Scott's Baptism

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. A few months ago church members Carrie and Carlos Lopez gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Scott. Last Sunday they had Scott baptized during morning worship service.

Karen and Del Winslow are Carrie’s parents and thus Scott’s grandparents. Since Scott’s birth Karen had filled nearly a dozen hours of videotape with footage of him. And soon Del will have to purchase a new hard drive to accommodate all the digital photos she’s taken.

Karen had footage of Scott sleeping, footage of Scott eating, footage of Scott crying…well, that pretty much covered it. All he had really done up to this point was sleep, eat and cry. The prospect of filming an actual milestone event like the baptism had Karen in full director mode. She started filming from the moment they left the house.

When they arrived at church Del went to his accustomed place with the choir. The rest of the family normally sat toward the back of the sanctuary, but as they were to be part of the day’s service they moved up to the second pew so they wouldn’t have to walk so far when it came time for the baptism. The first pew remained empty. Nobody ever sat in the first pew.

No sooner had the service started than baby Scott woke up and began to cry. For reasons nobody could fathom he seemed to cry every time they brought him into the sanctuary. Carlos was, frankly, no fan of church but even he couldn’t understand why it bothered his infant son so much.

Carrie picked up Scott and paced up and down the side aisle trying with limited success to calm him. Karen followed along dutifully, camcorder pressed to her eye.

Fortunately, the baptism was early in the service and only the invocation, call to worship and first hymn were impacted by Scott’s wailing. As soon as the ceremony was over Carrie could take him to the nursery for the remainder of the service.

Eight and half long minutes later Pastor O’Donnell came down out of the chancel and invited the family to come forward for the baptism.

Missy Moore, who was seated in the pew behind the Winslows, said, “Karen, why don’t you let me take the camera for you?”

Karen looked at Missy skeptically. It was clear from her expression that she wasn’t sure she could trust someone else with such an essential task.

“Yeah, Mom,” Carrie chimed in. “You should be in this video.”

Karen reluctantly handed the camera to Missy. “Don’t worry,” Missy said, “I know what to do.” She positioned herself at the near end of the pew to get a good angle on the proceedings.

The family gathered around the baptismal font. Pastor O’Donnell led the parents in their vows of caring for sweet little Scott’s spiritual upbringing. Even with his lapel microphone, he had to shout to be heard over sweet little Scott.

Then Tammy Billings led the congregation in their part of the ceremony. She did not have a lapel microphone, but there was a mic on a stand available to her. Unfortunately, when she turned it on, Scott’s wailing caused a screeching feedback, which in turn caused Scott (and a few members of the congregation) to wail even louder. Tammy quickly turned off the microphone.

Luckily the text of the ceremony was in the hymnal and the congregation managed to read in relative unison despite being unable to hear their leader.

When they finished, Pastor O’Donnell removed Scott’s knit cap and handed it to Carrie. He dipped his fingers in the water in the baptismal font and placed his wet hand on Scott’s little head. The sensation of the water startled Scott so much he stopped crying.

O’Donnell breathed a sigh of relief, then said, “Scott Michael Lopez, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

Little Scott looked into O’Donnell’s eyes and gave him the most heartwarming smile. Startled, O’Donnell smiled back.

And then it hit him.

It seemed while O’Donnell was baptizing him, Scott was working on a little project in his diaper. A project that gave off astoundingly noxious fumes. O’Donnell reeled back. His eyes began to water. Through the tears he marveled that such an adorable little creature could produce a smell so foul.

Many in the congregation were touched to see their pastor crying. It was sweet, they thought, that he was still so moved by the ceremony of baptism after all these years in ministry.

O’Donnell watched each member of the family recoil slightly as the invisible cloud of putrescence spread out from Scott’s diaper. They all tried not to react. After all, though the aroma may have seemed like something emanating from the depths of hell, it was a normal biological activity for an infant. But the smiles that had previously been such natural expressions of the family’s joy had turned into frozen grimaces.

Carrie and Carlos knew immediately what the problem was. They had just started little Scott on solid foods and he was having a profound reaction to avocados – though he seemed to love them.

The expanding stench reached Missy. She gasped and began scooting down her pew trying to escape the funk. Karen noticed this and hissed at her, gesturing for her to return to her previous spot.

“I’m using the zoom,” Missy said quietly.

“Get back here,” Karen growled.

Missy took a deep breath, held it, and resumed her position.

Little Scott nestled in Pastor O’Donnell’s arms, cooing adorably at him. But the pungent bouquet only seemed to be getting worse.

