Monday, July 18, 2005

In New England they Pass the Duchy, not the Basket

We weathered the figurative and literal New England storms quite nicely this weekend. Thanks to the appearance of impending thunderstorms, I never had to don my new green-and-brown faux snake skin "bathing suit" in front of the G-Unit. They appeared unfazed at meeting me. I was left to fend for myself for most of the day, because evidently I give the impression that I'm good at that. I might have to work on that whole determined self-reliance bit. So, I met Gladys, someone's grandmother, who will never dye her hair and was excited to return to the 12-pound ball yesterday at bowling practice, now that she has altered her delivery. She hopes to avoid bowler's elbow. Not sure how that worked out for her.

We didn't mind paying $20 a head to see The Rock Star Brother play for 45 minutes to benefit a 5-year-old girl with a beautiful smile and cancer. I decided I'll have to troll H&M for him for some more "vintage" shirts, because the one we gave him for Christmas is getting a little too much play (very unlike Velma, from Scooby Doo). The Other Brother keeps insisting that he should just buy regular t-shirts with words on them, then wash them hundreds of times to get the vintage effect. He feels passionately about it.

Returning to what I guess was the after party, we ate the barbecue chicken I waited all day for and I was astonished to have to teach the kids the game of Bullshit. I did not win. Adding to my astonishment, I witnessed some relaxation techniques that I'm unaccustomed to seeing. Especially from parents. And it smelled like burnt.

In the morning I picked up The Mother and her Husband in the rain to go to First Baptist Church. I tried to explain that I have never had a good experience with a church of that name (don't even get me started on Second Baptist Church of Shelby-- they do not make foam fingers that resemble peace signs, that's all I'm trying to say). I suggested that it might be better to try Grace, as just the name was more appealing to me.

We arrived at First Baptist. Now, I realize that my experience in New England is limited to several states in the last year. But in my travels within that time, I have not witnessed a lot of racial diversity. As we walked into the building I recognized the floor shaking and organ embellishments I had only heard at one church before. Faith Harvest Church in North Carolina. We were at a black church. Please don't misunderstand me: I have no problem with this, and have had some of the most meaningful experiences of my life at a black church-- a Pentecostal one at that. But The Mother has only ever been to Catholic church, has bad memories, and hasn't set foot in a church for years. Knowing all of this, all I could do was look up and laugh. Really? So this is how it's going to happen?

We sat down, through a long and formally organized service. The Mother asked if this was like my church. Not at all, I assured her. I explained the fundamental difference in belief between christening and baptism by immersion as 7-year-old Shayla went under. I told her she had to walk by the offering basket, but it was okay if she didn't put anything in. I listened while the Reverend Carleton Giles, II spoke about grace. And as I pondered why on earth this was the church the Lord chose for this occasion, I realized that this could very well be the first time The Mother had ever heard of this outrageous concept called grace. I remembered, a little embarrassed, that it wasn't any less outrageous or relevant to me just because I have known it for years.

We had to stand to introduce ourselves to the congregation. She felt uncomfortable and almost said the wrong last name. But when we left, Rev. Giles shook her hand and looked into her eyes and did not say the wrong last name. And I think, more than anything else, that's what she will remember.

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