Joining

Since I was a child, I have avoided joining things. This includes all types of groups and organizations. My first induction into a group other than my very large family came in a house of worship. Joining the church, being saved, and accepting the Lord as savior was a very dramatic experience in my family’s religious practices. One had to get the feeling and testify in front of the whole congregation that the Lord had been welcomed into one’s heart. Mind you, I had already accepted the Lord as my savior and probably read the Bible more than most of the people in our Church. I didn’t see any reason why I had to prove it and put on a show for every one in town. (As a New Jersey teacher, you are forced to join the union. You pay dues even if you never join.)

Ridgeway Baptist Church

 I complained to my brother who seemed to gain great joy from participating in church activities. He was otherwise quite mean when not in the sanctuary. He told me that if I wanted my Mother to continue to love me that I would have to demonstrate my acceptance of the Lord. He taught me how to shout, stomp, and speak in tongues in a way that would impress and convince any congregation. Every year at revival time I chickened out after practicing for hours out behind the barn. I always kept my seat in the front designated pew in silence. He was so disappointed in my failure. I just couldn’t do it. I was determined to listen for the voice of God, because my mother, the minister and all the other adults (except my father) promised that he would to speak to me. In my fourteenth year, long after most children my age had been saved, my mother led me to the special bench in front of the church for the 4^th year in a row. There were twenty younger children on the bench. After over an hour they had all done the happy stomp and shout and were led away by their joyous crying parents. I could not hear or feel what they claimed to hear so I sat very quietly and respectfully in my freshly starched white dress. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for a voice.


The minister removed his robe and came down from the pulpit. He placed his hand on my head and screamed, “Satan is inside!” He started telling the congregation I had some powerful sins on my young heart. I was so angry that I wanted to hit him. While he held my head, he urged all of the church mothers and deacons up to pray over me. There were so many over weight black women in white dresses looking down on me that it took my breath away. They were blocking out the light, the bewildered faces of my family and the AIR. There was no air. I fell from the pew calling to my mother for help. I started wheezing and flailing around on the floor trying to scream. I lost consciousness. I know now that I had my first panic induced asthma attack at that moment. The entire church congregation exploded with song, screams, stomping and applause. I was literally dying and they were thanking the Lord for my deliverance. I don’t know much about what happened next.


My cousin told me that when he got to me my eyeballs were up in the back of my head so only the whites showed. He used smelling salts and when that didn’t work he gave me mouth to mouth. Later that night, my brother congratulated me saying that I did a much better job than he ever imagined. At the baptizing, the other children shunned me, while the adults all tried to touch me. The next Sunday we former sinners were baptized, full body and facial emersion. I must tell you that as the Preacher forced my face beneath that algae filled water all I could think of was leaving home forever.

I tell that story to somehow demonstrate how difficult it was to join and participate in Internet Communities where we know people only by what they sell, what they choose to tell us and the photo if included. It is very difficult for me when I cannot see a person’s face and eyes to accept them on their words without the experience of knowing them. You never get to see anyone sweat like the traveling salesmen used to as they hawked their goods to my mother. I do recognize that the Internet has become the arena for today’s traveling salespeople.

I must admit here, that I was about ready to quit this community where people are so very concerned with becoming millionaires that it seems to cloud otherwise good sound judgment. The entire internet seems preoccupied with amassing great wealth. The thought is quite scary to me, because it is not an idea that engenders trust which is the life blood of any friendship. It is also scary, because I was scammed for thousands of dollars at a time when I was totally too vulnerable. 


For 10 months now, I have been surfing websites and learning more than I ever wanted to know about Internet activity. My daughter says I am too sensitive for this business. I guess I am. I guess the concept of mixing friendship with business (and the attempt to amass great wealth) is a novel one that must really be tried and digested until one acquires a taste. 


I recently had cortisone injections in both my shoulders and it took longer than anyone expected to become effective. While recuperating, I have literally been sitting on the bench minus the starched white dress observing for a while to see if this is something I really want. It is quite time consuming and hard work. It also takes me away from my writing and the tutoring of my grandchild. During my years of teaching, while my colleagues and family spent their money on hairdressers, nail salons, and designer clothing and shoes, I was buying vacations. I have perfected the tendency of running away to an Island Paradise. My therapist and other physicians thoroughly approve. Consequently, I have so many vacations that I am going to begin to rent and offer extras in contests. I recently returned from one of these escapes. St. Maarten in November and December is deliciously mild. I could not go on the internet so I was forced to sun myself and basically just take it easy. 

The vacation was very therapeutic. The thought of being away while school was in session and my former colleagues were doing grades and dealing with the most stressful time of the school year actually made me feel really retired for the first time since June 1 this year when it became effective. I joined a group of retired teachers on the Island. One woman was 73 years old and recuperating from lung cancer. Her zest for life made me feel ashamed of how down I have been feeling for the past year. There were five of us of varying ages. I have never been so happy that I decided to join something in all my life.


Originally written 2006, the year I retired from teaching in the public school for 27 years. Thank you Cassandra B, Barbara and the rest of the group.