“Now let me introduce this little guy to the congregation,” O’Donnell said and started up the central aisle, turning from side to side so everyone could see the baby. O’Donnell had hoped that he might escape the area of contamination but it soon became apparent that the scent travelled with its source.

As he passed, the congregants leaned forward to get a better view of the cherubic infant. And quickly jerked away when the stench hit their noses.

O’Donnell made it back to the front of the church and returned the baby to Carrie. He declared Scott baptized and dismissed the family. Though Scott was no longer crying, Carrie didn’t even pause at the pew, heading straight for the nursery. She wanted to get that diaper into a containment unit before it could do any more damage.

The rest of the family returned to the second pew, except for Del who resumed his position in the choir. Celia Simmons leaned back and grumbled, “Pastor O’Donnell forgot to bring your grandson up here so the choir could see him.”

Del patted her shoulder and said, “Trust me, he was doing you a favor.”

Celia would have asked Del to explain himself but it was time for the next hymn.

Four years from now the Winslows will finally sit down to watch the recording of the baptism for the first time. They will have forgotten all about the aromatic part of the day – until about halfway through the ceremony when Missy’s whispered voice comes on the tape. Missy apparently didn’t recall that the camera’s microphone was closer to her than anyone else and would therefore pick up the prayer she muttered under her breath.

“Dear Lord,” Missy had prayed, “please grant me strength to endure these evil fumes. I’m sorry I didn’t buy any candy bars from that kid at the grocery store. I promise if you get me through this I will put twenty dollars in the offering plate.”

After that the Winslows will no longer be able to hear what Missy says because it will be drowned out by their laughter. Four year-old Scott will look at his parents and grandparents in confusion. It must be one of those jokes only old people get, he will figure.

In memory of Nez Smith.

Locked Out

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. One Wednesday evening Associate Pastor Michelle Tellum was working late by herself in her basement office when she thought she heard the sound of glass breaking outside. “The raccoons are in the trash again,” she thought. She grabbed the squirt gun she kept to frighten the furry bandits away and headed upstairs.

But when she exited the rear of the church she found the trash bin lid tightly in place and no sign of masked troublemakers. She shrugged and turned to go back inside.

Only to discover the door had locked behind her.

That’s when she realized she’d left her purse with her keys and her cell phone down in her office. She knew Jose the janitor had already finished up for the night and would have locked everything down tight. But she figured the coffee shop down the block would still be open and would probably let her use their phone.

She was halfway across the lawn when the sprinklers came on. She dashed back to the church porch, thoroughly soaked. Now, Michelle was not overly vain but she didn’t relish the embarrassment of going into the coffee shop with a clingy wet shirt and stringy damp hair. She decided to look for an alternate way into the church first.

The sound Michelle heard was not raccoons. It was a man named Don who broke a window in the choir room door to gain access to the church. Don was not really a bad man but he was not really a good man either. Mostly he was lazy and an alcoholic. And when he was out of money and really needed a drink he would occasionally steal something. He figured the church would be easy to break into and would probably have something lying around that he could pawn.

If Michelle knew about the broken window she could have easily gotten back inside. But of course if she knew there was a prowler on the premises she wouldn’t have been so anxious to get back inside in the first place. Since she didn’t know about the broken window, she made a different plan.

She could see that the window of the teens’ room on the second floor was open a crack. There was a small lip of roof below it, just above a side door. Michelle rummaged through the garbage and found a crate. By using it as a step she was able to pull herself up onto the little bit of roof.

The window was small and only opened half way but Michelle thought she just might be able to slither through. With a little effort she wriggled her head and shoulders in. From there she easily slid the upper part of her body through. But as she squeezed her hips under the sash, the seat of her pants caught on a screw that had worked its way loose. As she pushed forward, she heard her pants tear. The more she pushed, the more they tore.

Finally, she decided she better back out and try again. She reached her foot down to find the roof and it slid into the gutter. As she shifted her weight back, the gutter tore away from the roof. Without its support Michelle hurtled backward.

Fortunately she didn’t fall directly onto the gravel path or she might have been badly hurt. Instead she landed in the bushes beside the path. Unfortunately they were rose bushes and full of thorns. She didn’t sustain any serious damage, but she scratched her face and arms up pretty good.

Michelle crawled out of the bushes and stood up. She craned her body around to try to ascertain how big the tear in her pants was. It was big. And then out of the corner of her eye she noticed the security camera. She knew the church had security cameras, of course, but was so used to them it had slipped her mind. Currently she was mooning this particular camera. She made a mental note to delete that tape once she got back inside.

