Richard yawned. He had been sitting on the hard wooden pew
for just over three hours. The sound of
his father clearing his throat and the hard glare from his mother stirred him
from his slumber. He tried so hard to
stay awake. He tried so hard to be “a
good boy”, as he was so often encouraged so by Rev. Johnson. Rev. Johnson was, by the accounting of a nine-year-old
boy, in a word, scary. Sure, he smiled a
lot, when he wasn’t preaching, but the man had an undeniable coldness to his
eyes. Rev. Johnson was what one would
call a “hellfire and judgment” preacher.
Richard’s family had been members of First Baptist Church for as long as
Richard could remember. His father took
great pride in reminding Richard of this.
“My great-great grandfather started this church just after the War of
Northern Aggression,” he would say, and Richard would slip into his “happy
place” as his father began another of his tirades about the infallibility of
the Baptist church. So once again,
Richard squirmed in his seat and patiently waited for the sermon to end. At least Sunday afternoons were enjoyable
enough. Richard didn’t have any chores,
other than feeding the dog, and he could spend his time reading. A hobby his father called a waste of
time. “A boy needs to learn how to work,”
he would say. “Idle hands are the
devil’s work. That boy needs to stay
busy.” So from early in the morning, and
after school until dinnertime, Richard worked.
At times, his work consisted of mere menial labor, work for the sake of
work.
Richard’s view of
life took a drastic turn. Just after his
twelfth birthday, having left school early on account of not feeling well,
Richard walked the eight blocks home.
His mother had taken a part time job at the local department store,
while his father, a lawyer, worked from his office at home. Richard let himself in the front door and the
image that crossed before his eyes would be burned into his memory for the rest
of his life. Stepping through the front
door, he could see his father’s bare back rising up from the couch in the
living room. And then, in a blur of
movement, his father jumped to his feet, yelling, and Rev. Johnson rose from
the couch as well, quickly putting on his pants. The next few moments were a cacophony of
voices and distraction. Shoving Richard out
the door, his father joined him just seconds later. “You didn’t see anything,” his father hissed
through his teeth. “Rev. Johnson and I
were having a very important meeting, that your mother must not know about.” Richard knew better than to say anything,
other than, “yes, sir.” “I better not
hear about anyone knowing about this. Do
you understand me?” The venom that dripped
from the mouth of his father tore through Richard’s confusion and fear. Richard uttered a second, “yes, sir,” and
squeezed past his father. “I need to lie
down,” Richard said weakly. Ascending
the stairs, he sat on the edge of his bed and wept.
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