When I was in 4th grade, I flirted with the idea of converting to Catholicism. The main reasons weren’t theological, it was that the Catholics at my school were special and rich. They were special in that they got to leave class early on Wednesdays to attend a different class called catechism. They were rich because they got to eat fried shrimp for lunch on Fridays, delivered from The Wagon Wheel, which was close by Delta Christian Academy, the name of the private school in Tallulah, LA.
DCA (elementary) and Tallulah Academy (junior high and high school) were not affiliated with any denomination which was how Baptists and Catholics and others went to school together. It appeared if you liked Jesus and could afford tuition, you were good to go. Now, I don’t remember there being any particularly Jesusy about the curriculum or activities, but the name was descriptive as we were in the Delta, almost on the banks of the Mississippi River.
Christmas vacation 1979, we moved from Moore, OK to Tallulah, a relatively populous town, about 8 miles from Alsatia, where my mother grew up and her parents, her sisters and their families still lived. We took renter ship of a large two-story antebellum home behind the Post Office and enrolled in the public elementary school as we were not accustomed to attending private schools, the fact that we had just been students at Moore Christian Academy notwithstanding.
That reality was unusual as we had
always attended public schools. The
faculty at MCA didn’t really know what to do with us. They were fascinated by our southern accents;
on numerous occasions, pulling us out of class into the hallway to ask us to
“say something”. I was only in the 3rd
grade but I thought it was odd behavior.
After our performance at the talent show, I am sure they found us more
than odd. My cousin Kendra and I were
fairly mundane in our rendition of “There’s a Hole in My Bucket, Dear Liza”,
complete with costumes. However, my
sister recited a poem called “Little Orphan Annie” with an alligator
puppet.
If you’re unfamiliar with this
poem, let me assure you it is not about the singing orphan from Broadway. It was written by James Whitcomb Riley and has
lines such as “…and the goblins will getcha if you don’t watch out.” I wonder if they thought it was a message
from Louisiana as most people from elsewhere imagine the entire state to be
like New Orleans, all spicy food and voodoo.
From a weather perspective,
northern Louisiana is a bit less humid than New Orleans, but not enough to keep
you from feeling like you can grab a handful of air. From a gustatory perspective, there is a vast
difference. Although delicious and able
to induce heart attacks from the abundance of fried things, there isn’t much
spice.
Back to education in Tallulah, I
had already been disappointed by the level of work in my grade. I was up to the 13s in multiplication, while
my classmates were barely past 5s. My
mother noticed that my sister (5th grade) has the same spelling
textbook as my cousin (2nd grade at DCA) and it was determined that
we would join the local elite at the private school for the following year.
Whenever my classmates left to go
to catechism classes, I often wondered what it was. I wasn’t familiar with the word and it
sounded very close to cataclysm, which we had recently heard at church in relation
to the impending return of Jesus and Armageddon. As there was no internet to surf and I wasn’t
ready to get into a religious discussion with an adult due to questioning, I
assumed they were learning things to help them survive the Rapture. I had recently been frightened enough to run
down to the altar call at church after we watched “Like a Thief in the Night”
at Parkview Baptist and give my life to Jesus so I wouldn’t be left behind like
that girl who ate chips in the living room instead of listening to the
preacher. She got left behind and had to
jump off a bridge and drown so she wouldn’t have to have the mark of the beast
on her forehead. It was terrifying
y’all.
There are those who watch the movie
now and laugh at the imagery, like the guy mowing his lawn in cut-off denim
shorts and striped knee socks. But when
you saw someone similarly dressed cutting the lawn on your way to the church,
it tends to leave an impression. Maybe
these catechism classes were teaching them how to survive in the End
Times.
That was important as I was
terrified of the Rapture happening before I got a chance to grow up and have an
awesome life as an Architect and possibly have enough money to eat fried shrimp
on Fridays.
