To my readers: I have had several requests to publish the following tale about my sister as a "tween." The whole thing was rather long for a blog post. I was advised to merely cut it into 3 parts.
My youngest sister at age 12 was on the path to becoming a serious backslider. She thought that church was “for the birds,” and she had more pleasant things to do on Sunday morning than attend church. Short of a switchin’, Mama had to apply serious pressure to get her to church on time.
“Regina! You lazy thing, you! I got you up in plenty of time to get ready & go with us. You’ve dawdled your time away and now you’re not even ready. You just get yourself ready and you’ll walk to church in time for Sunday School. That mile trot serves you right. I’ll be checking to see that you made it to Sunday School.” Mama’s high heels clicked as she walked out, screen door slamming in her wake. Regina grimaced and continued to ponder how much she did not want to dress for church. She loved her lilac organdy dress with the ruffled, full, stand-out skirt, and puffed sleeves. It was her special Easter dress. But oh those ol’ hot hose! As a “big” girl, she must now wear that uncomfortable garter belt and pull those sticky, hot hose over her prickly, as-of-late shaven legs. How she hated them! Why couldn’t she just go back to not shaving her legs & wearing white Buster Brown socks which were just fine?
She looked at the clock. Only 8:30! Good! There was still almost an hour until Sunday School at 9:30. She leisurely ate a big sugar-glazed bear-claw and washed it down with a tall glass of cold milk as she devoured the Sunday color funnies. Feeling full and fine, she sauntered into the living room and sat down at the old Sohmer spinet. She couldn’t resist playing one of her favorite hymns, “This Is My Father’s World.” Then she flatted a few keys which turned a rousing tune into a sad drone. She laughed wickedly. Regina could do as she pleased and no one would stop her. Back in her room, inspired by the funnies she reached for some lined notebook paper and began to sketch a cruel cartoon of her least favorite teacher, Ol' Maid Sadie Jones. She chuckled as pinned it up on her personal bulletin board, and sighed as she turned to the task of dressing up.
Underwear and hose on, dress buttoned down the back and sash tied, she slipped on her new black patent Sunday shoes with a “learner heel” (she hated those, too!) & grabbed her 6” by 6” woven, straw clutch purse filled with 7th-grade items: tiny note pad & pencil with eraser, light pink lipstick never applied unless she was playing dress-up, a rat-tail comb. The latter reminded her that she hadn’t fixed her dark, waist-length tresses which hardly matched the just-so rest of her. With brush in hand Regina expertly swooped her hair up into a tidy pony-tail to which she tied a matching lilac grosgrain bow with extra long streamers. Like Mama taught her, she checked herself out in the long mirror on the inside of Mama’s closet door. She would add some hard candies to her purse on her way out. She knew she would have to make up for missing early church by attending 11 o’clock service, but she had no plans to listen to the sermon, though she might sing the hymns. Naturally she would sit in the balcony with other teenage rowdies, quietly doodle on her notepad, and suck hard candies. If she didn't have to go to Sunday School church could have been almost fun.
To be continued.
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