Rural North Carolina: 1984
prompt: I remember
I remember when I believed Jesus had come to me in my childhood bedroom, just the smiling, docile, my-friend-Jesus image from the pictures in the Bible. (White Kid Version™) I was making a hard decision. I don't even remember what the decision was about, maybe which color ribbons to choose for my homemade braided barrettes. But I remember telling a friend at school about the visitation and how it probably-for-sure confirmed I was making the right decision.
I remember around this time I realized my family didn't have as much money as some of the girls in my 4th grade class. They shopped for dresses at the boutique in town and we shopped at Kmart. I remember going into the boutique on main street and seeing the white gloves laid out on the tables for little girls to wear. There were dresses with lace trim and shiny black shoes. I remember the salesman was very nice to us. Maybe he didn't realize we didn't have enough money to shop there.
The disparity between people's economic statuses wasn't as monumental as it is now. Trickle-down economics was just getting rolling and the wealthy children in town went to the same school as the poor children. I guess my family falls somewhere in the middle, I reasoned as we drove through the different neighborhoods in our town. We had more money than the Black children seemed to have. But maybe we didn't. Maybe it was just that they lived in a different part of town for safety. Remember when we didn't understand a single thing about being Black in America? We were allowed to wonder about them aloud as if they weren't right there in the classroom, perfectly able to answer our questions.
I remember all different kids mingling together during recess and lunch. Everyone ate cafeteria food or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from home, packed in square, non-insulated lunch boxes, and then ran around playing on the metal playground equipment in the hot sun. We had casual shoes, but not sneakers, and I was always getting blisters on my ankles, heels, and toes. Our playground currencies were cinnamon toothpicks and gumballs, neither in any sort of wrapping, and the occasional Jolly Rancher stick which would last for hours or even a whole day. Those cost ten cents -- the expensive candy.
I remember every Wednesday night we went to church for Girls in Action meetings. I have no idea what the boys were doing, but I enjoyed being away from them because then I could be the smartest one in class, not David from school who had a bad haircut and bright blue eyes. Maybe he was smart, but he smelled like dirty clothes. All ages would go into the fellowship hall and eat supper on cold tables and chairs. "The women of the church" made everyone supper which was available for a small amount of money. The same old grumpy, skinny lady was in charge of collecting payment every week. Fifty cents maybe? Did "the women of the church" not have jobs? How did they manage to make all of that food every single week? And then we went into the sanctuary again to hear about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and salvation from hell. Good thing Little House on the Prairie came on TV on Mondays, or I would be even more bitter about spending another night of every week at church! Going to church so often was bad enough, it made a kid feel out of place, with the strange language used in the Bible, and so many adults around, interpreting ancient stories and rules -- talking at us instead of to us. On top of that, we were the preacher's kids, so we couldn't put one toe out of line.
I remember on Saturday mornings we watched the commercials as much as the cartoons, EZ Bake Ovens, Shrinky Dinks, Strawberry Shortcake Dolls, Transformers, My Little Ponies, and Care Bears -- an embarrassment of riches! We felt such a surge of pride when an ad came on for a toy we already had. We wore scratchy pajamas with plastic sweaty feet that had a seam around the edges for extra discomfort. Sundays the TV was for football games after more church and lunch at the Holiday Inn, or maybe the barbecue place, or more likely, just at home. How did Mom make lunch to be ready after church when she was also attending church all morning?
I remember the summer Olympics on television and how we copied the gymnast routines using blankets and pillows for the apparatuses and nightgowns for leotards. Perhaps there were other televised events from those games, but we had no interest in other sports. The gymnasts looked like us, little. Our whole world was within a hundred miles, all of our grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends. Sometimes we drove in a 2-door car with no air conditioning on the interstate to a distant relative's house for a vacation. We'd never been on a plane or a large boat, never seen a gun of any kind. We didn't know the locations of foreign places (except Bethlehem and Jerusalem from the Bible), nor had we met anyone who had immigrated to America. Olympic gymnastics was our first lesson in geography.
When I tell you we were raised in church, it's not hyperbole. When I say Jesus appeared in my bedroom I mean I couldn't have believed anything more. Head raised, and hands clasped, begging for some sort of assurance that my little life was on the right track.
Thanks for reading, friends. I wrote this for my sister and for my kids, who love to hear about “those crazy eighties!”
I hope your summer is a good one and you get to read something trashy and good while sitting outside.
Love, Shannon