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Into the Men’s Sunday School Class
What in the world would cause a grown man in the 1970s to let an 11-year-old girl teach the Men’s Class in a small country Southern Baptist church?
Done. Sunday School lesson read and I am done. When I reappear in the den, my grandfather, DaddyMc to me, will ask me what I thought of it, what I learned, and what questions I have. I’ll pretend I don’t want to answer them. Truth is, I love any excuse to talk with him. Although this time might be different. Something about the written lesson and the passage didn’t line up for me. My thoughts had connected a different set of dots. Maybe I wouldn’t have to say that part out loud.
It’s Saturday night already, and The Carol Burnett Show will be on shortly.
Right on cue, the show’s opening music starts and the announcer hawks Arrid Extra Dry Deodorant. My pace quickens, covering the long hall to the den in seconds. Carol will start, as she always does, by answering questions from the audience — one of my favorite parts and I don’t want to miss it.
Without looking, I know where they are seated. My mother on the couch, hemming pants for someone, probably a customer. My dad, reclined in “his” chair, half-asleep or pretending to be. My grandmother (MotherMc), in her straight…
