sometimes.

The organizers were in a bind.  The childcare was a key reason for the event in the first place.  Without it, many of them wouldn’t be able to attend.  It was looking like they would need a miracle to save the dance.

And then Katie’s boyfriend dumped her. 

It was all Henry could do not to jump for joy.  Alex was two years older than Katie, and Henry had never approved of their relationship.  He forced himself to wait a decent amount of time before broaching the subject of childcare at the church dance.  He figured half an hour was a suitable mourning period for a teenage romance.

Henry obviously didn’t know much about teenage romances.  Katie burst into tears when he proposed she spend Valentine’s Day watching little kids.  Henry, never particularly skilled at handling crying females, quickly offered to pay her double her regular babysitting rate.  Katie stopped crying.  There was a pair of shoes she really wanted and the gig would just about cover them.  She agreed.

The dance was on.

Valentine’s Day evening started out pretty good for Michelle.  Ian gave her an appropriately lascivious compliment on the sheer white dress she wore.  The restaurant he’d chosen was quite romantic, though the candlelight might have had more impact if the sun wasn’t still shining in around the curtains while they ate.

After they’d finished a juicy prime rib for two, the waiter asked if they’d like to see the desert cart.  He mentioned a special Valentine’s chocolate fudge cake and assured them it was quite decadent.

“We better not,” Ian said.  “I’ve got to get over to the church to set up for the show.”

Michelle looked at her watch.  It wasn’t even seven and it looked like the Valentine’s Day romance was over.  She’d spend the rest of the evening sitting alone watching Ian perform on stage.  And she wouldn’t even have the aftertaste of chocolate fudge cake to tide her over.  She sighed.

Little did she know her evening was destined to get better.  Of course it was also destined to get a lot worse, first.

To be continued…

The Boyers Buy A Tree

The following is based on an excerpt from the novellette "The Christmas Tree Lot" available in the book, "The Christmas Tree Lot and Other Holiday Tales from the Little Church Stories" now available at: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/deboch

(Hear the story read by the author.)

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there's a little church on the corner of Wilson and Elm.  This year the church decided to start a Christmas Tree lot to raise money.  Ralph Billings was in charge of running the lot and Henrietta Miggins was in charge of recruiting volunteers.  So far Henrietta’s recruitment efforts had been quite successful.  When the lot officially opened for business on the Sunday afternoon after Thanksgiving, she had Ralph, Pastor O’Donnell, Walter Tibble, Thad Wheeling and Missy Moore scheduled to work – though Walter didn’t show up, sending word that his back was hurting and he thought he better go home and lay down.

Missy arrived wearing jingle bell earrings and a sweater featuring a picture of a reindeer with a jingle bell sewn to its nose.  “I love Christmas!” she announced as she jingled up to the card table that served as the lot’s base of operations.

“Apparently,” O’Donnell mumbled.

“I brought Christmas music,” Missy continued, her bells tinkling merrily as she set a small boom box on the table, “And Christmas cookies.”

She opened a tin full of brightly decorated sugar cookies.  O’Donnell decided Missy’s Christmas mania definitely had its benefits as he helped himself to a tree shaped cookie.

And then he took a bite. It seemed what he had thought was a sugar cookie was actually made of granite with cement frosting.  He managed to chew and swallow that first bite but feared it might have cost him a visit to the dentist the next day.

While Missy went to find an extension cord for her boom box, O’Donnell ditched the cookie in some bushes.  He noticed the other volunteers were finding similar hiding places for their cookies as well.

When Missy returned they all complimented her on her baking skills.  She put on her first CD.  It was an album of fifteen different versions of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  “Isn’t that clever,” Missy asked as a calypso version played.  “Who would have thought that song could be done in so many different ways?”

Certainly not Pastor O’Donnell.

