Skip to main content

Silence and the Stage

By Ronna Russell ~

Preacher Dad decided he needed to be around more. My mom had been a good mother in our early childhood but it was time for him to take over. Her usefulness as a parent had been served and she could step aside, he told her. Thanks, honey. Mom wept a lot. So he took a job as the vice-president of Jackson College of Ministries in Jackson, MS. This small church college was owned and operated by the local UPC pastor, Brother Thomas Craft. If you have ever seen the movie The Apostle with Robert Duval, that’s the man. If Mr. Duval did not study Brother Craft with a microscope in preparation for that movie, I will eat my hat and yours.

We arrived in the Deep South on a pedestal. Big announcements were made, public introductions, etc.; PD went to work and I went to fourth grade. Socializing at school was not allowed. All other kids were sinners from sinner families and had to be kept at arms’ length. I was, however, allowed to witness to them or invite them to church so that they, too, could be saved. Knee length dresses with sleeves were required at all times; my uncut hair hung to my knees. Television and movies were strictly forbidden. There was no secular information of any kind in our home. I lived in Jackson, MS in the mid-1970s and knew nothing of the civil rights movement or of Martin Luther King Jr. A classmate made a diorama of the solar system for their science fair project; I didn’t know what it was. Any acknowledgement offered to me at school was refused on my behalf. Once my teacher chose me to be hall monitor, an honor given to responsible kids. My mother wrote the teacher a note refusing because it would make me too bossy. My personality just wasn’t good enough. To be fair, mom probably did me a favor. When the teacher told the girls in class (me) to leave our little dresses at home and wear blue jeans the next day for field day, mom wrote another letter explaining that because of religious beliefs that wasn’t gonna happen. The music teacher asked who had seen Star Wars and everyone raise their hands. Nope, no idea. I had seen stars outside at night… but that wasn’t what she meant… I kept my nose in a book as much as possible.

Social ostracism deepened as my parents need for control grew. They were strict even by churchy standards. Free time before and after services was to be spent on my knees in the prayer room. Other church girls had sleepovers. I wasn’t old enough. Sunday afternoon playdates between church services? Sometimes. The only place I had any freedom was the college campus, so I hung out with the college kids. I learned titillating things, heard scandalous gossip and wore padded bras and high heels. Made out with 18 year old boys. It was pretty fun. At least there people would talk to me and I learned to kiss. Well.

Social ostracism deepened as my parents need for control grew. They were strict even by churchy standards.Dad’s explosive temper grew; triggered by any little thing. It was always there like a scary movie soundtrack, setting the scene in the background. I remember him yanking my sister off the couch onto her back because he didn’t like her tone of voice. And the shocking smack of his hand on my face in a nothing-held-back slap, again for tone of voice. I just couldn’t see it coming because, I never stepped out of line on purpose. He had a deep, low Slytherin-like way of reaming your ass in a pants-wetting hiss. This was back in the days of 45 records. My sisters had Andy Gibb, Rita Coolidge, Climax, Debbie Boone, John Denver. (Don’t you just remember every word to every song? They’re embedded.) So on a rare outing to the local mall I purchased, for $1, a 45 of the song A Little Bit of Soapby Nigel Olsson. Dad found it and made me play it in front of the entire family, then proceeded to give me a humiliating lecture on the evils of secular music and my personal shortcomings for listening to such unholy crap. When I found the courage to speak up, I pointed out that my sisters had records, too (yes, I sold them out; yes, they were mad). Any perceived rebellion (a breath that sounded like a sigh), sitting when we were told to stand (the man of god told you to stand up), suspicion of promiscuity (being out of sight for a moment), asking a question that put him on the spot (can I go over to so-and-so’s house?), cheeks flushed with humiliation (scrub check for makeup) resulted in his seething anger. Endless lectures on my shortcomings, which I received silently, constant fear of dad’s wrath, disdain and dismissal of my needs and feelings, evolved into my almost complete withdrawal. To be seen and not heard, while never actually put in those terms, was the rule. This did not go well later on.

Scrutiny was the name of the game at church, too, and invisibility at school; hours of primping before Sunday night service and oddball denim skirt-centered frump on the bus left me swinging between two worlds, silence and the stage. It is impossible to underestimate the warped nature of my development during those years. Appearances were paramount; skirt length measured by fractions, hair length was glorified and uneven, uncut split ends were mandatory. Any female whose hair had an even bottom edge had clearly sinned with scissors. (A few years later, I clipped some long bangs around my face in a 15 year old bout of fuck you and was told that I had ruined my dad’s career. The sick thing is, it really was a nail in the coffin. Dad was an asshole but he wasn’t making it up.) Teenage girls rubbed Vaseline onto eyelashes and eyelids in lieu of mascara and eye-shadow. Clear lip gloss was allowed, but not clear nail polish and oddly placed Vaseline was pushing it. The youth pastor’s wife spoke against the use of Vaseline during a girls’ only service. I asked why it was okay to put shiny stuff on your lips but not on your eyelids. She openly mocked me, but didn’t answer. I also asked why we were not allowed to go to baseball games. (A hot new guy came to church and rumor had it he played; thus my interest. I hadn’t heard about Title 9.) Sister Youth Pastor told me not ask dumb questions and never answered. Maybe she didn’t know, but I never found out. Brother Youth Pastor wouldn’t let me get off of the choir bus with everyone else because he could see my bra strap through the cap sleeve of my shirt. He cornered me, placing full blame for my promiscuous clothing choice squarely on my inadequately covered shoulders. I was 14.

