Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

What a little angel!

Since my mom was in town for a conference, The Gryphon and I met her for dinner last night.

We had been planning on taking her to an Italian place we knew downtown, but the traffic was so hideous that when we saw an Olive Garden near her hotel, we agreed that was probably the best option.

Things were much more relaxed, talking with her over dinner, than they had been the last time we'd seen her. At that time, her ill-behaved dogs had stolen the show by threatening to bite The Gryphon.

This time it was just us in a restaurant, which though admittedly noisy, was still more conducive to conversation then the threat of dog bites.

For awhile, The Gryphon and my mom directed most of their conversation to me, but then I got them rolling, talking about their respective careers. The conversation stayed in this relatively safe territory for quite awhile, until we accepted Mom's invitation to see her hotel room and sat down on the comfy furniture for a longer chat.

The talk turned to evangelical Christians and how I can't understand why they think they can convert people by ramming religion down their throats. I said that I always thought it was much more effective to minister through good works, the way the Salvation Army does.

I spent a lot of time with the Salvation Army when I was young, because until the age of five, we lived next to the local chapter. They had a lot of children's programming, and I enjoyed taking cooking classes and singing songs like "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam" with the other children.

None of these activities were too different from Sunday School classes, and nobody ever told me I had to accept a different form of Christianity in order to "be saved."

This was markedly different from the Good News Club, which I attended for a brief while, innocently trailing along with friends. This Bible club, in contrast, made me feel uncomfortable. They made it quite clear that a simple acceptance of Christian principles was not enough. You had to do it their way, or the highway.

Call me crazy, but unless I'm mistaken, Jesus himself had something to say about this sort of thing. He rebelled against the religious dogma of his time, represented by the Pharisees, and he taught a way to enlightenment which involved personal responsibility for spirituality. That's how I've always interpreted his statement that "the kingdom of Heaven is within." In other words, it's yours to seek out and yours to find. No one else can tell you how to do that.

From talking about me spending time in the Salvation Army, my mom devolved into telling stories of my childhood. In particular, she felt compelled to tell The Gryphon about one week when I'd been really, truly, utterly awful.

According to my mom, we went to visit some friends of my parents in Texas. These friends had a little boy about my age named, I believe, Eric. His parents were extremely proud of their precocious boy, and bragged about all of his achievements.

"He can talk already," they would brag, and he would amiably parrot back words and do little tricks, their little performing monkey.

I had also been speaking for awhile, but when my parents bragged about me, I refused to talk. I also, apparently, began pushing and shoving Eric at every opportunity. There is one picture of us with our fathers in front of a well, and if the story is true, after the story was taken, I shoved Eric into the well.

Of these events, of course, I have no recollection. For all I know, Mom made it up so she could embarrass me in front of boyfriends.

My mom continued with more gems. Apparently, when I was young, I didn't always want to walk. So I would just sit down and cross my legs and arms, and wait for them to carry me.

I did this while on the Texas vacation, on the steps of the state capital building. Eric's father said, "Well, she has to learn some time. You have to show her who's boss. Let's just walk away from her so that she has to follow."

Everyone walked away, and I still sat there, arms and legs crossed. I didn't budge. They walked further away. I still didn't budge. And then, Mom says, there was only a tiny little blonde dot, arms and legs crossed, on the steps of the capital building.

"She's not going to come," Mom said. "We have to go back." Fortunately for everyone, nobody had come along and abducted me.

What finally broke me of this habit, my mom said, was when I was 2 years old and my brother was a baby. We were going somewhere together, she was carrying my brother, and I sat down on the sidewalk, crossed my arms and crossed my legs, and refused to move.

A woman my mother did not know came along and looked at me, and said, "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? A big girl like you, asking to be carried."

I just looked at her evenly.

When she went away, I stood up and started walking. I never asked to be carried again.

So I suppose I was, at times, a dreadful child. I don't know how well it speaks of me that today, when I hear these stories, instead of being properly ashamed, they make me laugh maniacally.

Imagine me without the Salvation Army's influence.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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