Ralph declared the lot open for business at noon.  Their first customers were the Boyer family:  Kevin, Jill and their daughters Mary, age four, and Susie, age two.  Jill was hosting the Women's Group Christmas Party this year.  It was a big responsibility so she determined to get everything done as early as possible for the holiday season.  Her plan included getting her tree as soon as she could.

Unfortunately the members of the Boyer family all had different criteria when evaluating the trees.  Jill wanted a perfectly formed tree.  Mary and Susie wanted the biggest tree on the lot so Santa could fit lots of presents under it.  Kevin just didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on something they’d throw away in a month.  It turned out to be quite difficult to find a tree that fulfilled all of those requirements.

The trees were arranged in rows organized by height and type.  Mary and Susie immediately ran to the back row where the eight-foot and over trees were kept.  “Those won’t fit in our living room,” Kevin called as he moved to the four and five foot Douglas firs.

“I think Nobles are prettier,” Jill said, heading toward the other side of the lot.

“But they’re more expensive,” Kevin replied.  “Let’s see if we can find a Douglas that you like first.”

Ralph and Thad were in back making fresh cuts to the bottoms of trees waiting to be mounted in stands, while Missy filled the stands of the trees already on display with a hose. That left Pastor O’Donnell to assist the customers.  “Do you have any questions?” he asked Kevin.

“Not yet,” Kevin replied. “I have a feeling this might take a while,”

“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do,” O’Donnell said and returned to the card table.

Jill had Kevin bring likely candidates out into the aisle so she could observe them from every angle.  Whenever she seemed to be fixating on a particularly expensive tree, he would note that it appeared to be leaning one way or another and urge her to keep looking.  The girls pouted whenever the adults considered anything that was less than seven feet.

After about forty-five minutes Jill had found a tree she thought was just about perfect.  It was a more expensive Noble fir, but Kevin was pleased it was only five feet tall.  The girls wailed and cried but Kevin assured them Santa would figure out a way to stuff plenty of presents under it.  Jill had Kevin turn the tree this way and that as she did a final inspection to make sure there were no holes or bent branches.

Mary sat on the ground pouting and debating whether a bicycle would fit under the tree if Santa laid it on its side.  Then she noticed something moving on one of the branches.  She jumped to her feet and yelled, “Spider!”

“Where?” Kevin screamed in a high-pitched voice.  He leapt back, releasing his grip on the tree.  It fell backwards, striking the row of trees behind it. One by one they tipped over like dominos.  One of them bumped Missy, causing her to stumble and lose control of the hose.  The icy stream of water arced into the air and hit O’Donnell in the back of the head.  O’Donnell’s screams were even higher pitched than Kevin’s as the water ran down the back of his shirt.

Missy stepped on the spider, thereby completely destroying any remaining semblance of Kevin’s manliness.  He picked the tree back up and apologized for the mess.

“No problem,” Missy said brightly and proceeded to right the other fallen trees.

“Oh no,” Jill whispered to her husband.  “When you dropped the tree, the branches on that side kind of got crushed.  We better find another one.”

Kevin moaned.

Thirty minutes later Jill had settled on a new tree.  It was seven feet tall, which pleased the girls.  By that time Kevin would have happily paid a hundred dollars for a potted begonia.  Since O’Donnell was still inside drying off, Ralph made the transaction. He offered to put a fresh cut on the tree, but Kevin just wanted to pay and get out of there.

Ralph happily entered the sale in the brand new ledger he’d bought for the lot.  For the next several hours that was the only entry in that lovely ledger.

“Don’t worry,” Missy Moore said, wiping her brow.  The day was turning out to be a little warm for her reindeer sweater. “I’m sure sales will pick up as Christmas gets closer!”

O’Donnell hoped she was right, though he wasn’t sure he would live to find out.  The last version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on Missy’s album, a novelty take done with synthesized bird tweets, was making him a bit suicidal.


Read what happens next at the Christmas Tree Lot in the book available on Lulu.com!
  

Best Annual Meeting Ever

Hear the story read by the author.