Meanwhile, Don hit the jackpot. He had found his way to Michelle’s office and discovered her purse. He dug out her wallet and took all her cash. He left everything else. Cash was easy and untraceable.

Outside Michelle was beginning to get cold. She had to find a way back in. She circled the building and finally discovered the broken window. “That’s odd,” she thought, “Nobody told me this window was broken. I bet one of the kids did it and was afraid to say anything.” Regardless, it was a way in.

Don was just coming back to the choir room as Michelle entered through the door. He heard her in the nick of time and pressed himself against the wall of the hallway. He held his breath and peeked into the dark room. From his vantage point Michelle was silhouetted in moonlight. He could tell it was a woman, but not much else.

Then Michelle took the squirt gun out of her pocket.

All Don saw was the silhouette and his blood ran cold. It was not worth getting shot over a few twenties. He scurried back up the hall looking for any other way out and found the side door. He dashed through, glancing back over his shoulder to see if the woman with the gun was pursuing him.

And he hit his head on the dangling gutter that Michelle had broken. He let out a yelp and fell to the ground, out cold.

Michelle heard Don’s cry. She began to piece together what was really happening. She crept up to the suspiciously open side door with growing dead and looked out. When she saw Don sprawled on the walk she clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a scream and ran downstairs to her office.

With her office door safely locked, she called the police. The dispatcher sent a patrol car to the church and stayed on the line with Michelle while she waited. That’s when Michelle remembered the tear in her pants. She put the phone on speaker and changed into some sweats she kept in her bottom desk drawer.

It wasn’t long before the dispatcher informed her that the patrol car had arrived and apprehended the intruder. Michelle went out to meet them. She was greeted by a tall and rather handsome officer. “I’m Officer Johnson,” he said. Michelle wished she’d also taken time to fix her hair and put make-up over the scratches on her face while she was waiting.

Michelle told handsome Officer Johnson what had happened, leaving out the part about her pants ripping. He took notes then complimented her on her bravery.

“What do you do here at the church?” he asked.

“I’m the associate pastor,” Michelle told him.

“I didn’t know pastors could be so pretty,” he said with a wink. “I’ll have to start coming to church.”

Michelle’s cheeks reddened. She tried not to grin like an idiot.

“Well, I’m done here,” Officer Johnson said, flipping his book closed. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so,” Michelle said.

Officer Johnson started to turn away, then stopped. “One more thing. I notice you have a security camera above that door. We’ll want a copy of the tape for evidence.”

Michelle cheeks went from red to pale.

A Tale of Three Fathers

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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.

Katie's Accident

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. One recent Wednesday evening Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s daughter Katie was slumped forlornly in his office. “It wasn’t my fault,” she protested.

“Just tell me what happened,” Henry said, trying not to lose his temper.

“Mrs. Miggins’ has to take some medicine that affects her eyesight so she hired me to do some chores for twenty bucks.”

“Yes, I know all that,” Henry said. “I dropped you off at her house.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Mrs. Miggins medication affects more than her eyes because she kept telling me to feed the cat, but she doesn’t have a cat. But when I tried to explain that to her she accused me of killing the cat. So I told her I would feed the cat if she told me where the food was. She said it was under the sink but there was no food there because, you know, she doesn’t really have a cat. So finally I just made a bowl of cereal and put it on the floor by the back door.”

“Get to the part about the car,” Henry demanded.

“I am! Sheesh.” Katie rolled her eyes. “Okay, so it was about 6:45 and Mrs. Miggins said she had to get to the Trustees meeting. You were supposed to pick us up and take her there but you were late.”

“Yes, I know,” O’Donnell replied. “Something urgent came up.” He purposely omitted the details of what had delayed him. He didn’t think Katie needed to know he was late because he’d gotten into an argument with a seventeen year-old classmate of hers, who also happened to be the manager of a nearby fast food joint, over what size fries he’d ordered at the drive-through.

“Well,” Katie continued, “Mrs. Miggins was getting really upset. I tried to call your cell a bunch of times, but you didn’t answer.”

Henry had left his cell phone in the car while he went inside to debate the teenage fry dictator. “You should have waited,” he told Katie. “I would have been there soon.”

“I wanted to wait. But Mrs. Miggins was getting angry. She didn’t want to be late to the meeting. She was afraid they would vote on what color to paint the narthex without her. When she found out I have my learner’s permit, she said I could drive her in her car. I told her I didn’t think that was a good idea but she said if I wanted to get paid, I’d do it.”

“You aren’t supposed to drive without being supervised by someone over 21.”

