For Memory's Sake
Picture this:
We're in church. Two adults personifying bookends at either end of the pew. A few cars have fallen to the floor and drawing paper is scattered. Tithe envelopes and hymnals have, of course, already been confiscated.
I hear my oldest son droning in a pitch not too far from middle C. Not super loud...but very constant. I'm waiting for him to stop.
He doesn't. I gesture with my finger to my lips, whispering "sssshh".
Still droning.
So my pleas become more urgent -- "please be more quiet because everyone is trying to listen to the man speaking".
His response?
"That man {in front of us} has his arm on my organ keys."
His arm was indeed resting on the back of the pew, where, unbeknownst to him, lay Peter's organ keys.
I don't know if said man heard this dialogue, but soon he moved his arm. And Peter smiled and said,
"Now I can be quiet."
So help me God. Pretend play will one day have me six feet under.
We're in church. Two adults personifying bookends at either end of the pew. A few cars have fallen to the floor and drawing paper is scattered. Tithe envelopes and hymnals have, of course, already been confiscated.
I hear my oldest son droning in a pitch not too far from middle C. Not super loud...but very constant. I'm waiting for him to stop.
He doesn't. I gesture with my finger to my lips, whispering "sssshh".
Still droning.
So my pleas become more urgent -- "please be more quiet because everyone is trying to listen to the man speaking".
His response?
"That man {in front of us} has his arm on my organ keys."
His arm was indeed resting on the back of the pew, where, unbeknownst to him, lay Peter's organ keys.
I don't know if said man heard this dialogue, but soon he moved his arm. And Peter smiled and said,
"Now I can be quiet."
So help me God. Pretend play will one day have me six feet under.