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Like most churches, this one has an all-church annual meeting to elect committee members and hear reports from committee chairs. And like most churches it is difficult to get many people from the congregation to attend. Who could blame them? Annual meetings are universally tedious.

But this year Senior Pastor Henry O’Donnell had an idea to lure a bigger crowd. They would make it a luncheon. Free food always increased participation in church events, no matter how tedious.

When O’Donnell brought up the idea to Florence Barker, head of the pastor-parish committee, she took to it immediately. At seventy-eight Florence was one of the senior members of the church, but age hadn’t slowed her down in the slightest. She even offered to coordinate the food for the luncheon. O’Donnell had envisioned something simple like pasta or a six-foot submarine sandwich, but Florence thought they needed a theme. “How about a Biblical Times luncheon?” she suggested. The pastor agreed it was an excellent idea.

O’Donnell scheduled the luncheon for noon on a Sunday so that he could boost attendance by applying guilt as people left worship. He also enlisted Sunday school teacher Karen Winslow to supervise a kids’ table for the younger children hoping that would be added incentive for the parents to stick around. The result was the best attended annual meeting to date.

O’Donnell had spent the previous week coming up with his own way to embrace Florence’s theme. So when it came time to welcome everyone, he stepped out of the church office dressed in an authentic period shepherd’s outfit consisting of a robe, sandals, rope belt and staff.

The costume got the amused attention O’Donnell had hoped for. He opened the meeting with a brief lecture about the culture of Jesus’ time. “Brief” by pastors’ standards, that is. But the attendees listened politely for the entire ten minutes. Finally O’Donnell delivered a blessing and then invited everyone to help themselves to the buffet.

Florence and her volunteer assistants had prepared pita bread and hummus, tabouli salad, stuffed grape leaves, olives, dates, rice, and lamb kebabs. Though in Jesus’ time meals were typically accompanied by wine, it was agreed that grape juice would make a better substitute. There was also ambrosia salad. It wasn’t true to the theme, but somehow no church meal was ever complete without ambrosia salad.

Over at the designated kids’ table, Karen did her best to keep the ravenous little beasts at bay while the adults filled their plates first. Once everyone over the age of twelve had a shot at the buffet, the youngsters were turned loose. Typical for children their age, they avoided the more unfamiliar foods, focusing on the pita bread and ambrosia salad. But Karen made sure they each took a little of everything and didn’t overdose on ambrosia.

Unlike the designated kids’ table, there was no designated senior citizens’ table. But one emerged anyway. Seventy-year-old Henrietta Miggins, seventy-three-year-old Celia Simmons and seventy-five-year-old Betsy Davis, collectively known around the church as the “Little Old Ladies,” chose a table near the microphone and were joined by eighty-six-year-old Donald East.

Florence, though from the same generation, was not part of the Little Old Ladies. She considered them fuddy-duddies and they found her a bit too free spirited for their tastes. But Florence joined their table anyway once her chores in the kitchen were finished.

“Look at those kids,” Florence said, gesturing to the buffet as she sat down. “They’re having so much fun.”

“I suppose they are,” Henrietta replied. “And here I was thinking the annual meeting was supposed to be a serious affair.”

Two of the people O’Donnell had shanghaied after church were Kevin and Jill Boyer. Free food and guilt would not have enticed Kevin to stay when there was football on TV at home, but Jill was won over by the children’s’ table. She appreciated any break she could get from her daughters Mary and Susie.

Kevin and Jill sat with Carrie and Carlos Winslow and their baby boy, Scott. Carrie was Karen Winslow’s daughter. Carrie’s father, Del was sitting at the next table over, his back to them. Across from Del was Ralph Billings. Del was complaining to Ralph about how his wife never got to enjoy these events because she was always saddled watching “that unruly gang of kids.” Del had a deep voice that easily carried to Kevin and Jill, whose kids were among those Del was referring to, but they pretended not to hear. After all, he wasn’t wrong.