“That’s what I told Mrs. Miggins. She said she was a lot older than 21.”

“Yes, but she couldn’t see!”

“I pointed that out to her as well. She said she would be able to hear if I did something wrong. I kind of believed her, actually.”

“Okay,” Henry said, rubbing his temples. “But Mrs. Miggins’ car is a stick shift. You don’t know how to drive a stick shift.”

“I told her that, too,” Katie replied. “She said that was a travesty and that she would teach me. She also said a lot of nasty things about you because you weren’t teaching me to drive a stick shift, by the way.”

“I’m sure she did,” Henry sighed. “Look, you clearly weren’t ready or you wouldn’t have wrecked her car.”

“First of all,” Katie informed him, “it’s not wrecked. The fire hydrant had a lot more damage than that old monster Ford Mrs. Miggins has. And second of all, I drove it very well. And it wasn’t easy, either, with Mrs. Miggins yelling at me all the time about the squirrels in the road. I kept telling her there were no squirrels in the road but she kept insisting I was slaughtering the poor little rodents. That’s the way she said it: slaughtering the poor little rodents.”

“Get to the accident,” Henry snapped.

“That’s just it,” Katie practically shouted. “I didn’t have an accident. We got to the church just fine. I parked in the parking lot but Mrs. Miggins had fallen asleep. I couldn’t wake her up so I decided to leave her there and get help.”

“So how did the car end up hitting the fire hydrant? Did Mrs. Miggins drive it away?”

“No, Dad. Apparently when you park a stick shift you can’t leave it in neutral or it rolls. And nobody told me that.”

“So the car rolled down the hill and hit the fire hydrant while you were in the church.”

“Yes!” Katie exclaimed triumphantly.

Henry sat back, jaw clenched, face red with anger. “Katie, if you ever want to get your driver’s license you need to be a lot more responsible.”

“But Dad,” Katie pleaded, “I told you, it wasn’t my fault!”

At that moment Henrietta Miggins stepped into the office. “She’s right,” Henrietta said.

“I thought you were going to the hospital,” Henry replied.

“I’m fine,” Henrietta huffed. “I was wearing my seatbelt. And there’s no way I’m going to let those trustees paint the narthex some outlandish color. Ralph Billings wanted to paint it olive, if you can believe that.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re alright,” Henry said. “And don’t worry. Katie will pay for the damage to your car as part of her punishment.”

“Nonsense,” Henrietta said. “You’ll pay for the damage to the car. It was your fault after all.”

“My fault!” Henry exclaimed.

“Of course,” Henrietta said. “Who doesn’t turn on their cell phone in this day and age? And what kind of father doesn’t teach his daughter to drive a manual transmission?”

“See Dad,” Katie said. “I told you it wasn’t my fault. It was yours.”

“Don’t back talk your father,” Henrietta snapped at Katie. Then she handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “You did a fine job today, dear. Pastor, I want you and Katie to pick me up on Friday and take me to get my car from the shop. Katie can drive me home in it. I’ll finish teaching her how to operate a manual transmission.”

“Fine,” Henry sighed. His head hurt and he didn’t want to argue. Katie was considering which would be worse – letting her Dad punish her or learning to drive from Mrs. Miggins.

Henrietta fixed the pastor with a stern gaze. “Honestly,” she said, “I don’t know how you get any work done with all these squirrels running around in here.”

She turned and stomped out of the room. Katie just shrugged to her father. There wasn’t a squirrel in sight.

Water Balloons

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. One day this May summer decided to pop in early for a quick scouting expedition. By 10 am local thermometers were venturing into the eighties and Normal’s television meteorologists began planning their big stories on breaking the record high for the date.

The folks at the little church welcomed this unseasonable warmth. It had been a long and bitter winter and they were happy to leave their hats and coats and scarves and mittens at home. Thirty-seven year-old Kevin Boyer even decided to wear shorts and sandals to church, much to his wife Jill’s chagrin.

Seventy year-old Henrietta Miggins made no such concession to the heat. She was of the school that believed you dressed for church in your Sunday best regardless of the weather. She even had mixed feelings about the air conditioning that had been installed in 1985. Such attentions to comfort smacked of the Devil’s temptations to her.

Henrietta clucked her tongue at Kevin’s shorts and sandals, but she had come to expect such crassness from him. What brought her stew of disapproval to a roiling boil was Pastor Henry O’Donnell’s decision to forgo his clerical robes in favor of a Hawaiian print shirt that morning.