Many years later after Dad died, I had a series of nightmares about him that left me terrified. I would wake up shaking, my heart pounding and sick. I do not remember the details of those dreams. Then one night, I stood up to him. I faced him and, with voice quivering and knees buckling, told him what I really thought of him, how I really felt. I never dreamed about him again.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Are You an Atheist Success Story?

By Avangelism Project ~ F acts don’t spread. Stories do. It’s how (good) marketing works, it’s how elections (unfortunately) are won and lost, and it’s how (all) religion spreads. Proselytization isn’t accomplished with better arguments. It’s accomplished with better stories and it’s time we atheists catch up. It’s not like atheists don’t love a good story. Head over to the atheist reddit and take a look if you don’t believe me. We’re all over stories painting religion in a bad light. Nothing wrong with that, but we ignore the value of a story or a testimonial when we’re dealing with Christians. We can’t be so proud to argue the semantics of whether atheism is a belief or deconversion is actually proselytization. When we become more interested in defining our terms than in affecting people, we’ve relegated ourselves to irrelevance preferring to be smug in our minority, but semantically correct, nonbelief. Results Determine Reality The thing is when we opt to bury our

Christian TV presenter reads out Star Wars plot as story of salvation

An email prankster tricked the host of a Christian TV show into reading out the plots of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air and Star Wars in the belief they were stories of personal salvation. The unsuspecting host read out most of the opening rap to The Fresh Prince, a 1990s US sitcom starring Will Smith , apparently unaware that it was not a genuine testimony of faith. The prankster had slightly adapted the lyrics but the references to a misspent youth playing basketball in West Philadelphia would have been instantly familiar to most viewers. The lines read out by the DJ included: "One day a couple of guys who were up to no good starting making trouble in my living area. I ended up getting into a fight, which terrified my mother." The presenter on Genesis TV , a British Christian channel, eventually realised that he was being pranked and cut the story short – only to move on to another spoof email based on the plot of the Star Wars films. It began: &quo

So Just How Dumb Were Jesus’ Disciples? The Resurrection, Part VII.

By Robert Conner ~ T he first mention of Jesus’ resurrection comes from a letter written by Paul of Tarsus. Paul appears to have had no interest whatsoever in the “historical” Jesus: “even though we have known Christ according to the flesh, we know him so no longer.” ( 2 Corinthians 5:16 ) Paul’s surviving letters never once mention any of Jesus’ many exorcisms and healings, the raising of Lazarus, or Jesus’ virgin birth, and barely allude to Jesus’ teaching. For Paul, Jesus only gets interesting after he’s dead, but even here Paul’s attention to detail is sketchy at best. For instance, Paul says Jesus “was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures” ( 1 Corinthians 15:4 ), but there are no scriptures that foretell the Jewish Messiah would at long last appear only to die at the hands of Gentiles, much less that the Messiah would then be raised from the dead after three days. After his miraculous conversion on the road to Damascus—an event Paul never mentions in his lette

Morality is not a Good Argument for Christianity

By austinrohm ~ I wrote this article as I was deconverting in my own head: I never talked with anyone about it, but it was a letter I wrote as if I was writing to all the Christians in my life who constantly brought up how morality was the best argument for Christianity. No Christian has read this so far, but it is written from the point of view of a frustrated closeted atheist whose only outlet was organizing his thoughts on the keyboard. A common phrase used with non-Christians is: “Well without God, there isn’t a foundation of morality. If God is not real, then you could go around killing and raping.” There are a few things which must be addressed. 1. Show me objective morality. Define it and show me an example. Different Christians have different moral standards depending on how they interpret the Bible. Often times, they will just find what they believe, then go back into scripture and find a way to validate it. Conversely, many feel a particular action is not

ACTS OF GOD

By David Andrew Dugle ~   S ettle down now children, here's the story from the Book of David called The Parable of the Bent Cross. In the land Southeast of Eden –  Eden, Minnesota that is – between two rivers called the Big Miami and the Little Miami, in the name of Saint Gertrude there was once built a church. Here next to it was also built a fine parochial school. The congregation thrived and after a multitude of years, a new, bigger church was erected, well made with clean straight lines and a high steeple topped with a tall, thin cross of gold. The faithful felt proud, but now very low was their money. Their Sunday offerings and school fees did not suffice. Anon, they decided to raise money in an unclean way. One fine summer day the faithful erected tents in the chariot lot between the two buildings. In the tents they set up all manner of games – ring toss, bingo, little mechanical racing horses and roulette wheels – then all who lived in the land between the two rivers we

I can fix ignorance; I can't fix stupid!

By Bob O ~ I 'm an atheist and a 52-year veteran of public education. I need not tell anyone the problems associated with having to "duck" the "Which church do you belong to?" with my students and their parents. Once told by a parent that they would rather have a queer for their sons' teacher than an atheist! Spent HOURS going to the restroom right when prayers were performed: before assemblies, sports banquets, "Christmas Programs", awards assemblies, etc... Told everyone that I had a bladder problem. And "yes" it was a copout to many of you, but the old adage (yes, it's religious) accept what you can't change, change that which you can and accept the strength to know the difference! No need arguing that which you will never change. Enough of that. What I'd like to impart is my simple family chemistry. My wife is a Baptist - raised in a Baptist Orphanage (whole stories there) and is a believer. She did not know my religi