Aware that once the eating was done people would find excuses to leave, Pastor O’Donnell opened the business part of the meeting as soon as Karen had the kids seated again. First on the agenda, each committee chair came up in turn to report on their committee’s activities. The reports were universally upbeat, self-congratulatory, and overly long.

While Henrietta was giving the Trustees report, over at the kids’ table four-year-old Mary Boyer picked up a date and quietly asked, “what’s this” to nobody in particular.

Six-year-old Tyler Park answered, “it’s a boiled caterpillar cocoon.”

“Is not,” Mary shot back.

“Sure is,” Tyler said. “They collect them in the desert around Bethlehem. It’s what the three wise men ate when they were going to see Jesus.”

“Eeeewwww,” Mary said.

“That’s not true,” Becky interjected. At twelve she was really too old for the kids’ table but she found sitting there just barely preferable to sitting with her parents. In her mind she was helping Karen supervise the children. “It’s a date,” Becky continued. “It’s a kind of fruit.”

Tyler responded by throwing his date at Becky.

Becky turned to Karen and said, rather loudly, “Tyler threw a date at me!”

Up at the front of the room Henrietta stopped mid-sentence to glare at the interruption.

“Tyler, don’t throw food,” Karen commanded. She gave Henrietta an apologetic look. Henrietta sniffed and continued her report.

As soon as Karen’s attention was otherwise occupied, Tyler bounced an olive off of Becky’s nose. “Tattle Tale,” he hissed.

Becky picked up the olive and hurled it back at him. It went down his shirt. Mary thought all this looked like great fun. She grabbed a handful of tabouli and threw it at Tyler. Tyler winged a stuffed grape leaf at Mary in response. He missed, and the biblical delicacy landed in the middle of the old people’s table.

“Enough!” Karen shouted. “You kids quit goofing around and eat your lunch. We have important church business to do here today. The next one who throws anything is going to be sorry. Am I clear?”

The children slumped silently in their chairs.

And then an olive hit Karen in the ear.

Everyone was too startled to react at first. The olive came from the direction of the old people’s table. Karen looked over and saw Florence Barker grinning from ear to ear.

The kids’ table erupted in flying food.

Del Winslow shook his head at the sight and said, “This wouldn’t happen if parents today knew how to discipline their kids.”

Behind him, Carrie noticed that Jill Boyer’s face reddened. “I’ll go get Mary,” Jill mumbled to her husband.

Carrie thought back to all the trouble she had caused as a kid and decided her father’s judgmental tone was uncalled for. So she hurled a piece of pita bread at the back of his head. Del spun around, sputtering indignantly. Carrie tossed another piece of bread. Del ducked. The bread hit Ralph Billings.

In short order half of the adults had joined the kids in the food fight.

Up at the front of the room Henrietta looked like she was about to explode. Pastor O’Donnell stepped forward and raised his staff. “Stop this!” he commanded, looking a little like Moses reprimanding the fractious Israelites. He was rewarded by a glob of hummus that smacked him square in the chest. This was followed by a shower of olives, dates, rice, tabouli and ambrosia salad. O’Donnell was forced to retreat to the church office. The Israelites were models of obedience compared to the congregation of the little church.

About ten minutes later the more sober adults had finally managed to bring the food fight to a halt. It was decided that perhaps the children should play outside during the remainder of the meeting.

With a more dignified atmosphere restored, voting commenced to elect new committee members where needed and reelect those who wished to continue in their roles. The voting went quickly since there was only one candidate for each position. It was hard enough finding one person to take on each job without recruiting opposing candidates as well.

After O’Donnell declared the meeting over and delivered a final prayer, Florence leaned back and said, “best annual meeting ever if I do say so myself.”

Henrietta stood up and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Have fun with the clean-up.”

A Tale of Three Fathers

Hear the story read by the author.

