Coming of Age (part 1)
Johnny, a boy of fifteen was sitting on a backless
wooden bench next to his father. The young boy
had hair the color of wet hay; eyes the color of
spent coffee grounds; his freckled face had the
complexion of a loaf of bread fresh from the oven.
He wore an expression of excitement and confusion
on his young face as he watched brother David, the Pentecostal preacher, who was perched on wooden pedestal shouting,
“God knows what in your heart-uh. If a sparrow falls
God knows about it-uh. He sent his only son to
redeem our sins-uh,”
The youngster wore black shoes, a white shirt, and
dark trousers whose length did not quite make it to
the top of his shoes. The black tie he wore was tight
around his neck and making him feel uncomfortable.
He was paying attention to what the preacher was
saying, though he didn’t understand why he had to
shout.
“You must repent-uh and accept Jesus uh as your
savior; for thats the only way-uh you can avoid the
fires of hell uh.”
The preacher's dry feverish voice echoed around
the small wooden structure. White dusty white
plastic flowers in pots sourrounted his small perch.
His congregation nodded in unison like the figurines
on top of a vehicle's dashboard.
“Sinners, if you do not repent, and accept Jesus
as your savior uh, you will suffer eternal damnation
uh.”
Looking around the crowded church, Johnny
wondered why brother David repeated things over
and over again. To Johnny, parishioners knew what
to do but heir faces however, looked as if they were
hearing the warning for the first time. Their
expressions were those similar to children
waiting for dessert.
He knew everyone had already said they were
sorry for doing bad things. Didn’t the preacher
know everyone had repented already? Even the
children had been made to go the front and say
they were sorry for being bad. He was going to
ask his dad a question but changed his mind after
seeing the same look on his face as the other
members.
After the service, Johnny's father, was driving
home in his 1979-ford pickup which he bought
a few months earlier. He paid 300.00 dollars
giving the used car dealer 100.00 dollars down.
He signed a promissory note for 50.00 a month
at 15% interest. He thought he would pay the
debt off in four months but the note ran an
additional time because of the high interest rate.
Turning to look at his son, he asked in a soothing
and calm voice,
“What did you think of the sermon?”
Johnny turned towards his father and said,
“It was alt right but.. ."
He was having difficulty putting his thoughts into
words. His immature mind was like a warren with
complex networks. While searching for the right
path he felt as if he was on a boat drifting aimlessly
in a turbulent sea. His intellect was urging him to
jump overboard.
He knew this was a dangerous choice but felt that
getting away from the herd was better than just
drifting with them on currents of uncertainty or... .
Ignorance?
He felt as if some type of larvae inside his brain
wanted... no, insisted on expressing itself to those
around him. He was afraid of hurting his father, but
the wriggling worm inside his brain had been
gnawing at his gray cells and it wanted him to
say how he truly felt.
“But. . .?”
His father asked and looking at his son's meditative
face. He was proud of his boy and he never felt so
needed as when Johnny asked questions. He was
aware his son trusted him, and this was one of the
most important connections between a father and
son.
Lately however, the questions Johnny asked dealt
with things a fifteen-year old should not be
concerned about. His inquiries, ideas, and how he
viewed the world coupled with his curiosity troubled
him.
He stopped for a red light and turned to look at his
son waiting for him to respond.
“But why does the preacher have to say same things
over and over again? If we are not going to hear
something different, why do we keep going to
church?”
After his questions, Johnny looked at his father for
some type of reaction but saw none.
“We go to church because we're Christians."
"But dad, you have told me Christians follow the
teachings of Jesus."
"Yes, we Christians do follow the teachings of our
Lord."
Johnny turned and looked out his window thinking
what his dad had said. What he heard made no
sense to him. His young maturing mind knew the
answer was flawed. One only had to look around to
know that few, if any, supposedly Christians followed
His teachings.
His insides were churning and his stomach felt like
he had been given a fast acting laxative.
Finally, he turned to look at his dad and said, Dad,
“I don't want to go to church anymore”.
There, it was out; he had abandoned ship. He was
now up to his neck in a rough sea; and the salty
water was making his eyes sting. He had not meant
to convey his true feelings, but the words just came
out like a repressed sneeze.
The queasy feeling in his stomach subsided. The
thing attacking his brain’s cells had gone into another
part of his head.
He turned and looked at his dad's face for some type
of change but only saw a man with a clenched mouth
and jaw muscles pulsating like a boy's heart after
having a nightmare.
His father's hands and fingers were gripping the
steering wheel so hard, the knuckles were the color
of cotton and the side of his mouth was twitching as
if attempting to shoo away a pesky fly.
His fathers was angry, and at the same time sadden
by what his son had said. He fought against the
impulse to stop the truck because he was sure he
would strike his son. He kept quite attempting to
keep his heated temper under control.
Johnny was fearful his dad had misunderstood,
and was attempting to convey that he enjoyed
being with him. Just because he found the church
boring and lacking in substance, did not mean he
was a non-believer.
He was about to say something when he heard his
dad say in a controlled voice,
“Lets talk about this when we get home.”
Both father and son were silent, and each was
ready for some type of confrontation, but neither
wanted to argue, so they rode without saying
another word.
After arriving home, Frank did not drive into his
garage. Instead, he parked in the driveway, opened
the truck's door, and hastily went inside the house.
Looking after his dad, Johnny let out a sigh that
expelled the tension and anxiety he was hoarding
in his chest.
Getting out of the pickup, Johnny walked slowly to
the front door but instead of going in, he sat on the
porch swing looking despondent.
After some time, his mother opened the front door
and said,
"Johnny, your dinner is getting cold. Is
anything the matter?"
After looking at her mother's face Johnny realized
his dad had not talked to her about their discussion
and answered,
“I am not hungry mom.”
His mom went back to the kitchen knowing
something was not right and called her husband
to join her. He came into the kitchen and she
motioned him to sit next to her.
It was now late and the evening had turned
pleasantly cooler. To the East, the sun was sinking
lower in the horizon, its reflection blushing pink and
red through the clouds as if it was ashamed for
showing its splendor that day.
Johnny had heard this dad and mom talking in low
whispers in the kitchen. He felt like going in the
house and telling his dad he was sorry and that he
would continue to go to church with him, but the
thing in his head became active again.
No! He thought, I don't want to go to church anymore because I feel like a deceiver to the congregation,
my father, and more importantly, to myself.
He was certain that, after jumping ship, he had no
other course but to swim despite the currents, waves,
and coldness of the sea that seemed to beckon him
with open arms.
It was night when Johnny heard the door open and
saw his dad walking up to where he was sitting. He
glanced up with an agonized look while a feeling of
utter helplessness engulfed him.
His father sat next to him and said,
"How about them Cowboys?"
Johnny could just make out his dad’s smiling face
in the dim light from the kitchen.
Before he could say anything, his father placed a
hand on his shoulder and said,
“Lets get something to eat and watch the game.”
With his arm around his son’s shoulders, they
walked into the kitchen.
Johnny's tortured mind was looking at a far away
shoreline. The waves no longer seemed high and
it was not too difficult to swim against the currents.
The water temperature no longer felt wlld or
threatening. Instead, the wetness and coolness
of the sea felt unbelievably refreshing.
Sitting on a kitchen chair Johnny said,
“Boy I am really hungry.”
His dad smiled, while his mom was busy warming
up their dinner and wiping tears from her eyes.
End
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