As for the pastor, he felt not just comfortable but downright progressive. As he looked in the mirror that morning he thought, “I am one cool clergyman.” The early warmth had put him in a particularly cheerful mood. Even Henrietta’s disapproving glare and the inevitable rant he anticipated from her at coffee hour could not dampen his spirits.

The children of the church were even more delighted by the weather than the adults. Pastor O’Donnell’s fifteen-year-old daughter Katie and her friend Tabitha had discovered a bag of balloons in the church kitchen and planned to have a water balloon fight after service. Meanwhile, Karen Winslow decided to conduct her pre-school Sunday school class, the Guppies, outside on the lawn.

Kevin and Jill’s daughter Mary was in the Guppies Sunday school class. She and the other kids were having such a good time playing outside that when service was over Karen offered to continue watching them through coffee hour. Kevin and Jill happily agreed to leave Mary in Karen’s care for a while longer.

Mary was on a quest to capture slugs from the flower garden when she saw Katie and Tabitha filling up their water balloons from a garden hose. Mary was fascinated. It had never occurred to her to put anything besides air in a balloon.

Katie and Tabitha each took two water balloons and stood back to back. They then paced off ten steps, turned and fired, as though engaged in an eighteenth century duel. Katie’s first balloon hit Tabitha right in her belly, soaking her. Tabitha’s balloon sailed over Katie’s head, bursting harmlessly on the ground. Katie fired again but missed. Tabitha wound up to throw her remaining balloon and Katie took off squealing. Tabitha pursued.

Mary had watched all this and now her eyes were fixed on a bright red sphere resting on the grass. It was Katie’s second balloon. It hadn’t burst when it hit the ground.

Mary looked over at Karen Winslow. She was occupied with Mary’s classmate Sierra who had fallen and skinned her knee. Mary walked over to the balloon. She picked it up.

It felt surprisingly heavy in her little hands. She noticed Tabitha and Katie had restocked with more balloons and were chasing each other around the yard shouting and laughing. It looked like a lot of fun to Mary. She decided to join in.

Unfortunately, Tabitha and Katie’s legs were considerably longer than Mary’s and she had difficulty catching up. And the teenagers’ duel was morphing into something more like guerilla warfare as they sought out hiding places from which to launch sneak attacks. Mary eventually lost track of where they were.

Where Katie was, was hiding behind the tool shed waiting to ambush Tabitha. She crouched, two water balloons in hand, as Tabitha stalked up the path searching for her.

Pastor O’Donnell had been watching the girls’ game from the steps leading to the social hall as he munched on a handful of grapes. The teenagers carefree romping warmed his heart. But he noticed that Katie had definitely gotten the better of Tabitha. Tabitha’s clothes and hair were drenched while Katie had only a single damp spot on her shoulder blade. From his vantage point the pastor could see the impending trap Tabitha was approaching.

O’Donnell tossed a grape at Tabitha to get her attention. Then he pointed toward the tool shed with a wink.

Tabitha grinned. She changed direction and circled around the other side of the shed. She caught Katie off guard, soaking her with two quick direct hits to the back of her head, then dashed off the other way.

O’Donnell’s view of the resulting chase was blocked by Henrietta Miggins. She strode up to him and demanded to know why he had chosen to dress so offensively. It was a bad example to set for his delinquent flock.

“Lighten up,” O’Donnell said. “There’s no rule against a pastor leading service in a Hawaiian shirt.” He probably shouldn’t have used the words “lighten up,” but he figured he was in for a lecture either way. And he was correct.

Just as Henrietta was reaching the apex of her fury, one finger jabbing into the air for effect, Tabitha bolted past behind her. And at just that moment Katie, focused only on revenge, launched one of her water balloons. Unfortunately her aim was off and it sailed over Tabitha’s head – and struck a direct hit on Henrietta Miggins’ backside.

Katie and Tabitha pulled up short. Henrietta’s mouth opened and closed as though she had suddenly lost the ability to speak. Her finger remained in the air without apparent purpose.

O’Donnell began to laugh.

He couldn’t help himself. Henrietta looked ridiculous. She regained her senses and fixed him with an icy glare. It only made him laugh harder. She shoved him aside and stalked into the social hall. O’Donnell stumbled to the ground, rolled onto his back, and continued laughing as tears ran down his cheeks.

Ten minutes later Henrietta emerged from the bathroom where she had done her best to dry her dress with paper towels. As she was heading back toward the social hall planning the withering speech she would deliver to the pastor, she noticed little four-year-old Mary walking down the hall with her water balloon and peeking into various rooms in search of Katie and Tabitha.