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The congregation includes many fathers and sons and daughters, of course. And on Father’s Day the sons and daughters celebrated their fathers in many different ways. These are three of their stories.

Katie and Henry

When Pastor Henry O’Donnell came down to breakfast, his teenage daughter Katie was waiting for him with a gift and a joyful greeting of, “Happy Father’s Day.”

She followed that up with, “Oh Dad, you’re not going to wear that tie again, are you?”

The tie in question was green with a pink cartoon duck on it. Katie had given it to him when she was five, proudly telling him she had picked it out herself. Henry had worn it to preach every Father’s Day since. He always used the story of Katie giving him the tie in his sermons. During coffee hour many of the congregants would compliment Katie on her taste.

But by the time Katie was ten, she’d realized the tie was extremely ugly and the compliments were meant ironically. She begged her father to dispose of the tie. Henry always refused, just as he did this year.

Katie’s gift this Father’s Day was a box of golf balls. She also announced that she would be taking the family out to dinner. “Where?” Henry asked.

“It’s a surprise,” she told him.

That evening Henry, Katie, and her mother, Jennifer, drove to a new steak place in Tenor Falls called Buckeye Pete’s. Jennifer informed Henry that Katie had picked it out herself and made the reservation. What Jennifer didn’t know was that Katie chose this restaurant because of a particular tradition they had. If anybody came in wearing a tie, they would cut it off and hang it on the wall. Katie knew her father would wear the pink duck tie all day and figured she could finally be free of the embarrassment.

Katie led the family into Buckeye Pete’s. “Reservation for three under Katie O’Donnell,” she told the hostess. Then she stepped aside so the woman could see her father’s tie.

Only he wasn’t wearing the tie.

Katie’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Henry leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I’ve heard of this place, too.” Then he patted a bulge in his jacket pocket. Katie sighed. But the steak was terrific so it wasn’t a total loss.

Tyler

“What’s that?” four-year-old Mary Boyer asked. She was sitting with seven-year-old Tyler Park during coffee hour after church and looking at the Father’s Day card he had drawn in Sunday school. It showed a man in a black hat and trench coat engaged in a gun battle with some criminals.

“That’s my Dad,” Tyler replied. “He lives in Chicago. He’s a spy.”

“Really?” Mary asked, wide-eyed.

“Yep,” Tyler said, “but it’s a secret so don’t tell anyone. He’s saved the world forty-two times. He’s a hero and has a big chest full of medals that the President gave him.”

“Wow,” Mary marveled.

“What does your Dad do?” Tyler asked.

“He works in an office,” Mary said, with just a hint of jealousy in her voice.

Just then Mary’s father, Kevin Boyer, came to get her. Mary wondered how many times he had saved the world. She doubted it was more than half a dozen. The family headed out to the car, Mary’s parents laughing about the pastor’s tie. Mary didn’t get the joke. She thought the pink duck was kind of neat.

Meanwhile, Tyler showed his Mom, Audra, his card, explaining it in great detail.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Tyler asked.

“I’m sure he will,” she replied, smiling. But Tyler noticed her eyes looked kind of sad.

They mailed the new card on the way home. After lunch, Tyler called his Dad. They talked for twelve minutes before Tyler’s Dad said he had to go to work at his job at the pizza joint. It was about seven minutes longer than Audra thought her ex would last.

After the conversation Tyler retreated to his room. Audra watched TV and tried not to worry about him. An hour or so later Tyler came out with an armload of drawings. “Mom, can I show you what I drew?” he asked.

“Sure,” Audra said. Tyler spread the papers out. They turned out to be a rough comic book featuring Audra as a superhero saving the world. As Tyler was finishing up his narration of the story he noticed there were tears in his Mom’s eyes.

“Are you sad, Mom?” he asked.

“No, honey,” Audra replied and gave Tyler a big hug.

