My Summer of Mortification (of Biblical proportions)

I was a PK (Preacher’s Kid), and we lived in a small town of less than 200 people. I was always at church. Sunday School, Sunday morning church, Sunday evening church, Wednesday night church, and summer revivals with ten thousand verses of “Just as I Am., I also went to Vacation Bible School, and not just at our church (Methodist), but my parents would also send me to the Baptist Vacation Bible School. As a PK, I was becoming used to an above average amount of attention from people in the community. There are of course two types of attention, the attention you want and the kind that makes you want to crawl in a hole and never come out. It was in 1962, during a typical hot Kentucky summer. It was there that I experienced my summer of mortification. For my pagan readers, Vacation Bible School was a weeklong program where elementary age children would attend classes to learn biblical stories and how to be good boys and girls. It was like a weeklong Sunday School in the guise of a day camp. It usually included craft activities, such as creating Noah’s Ark with popsicle sticks. A sound construction, no doubt, that could hold two of every animal on the planet. To finish the week, the participants would end with a grand finale, during which we would sing songs that we had learned that week and perform little plays for our family and friends.

Well, at this concluding service, we were standing on risers to sing for those in attendance. I would have been eleven. On the row behind me was a beautiful girl. She was perfect, and I wished she would notice me. Her face was stunning. She had dark eyes and long dark brown hair. I believe she was at least a year older than me, but that should not matter when you are in love. At the same time, I was falling in love; I noticed something was wrong; I did not feel quite right. I could feel pressure building up. Something was coming over me, and I could not stop it. To my dismay, I developed a case of the “Hey, Look at Me, Farts.” There we were singing and me a ratta tat tatting out my backside. I was mortified. Of course, we were not singing all of the time, and it seemed to be at those interludes that I would produce a staccato emission or long-drawn-out butt whistles. Later, back in the church pew, I continued to produce vibrating sounds against the wood of the pew, and my friend Bobo started giggling at my expense, confirming that I wasn’t the only one who could hear my aria of flatulence. I could have been spared much embarrassment if I had not been forced to participate in this ecumenical service. I wonder if the beautiful girl even knew I existed. It is possible that she did take notice of me.

 

Mitchell Chamberlain: “I have been an academic librarian for over 44 years. I am also an artist living and working in Nashville, Tennessee. I have had 40 solo exhibits and have been accepted in 45 national and regional juried shows. I have received awards in both regional and national juried shows. My paintings portray nature in its many colors, textures, and moods.”