“Little girl!” Henrietta said. “What do you have there?”

Meanwhile, outside Pastor O’Donnell had regained his composure. As much as he enjoyed seeing Henrietta become collateral damage in the water balloon fight, he knew he had to do the responsible thing. He summoned Katie and Tabitha to him for a stern reprimand then told them to find some other way to enjoy the day’s warmth.

As they sulked away from him, a red orb flew out of an open window behind him. It hit O’Donnell square on the top of the head and burst, spilling water down over his face and drenching his Hawaiian shirt. Now it was O’Donnell’s turn to gape in shock.

He dashed into the Social Hall to find the culprit but the room was empty. Everyone was outside enjoying the weather and the balloon assassin had made a clean getaway.

Out on the lawn Karen finally located Mary and scolded her for leaving Karen’s sight. Mary took it with aplomb. She received such scoldings several times a day. She just wished she had another water balloon.

Meanwhile, Henrietta Miggins joined her friends Celia and Betsy. Betsy raised an eyebrow and asked, “did you throw that water balloon at Pastor O’Donnell?”

“Do you really think me capable of something so childish?” Henrietta snapped. But she said it with a sly smile that suggested maybe there was indeed a bit of child left in Henrietta. Neither Betsy nor Celia pursued the matter further.

Coffee hour was winding down. After all, several of the church members needed to get home and change out of their wet clothes.

Breakfast in Bed

Note to my readers: If you follow this blog regularly you may notice that I am not scheduled to publish a story this week. This is a special "bonus" story in honor of Mother's Day. And it is dedicated, of course, to my mother. Love you, Mom!

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Karen Winslow has taught Sunday school there for many years. And every year on Mother’s Day Karen’s daughter Carrie provides breakfast in bed for her mother before they go to church.

The tradition started when Carrie was three years old. The first breakfast was cold cereal and orange juice that little Carrie prepared with the help of her father, Del. As Carrie grew older she tried to make more complex breakfasts. However Carrie seemed to have inherited Del’s ineptitude in the kitchen instead of her mother’s expertise. After enduring rubbery, slightly greenish eggs when Carrie was eight, blackened French toast that tasted strangely of garlic when Carrie was ten, and pancakes that required a steak knife to cut when Carrie was thirteen, Karen remembered the days of cold cereal with longing.

All that changed when Carrie got her driver’s license. Unable to face her arch nemesis, the stove, one more time, Carrie instead woke up at five in the morning to drive to a bakery in the town of Tenor Falls thirty miles away. There she purchased a bag of hot, fresh cinnamon rolls.

These were no ordinary cinnamon rolls. They were buttery, flaky, melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon delights. They were the one commercially purchased baked good that Karen acknowledged as superior to what she produced in her own kitchen. Upon tasting them for the first time during a family road trip, Karen half seriously suggested they move to Tenor Falls just to be able to enjoy the treats on a more regular basis.

Needless to say the cinnamon rolls were the best Mother’s Day breakfast Karen had ever had. So the following year Carrie did it again. And thus a tradition was born. With her father’s help, Carrie managed to keep the tradition up even after moving to Cincinnati for college and after marrying a handsome young man named Carlos Lopez.

This year Carrie was back in Normal. Carrie and Carlos had moved in with Del and Karen after the company they worked for in Cincinnati went bankrupt. And this Mother’s Day would be different for the Winslow family due to an even more significant event:

Carrie had recently become a mom herself.

A few months earlier She had given birth to little Scott Lopez. Scott was too young yet to grasp the significance of the holiday, of course, but Carlos was not about to let Carrie’s first Mother’s Day as a mother go by without an extravagant celebration. When Carlos learned of Carrie’s plan to wake up before dawn and drive forty minutes each way to buy cinnamon rolls he had to intervene.

“You should sleep in,” Carlos insisted. “I’ll make breakfast for both you and your mother.”

Now Carlos was an excellent cook, but to Carrie the best part of his proposal was the sleeping in. At this stage in his brief life, Scott rarely slept more than four hours in a row. Carrie could no longer remember a time when she wasn’t exhausted.

So the next morning after feeding Scott at 5 am, Carrie went back to sleep while Carlos took Scott and went down to the kitchen to whip up a spinach quiche.

Carlos sat Scott in his infant chair on the counter while he worked. He made a crust, mixed the filling, scrubbed the floor after Scott knocked the mixing bowl off the counter, mixed more filling, poured the filling into the crust, slid it into the oven and set the timer for fifty minutes. Then he took Scott out to the living room and lay down on the couch. As a good modern husband Carlos shared equally in the childcare duties, which meant he was just as exhausted as Carrie. So whenever he had a few minutes he grabbed a quick nap.