Mary and Susie and Kevin

Like Tyler, Mary had made a card in Sunday school featuring a picture of her Dad. She had drawn him sitting on the couch watching TV. Kevin didn’t quite know how to take that. His wife Jill thought it was hilarious.

Mary didn’t draw the picture because Kevin was any more of a couch potato than the average guy – in fact, he spent as much time playing sports as he did watching them – she drew the picture because the gift she and her two-year-old sister Susie were giving their father was to wait on him hand and foot while he watched a stock car race on television.

When they got home Mary and Susie ordered Kevin to sit on the couch. Mary tucked a cozy blanket around him despite the fact that it was actually a fairly warm day. Then the two girls headed for the kitchen to get him a drink.

When they returned a few minutes later, Mary carrying a can of soda and Susie a glass of ice, Mary saw that the blanket was bunched up on Kevin’s lap.

“Your blanket fell,” she observed. She climbed up on the arm of the couch and pulled it back in place, making sure to tuck it in extra tight this time.

“Thanks, sweetie, but it’s a little warm,” Kevin gasped.

“I’ll fan you!” Mary cried with delight. She grabbed a magazine and began waving it vigorously.

“Thanks,” Kevin said after the fourth time she had accidentally swatted his ear. “I’m much cooler now.” He noticed Jill peeking in from the kitchen with a smirk on her face.

The girls joined their mother in the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a big bowl of microwave popcorn.

“Look Daddy,” Mary said, “We made it ourselves.”

“Very impressive,” Kevin said. He took the bowl from them and noticed that half of the popcorn was scorched black.

“Eat it, Daddy!” Susie shouted. Kevin took a handful and tossed it in his mouth. He could just barely taste the butter under the overpowering flavor of charcoal. The girls watched expectantly. He took another handful.

Mary observed a bead of sweat trickle down Kevin’s temple. “You’re hot again,” she declared and picked up the magazine.

“It’s my turn to fan him!” Susie wailed. She grabbed the magazine and the two girls engaged in a tug of war. In the process they spilled Kevin’s soda in his lap. To his disappointment they completely missed the bowl of blackened popcorn.

“Sorry, Daddy,” the girls said in unison. Kevin took a deep breath. He knew they meant well.

When Kevin returned from changing his clothes, he could hear the girls in the kitchen arguing about who got to bring him his new drink. He turned off the TV just as they returned to the living room carrying a dangerously full glass of soda between them.

“Why did you turn the TV off?” Mary asked.

“The race is over,” Kevin lied. Mary and Susie looked disappointed. “You know what I’d really like to do now? Go to the park. Do you want to come with me?” The girls’ faces immediately perked up.

While they were getting ready Jill pulled Kevin aside and asked if he wanted her to take the girls to the park so he could enjoy the rest of the race in peace. “It’ll be my Father’s Day present to you,” she said.

“No, that’s okay,” Kevin replied. “I really do want to take them.”

A short time later he was sitting on a hard wooden bench by the playground with no snacks and no drinks and thankfully no cozy blanket watching his daughters play spies instead of watching cars going around in a circle really fast on TV. Most days he would have considered this a chore but today he found he was enjoying himself.

Then Mary fell and skinned her knee. As Kevin fussed over the slight wound Mary thought about Tyler’s Dad. Mary decided she was pretty glad that her father was just a businessman who lived in Normal instead of a hero spy that lived in Chicago. She gave Kevin a big hug and said, “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”

11 p.m.

At 11 p.m. Katie and Tyler and Mary and Susie were all in bed. Kevin was watching highlights of the race he had missed, Audra was leafing through Tyler’s drawings and Henry was hanging up his favorite tie until next year. It had been quite a fine Father’s Day for all of them.

For my Dad.

Drifts

Hear the story read by the author.

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. All week long Normal had been bombarded by a late winter snowstorm, but Sunday morning the sun rose in a clear blue sky. The little church looked like something out of a painting, draped in a pristine blanket of sparkling white. Most of the congregation arrived for worship in good spirits, delighted to be out and about after so many days cooped up inside.

