Playing house with the Son of God, or, It's weird being me, part 2

I'm sure my dedicated readers can't wait to read about my miserable elementary school years!

Shunned by classmates because of my crippling shyness, I dreaded recess. I’d walk with my head down, looking for stray pieces of candy to take to my only friends, the fire ants who lived at the furthest edge of the playground. It was the highlight of my day – and I firmly believed that there was an air of excited frenzy around the ant mound when I showed up each day.

Yet, I did have one more friend. Being raised in the home of fundamental Christians, I was constantly told that Jesus was my best friend, and I took this to heart. I often pulled Jesus out of the realm of the holy and made him my imaginary friend. How many little girls could say that they had the Messiah as a playmate? Casually attired in his long white robe, he'd often read the newspaper while sitting in an easy chair. I made dinner, of course. His favorite meal was broiled fish. We had lots of interesting conversations out there on the blacktop.

Jesus and the red ants – the sum and total of my childhood pals.

Luckily, my sister was growing into a bit of a tomboy. Taller than me, and more confident, she took it upon herself to threaten some of the bullies who entertained themselves by making my life a living hell. “Say that again,” she warned Laura Pacheco who’d mocked my terrible overbite, “and I’ll punch you right in the face!” But, being a year younger, my sister couldn’t be with me everywhere. I tried to be philosophical about it, figuring that suffering brought me closer to Jesus, but it was truly a trial to love my enemies when Laura, who was built pretty solidly, jumped on my back the day I wore my new pink dress and skinned both my knees.

By 6th grade, I could see an end to the horror of elementary school. I had a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Roessler, who gave me a variety of responsibilities and duties. When the other children watched The Electric Company as part of their free time activity, she allowed me to read at my desk. When I’d finished my assignments, I was able to get a pass to go to the library. She complimented my writing. She made me feel good about myself. If not for Mrs. Roessler, I’m certain I would have become even more neurotic than I already was!

That was the year I became infatuated with my desk mate, Melvin Howell. He really was named Melvin Howell, a name right from of Gilligan’s Island! As the only Jehovah’s Witness in our class, he already had an air of mystique about him, quietly sitting at his desk while the rest of us said the Pledge of Allegiance, never taking part in birthday celebrations, bravely refusing to participate in Halloween festivities. With his white blond hair and incredible blue eyes, I thought he was wonderful. And so, I did all I could to annoy him.

During one afternoon, we were quarrelling over a pencil. He tried to take it from me; I swore it was mine. In the shuffle, I pulled back on it and accidentally jabbed him in the eye. I was mortified! Here I was, trying to get Melvin’s attention, and instead I had mortally wounded the love of my life! His eye quivered and watered as the teacher examined it. She determined that, as he had not been blinded, he would survive. I knew, however, that any chance of romance between us had died with the entry of that eraser into his eye socket.

Walking home that day, I felt as if the world had come to an end. Melvin! Oh, Melvin! His sculpted beauty, those pale white hands, his slightly curved spine, his belted, brown corduroy pants. I knew he would never talk to me again. What freak of nature skewers her lover’s eyeball on a pencil? Was I destined to be alone forever? Sobbing my heart out at home, I prayed that he would forgive me. Although I knew, deep down, that there was really no place in this world for the daughter of a Nazarene minister and a practicing Jehovah’s Witness, I was romantic enough to believe that true love could overcome the differences in our theology. But would he forgive me for taking out his left eye?

The following day, Melvin’s eye was red and puffy. And yet, he gave me a small, shy smile. Somehow the tide had changed. He’d noticed me! No longer was I the girl he sat next to in class. I was the girl who’d popped him.

It was the turning point. At that point, a new chapter in my life began.