He was awakened not by the oven timer but by Scott’s crying. Carlos leapt off the couch and scooped Scott out of his infant chair. “Shh,” he cooed to the baby. “Don’t wake Mommy up. We’re letting her sleep in for Mother’s Day.”

The cause of Scott’s unhappiness resided just where Carlos suspected it would – in his diaper. Carlos glanced at the oven timer. He still had ten minutes. He whisked Scott into Del’s den, which had been temporarily converted into a nursery.

Carlos unfastened the sticky tabs on the dirty diaper, disposed of it in a magical contraption whose inventor Carlos would have recommended for a Nobel Prize, and cleaned Scott off with a baby wipe. He was just placing a fresh diaper under Scott’s bottom when the boy decided he hadn’t quite finished what he’d started in the last diaper. Carlos sighed. This was not an unprecedented event.

And that’s when he heard the oven timer go off in the kitchen.

Carlos shifted into high gear. He quickly stripped off the newly soiled diaper. But in his haste one of the sticky tabs brush against Scott’s onesie where the adhesive grabbed onto the cotton and pulled it toward the danger zone. Carlos yanked the dirty diaper free but it was too late – the onesie was now soiled.

Carlos peeled the onesie off, disposed of the second diaper and reached for more baby wipes.

The container was empty.

Now Carlos was beginning to panic. He found a fresh container of wipes in the cupboard but when he returned to his son he discovered that for a person who hadn’t yet learned to roll over, Scott had somehow spread the mess across his entire lower body.

Carlos disposed of another half container of wipes frantically scrubbing his son clean. But Scott demonstrated his emotional bond with his father by feeding off Carlos’s frenzy. As Carlos tried to affix a new diaper, the baby pinwheeled his little legs like he was riding a bicycle. This made the task considerably more difficult. Carlos had to redo the diaper three times before it was secured properly.

By the time he ran back into the kitchen and deposited Scott in the bouncy chair there was a distinct acrid smell in the air. He opened the oven door and his shoulders slumped as he saw the blackened top of the quiche.

Del wandered into the kitchen and looked over Carlos’s shoulder. “That doesn’t look right,” Del said.

“I burnt it,” Carlos moaned.

“Maybe you can scrape the burned stuff off,” Del said. He was used to having to do such surgery on the rare occasions when he tried to make food himself.

“No, no,” Carlos replied, pulling himself together. “It’s no good. I’ll make French toast instead.”

Del shrugged and got himself a cup of coffee as Carlos started his new culinary project. Del retrieved the newspaper from the front step and retreated to the garage, which had replaced the den as his personal refuge since Scott’s arrival.

This time Carlos had finished the breakfast and had it all set out on two trays, one for Karen and one for Carrie, before Scott started crying. He checked Scott’s diaper but it was empty. This was just one of those mysterious bouts of unhappiness that babies seemed to have regularly.

Carlos covered the trays to keep them warm and took Scott back into the den. He sat in the rocking chair and rocked his son gently. Scott stopped crying after a few moments and drifted off to sleep. By that time Carlos had also fallen asleep.

That’s where Carrie found them when she came downstairs an hour later wondering what had become of her breakfast in bed. Carlos was snoring lightly with Scott on his chest. Carrie’s heart welled with love as she observed the tender tableau.

Karen came up behind her and smiled. “Happy Mother’s Day,” Karen said.

“You too, Mom,” Carrie replied and squeezed Karen’s hand.

The two women went into the kitchen and discovered the French toast, now cold and unappealing.

“Guess we’re having cereal,” Carrie said with a smile.

“Not necessarily,” Del said from behind them. They turned to see him standing in the door holding a bag of cinnamon rolls. “The kid looked like he might need a back up plan.” Del dropped the bag on the table and headed out of the room, calling back over his shoulder, “remember this on Father’s Day.”

The two mothers sat down together at the kitchen table and enjoyed their cinnamon rolls while they discussed the joys and tribulations of raising kids.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Rock Around the Flock – Part Two

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Read Part One

In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. In an effort to attract more teens and young adults, Pastor Henry O’Donnell had recruited several congregants to form a church rock band. The hope was the modern music would appeal to a younger generation more than the usual dusty old hymns.

Two of the recruits for this band – lead singer Audra Park and guitarist Ian Wells – were excellent musicians. The rest of the group consisted of forty-four year old Missy Moore on drums, Kevin Boyer attempting to relive his high school garage band days on rhythm guitar, and church secretary Tammy Billings reluctantly rounding out the group on her upright bass.