The one person who wasn’t charmed by the beauty of the fresh snow was Tammy Billings. She and her husband Ralph, the head usher, arrived at the church extra early that morning. Ralph was the one who had to shovel the thirty-foot sidewalk leading from the parking lot to the church entrance. Ralph was fifty-nine years old and Tammy worried about him over-exerting himself.

Ralph had no such concerns. He liked a little physical labor in the crisp winter air. “Gets the blood flowing,” he said.

Ralph had cleared about a third of the walk when Pastor Henry O’Donnell and his teenage daughter Katie pulled into the parking lot. Tammy met the pastor as he got out of his car.

“Good morning,” O’Donnell said. “I knew Ralph would be here hard at work already. You can always rely on good old Ralph.”

“Yes you can,” Tammy agreed. “But that’s a lot of snow for one man to shovel. Do you think you could give him a hand? He won’t let me because of my carpel tunnel.”

“I would,” O’Donnell said with an apologetic shrug, “but I’m wearing my good leather shoes.”

“I’ll help,” Katie volunteered. She wasn’t a fan of hard labor so early in the morning but she liked Ralph and hated to see him working when everyone else was standing around.

O’Donnell smiled with pride as he watched his daughter and Ralph shovel the walk together. I’ve raised a good kid, he thought. If more parents were better roll models for their teenagers it would solve a lot of problems in this country.

Then he looked at his watch. “How much longer,” he called out. “I have to start preparing for my sermon pretty soon.”

It was only a few more minutes until Ralph and Katie had cleared the path enough for O’Donnell to get into the building without damaging his good shoes. As the two of them stood leaning on their snow shovels and surveying their handiwork, Ralph pointed at the mound of snow they’d created and said, “what say we turn that into a snow sculpture after church? We could make a big dragon or something.”

“Cool,” Katie said with a grin.

After church was over most of the congregation gathered in the social hall where Tammy had whipped up a batch of hot cocoa in addition to the usual coffee and tea. Four year-old Mary Boyer knelt on a couch, her nose pressed to a window, watching Katie and Ralph sculpting their life-size snow dragon by the front walk.

She ran over to her father, Kevin Boyer, and tugged on his pant leg. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she cried. “I want to build a snowman!”

“Maybe later,” Kevin said. “I’m having some cocoa.”

Kevin’s wife, Jill, gave him a stern look. “Go play with your daughter.”

“Yay,” Mary shouted. Kevin grumpily slurped down the rest of his cocoa and took Mary out behind the church.

“Let’s make a unicorn!” Mary exclaimed. She had been inspired by the dragon to think beyond the typical snowman made of three stacked balls. Kevin agreed and they began mounding up snow to form the body. For practical purposes they would only sculpt the unicorn from the hips up.

As the creature took shape, Kevin’s grouchiness vanished. He got caught up in the artistry of the task and began to sculpt the figure into an ever more realistic form.

“What should I do, Daddy?” Mary asked.

“Why don’t you add snow to the flanks,” he replied as he carefully molded the head.

“What’s the flanks?” Mary said.

“The sides.”

Mary started slapping handfuls of snow onto the flanks of the unicorn. But she quickly grew bored of the mundane task. “I want to help with the head,” she said.

“No, honey, why don’t you make the tail,” Kevin mumbled.

Mary didn’t want to make the tail but she knew the look on her Daddy’s face. The unicorn was now his project. She decided to go make her own snow sculpture, one that would be bigger and cooler than the unicorn.

That mission was derailed, however, when she spotted a round plastic sled leaning up against the church building. Suddenly sledding sounded a lot more fun than building a snow sculpture. She took the sled over to where snow had drifted up against the church’s tool shed forming a slope just the right size for a girl her age.

A bit later, six-year-old Tyler Park trudged by Mary’s sledding slope.

