We were recalling Easter’s past: I recalled one that personified my fear of retribution. For some reason, I was not baptized as an infant. I think I remember mom saying it had something to do with her wanting me to understand what was happening.
So she waited until I was 6. That still wasn’t old enough.
My wonderful, wonderful aunt Adaline was trying to be helpful – and said, "if you are a good boy at your baptism, we hae a special gift for you."
Great! Now more pressure.
The Sunday service began. I was called up to the alter.
What the hell was going on?
Am I going to be subject to some painful, or worse, embarrassing ritual?
Will I be good enough to get a present from my favorite person in the world?
In our church, we had a kneeling thingie that separated the minister from the ungodly riffraff.
So I approached for god-knows-what.
I was nervous.
The minister said something.
I thought he said, come over.
A little odd but, what the hell – this was a man of god. I had to do what he said.
So I tossed one leg over the banister and started climbing over.
The minister stopped me.
No, come closer, he said.
Ack!
I’ve been bad.
God hates me now.
And I won’t get a present – because I’ve been bad.
Trauma is over.
We go home.
Adaline gives me this cowboy hat filled with candy and cheap toys – all wrapped in plastic.
OK – so this is my reward for being good? I wasn’t perfect, but I still got – this thing.
So, the reward for almost virtue is a cowboy hat and candy.
Wonder how that affected my development?
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