Most of the congregation was skeptical of the idea, particularly the choir who had been replaced by the rock band and the three older women known collectively as the Little Old Ladies. But Pastor O’Donnell urged everyone to give the new music a chance. If it worked, the pews would be filled with new, young members, he promised.

The church already had two regular teen attendees – Pastor O’Donnell’s fifteen-year-old daughter Katie and her friend Tabitha. They were simultaneously intrigued and skeptical about the rock band. But O’Donnell was pleased to see them in the front pew on the Sunday of the band’s debut. It seemed an indication that his plan was working.

The band’s rehearsals had been a little rough around the edges. Missy was certainly an enthusiastic drummer but her beat tended to wander around a bit. Kevin was gradually shaking the rust off his guitar skills but frequently became so distracted by his attempts to strike just the right rock and roll pose that he missed changes. And Tammy’s bass style was more Bach than rock. But Ian and Audra managed to hold the whole thing together most of the time. On the morning of their debut Ian wasn’t sure they were ready, but neither was he sure they could significantly improve by delaying.

The band gathered in the choir room before service. Missy was the last to arrive and she made quite an entrance when she did. She was decked out in a leather mini-skirt, fishnet stockings and a red bustier. Her pale flesh bulged out around the edges of the bustier in a way that Ian thought would probably upset the congregation a lot more than the change in musical style.

As shocked as they were by Missy’s appearance she was equally shocked by their rather preppie attire. “We’re supposed to be a rock band!” she wailed. “You all look like you work in a department store!”

“Or like we’re going to church,” Tammy replied.

“I thought the point was to make the church more rock and roll,” Missy countered.

“Well, there’s nothing any of us can do about what we’re wearing now,” Audra said, trying not to stare at Missy. “We’re on.”

When the band entered the chancel two minutes before the start of service the congregation immediately fell silent, except for Katie and Tabitha in the front pew, who had to bury their faces in their arms to contain their laughter. Pastor O’Donnell stared at Missy and for the first time began to question the wisdom of his idea.

The plan was for the band to open service with their first song. Everyone in the sanctuary leaned forward, including the choir members and the Little Old Ladies. Even the most adamant opponents of rock music in church were still curious to see how the band would do.

Missy tapped her drumsticks together to count out the beat and they launched into their first number, an upbeat if rather generic piece of Christian light rock. Any hope Ian had that they would rise to the occasion was quickly dashed. Missy’s adrenaline caused her to pick a tempo half again as fast as they’d practiced. Kevin had a hard time keeping up so he compensated by playing louder. The congregation slumped back in their pews. Their curiosity had been satisfied and now they were simply trying to get through the audio onslaught.

The band would have been better off just trying to get through it themselves. But Kevin noticed the lack of enthusiasm coming from the pews and decided what they needed was more stage presence. He began channeling the guitar heroes of his youth and tromped across the stage, head flailing.

The guitar heroes of his youth had probably practiced their stage moves, however, to assure that they wouldn’t make the kind of blunder Kevin made. As he danced backwards behind Ian during an instrumental portion of the song, he tripped on Ian’s guitar cord, simultaneously unplugging it and sending Kevin tumbling onto his backside.

Both guitars fell silent leaving only Missy and Tammy to carry the song. Missy tried to save things by launching into a prolonged drum solo. A few members of the congregation began to wonder if Missy was having some kind of seizure. Even more congregants discovered an urgent need to visit the restroom and slipped out of the sanctuary.

Pastor O’Donnell hung his head sadly. But through it all Katie and Tabitha thrust their hands in the air and swayed in time with the music.

Ian got his guitar plugged back in, Kevin regained his feet and mercifully the song came to an end. However Missy made a rather overly dramatic flourish as she struck the last symbol chime and heard a ripping sound from the back of her bustier. As Katie and Tabitha clapped wildly and the rest of the congregation stared in stunned silence, Missy slipped off the drum stool and backed out through the rear chancel doors, her hands holding the bustier precariously in place.

Missy returned in time for the next song wearing a choir robe, which pretty much everyone agreed was an improvement. The remainder of the band’s songs in the service went comparatively better than the first. But only comparatively.

After the service ended Katie and Tabitha ran up to Pastor O’Donnell. “That was awesome, Dad!” Katie said.

“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed. “Our friends will definitely come to church to see that!”

Then the two girls burst into laughter.

The following week marked the choir’s triumphant return with a selection of dusty old hymns.