“Want to sled with me?” Mary asked.

“That’s not much of a hill,” Tyler replied. “I used to race bobsleds with my Dad. We would sled down huge mountains that were really steep. We’d do jumps and loop-de-loops and everything.”

“Really?” Mary said.

“Sure,” Tyler nodded. He had a rather active imagination. “If we had a mountain around here I’d show you.”

“What about the roof of the church?” Mary asked. “It’s not a mountain but it’s pretty high and steep. If you sled down the side you could jump the sled over to the roof of the tool shed, then slide down onto the snow drift.”

Tyler studied the route Mary indicated. “I guess that would be cool,” he said. “Too bad we can’t get up on the roof.”

“Sure we can,” Mary said. “Follow me.”

Mary led Tyler around to the side of the church where snow was mounded on top of the garbage bins to within two feet of the eaves. She clambered up the snow bank and pulled herself onto the roof. Not one to be outdone by a four year-old girl, Tyler followed.

They made their way up the slope of the roof to just below the peak. Tyler stood there, the plastic sled under his arm, surveying the proposed route. It looked a little steeper from this angle and the gap to the shed was wider than he had thought.

“Well,” Mary said. “Go ahead.”

“Just a minute,” Tyler snapped. “A real sled racer plans his race carefully.”

“Oh,” Mary said, suitably impressed to know a real sled racer.

Meanwhile, Pastor O’Donnell stepped out the front door of the church with his cup of cocoa. He called to Ralph, who was at that moment sculpting the dragon’s left wing with Katie.

“I’ve been wondering,” O’Donnell said. “There’s a lot of snow up on the roof. Do you think it’ll be a problem?”

“I suppose I could go up there and shovel it off,” Ralph said.

“That would be great,” O’Donnell replied around a sip of cocoa.

When Ralph climbed up on the roof a couple minutes later he was shocked to find two children standing there with a sled. “Just what do you two think you’re doing?” Ralph asked.

“Tyler’s going to sled down the roof of the church, jump onto the shed and then slide down the other side. He’s a real sled racer,” Mary said.

“Oh no he’s not,” Ralph said. “Give me that sled and get down from here. The roof is much too dangerous for kids.”

“Aw, shoot,” Tyler responded, quickly handing the sled to Ralph. “Oh well, come on Mary.”

Ralph watched to make sure they got off the roof safely. He shook his head as he looked down at the sled path the children had planned. “Crazy kids,” he muttered.

Still, it might have worked. The shed was perfectly in line with the roof. The sled would probably clear the gap with ease. And it would then be a simple matter to ride down onto the snowdrift. Not something a child should try of course.

But, Ralph thought, I’m not a child. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching. Tyler and Mary had gone back inside for cocoa and Kevin was absorbed with putting the finishing touches on the snow unicorn.

Ralph set the sled down and hopped on. It immediately plummeted down the church roof. It made the jump to the tool shed just as planned, bouncing once then rocketing down the drift.

The bounce, however, threw Ralph off balance and the sled began to spin. The spin caused it to arc off to the left as it came off the slope.

The sled had gained quite a bit of speed on its journey down the roof. It skipped across the expanse of snow-covered lawn, still spinning out of control, and plowed right into the snow unicorn just as Kevin was fixing an icicle into place for its horn. The sculpture exploded in a shower of snow that blanketed Kevin. Ralph did two summersaults and came to a stop on his back laughing uproariously.

Meanwhile, up on the roof, Ralph’s little ride had disrupted the integrity of the snow cover. A big chunk slid off and landed in a pile on the ground. The vibrations caused a similar chunk on the other side to come loose.

Out front Pastor O’Donnell was just about to suggest to Katie that a dragon may not be the best sculpture for in front of a church when the dislodged snow cascaded down on his head. He stood blinking in shock as steam rose from the dissolving lump of snow in his cup of cocoa.

He looked down. His nice leather shoes were ruined.