Gmornign ALL ! I LOVE Sunday morning.... LOOOOVE. Somehow a Sunday morning is just full of Love. Whether its a rainy Sunday, skies overcast or a sunny Sunday hot and bright, my Spirit soars on a Sunday. Call it sentiment . My favourite memories of family ALL occur on a Sunday. Church Cooking Cleaning no matter as a child Sunday was MY DAY ! My Grandmother owned a church so Sunday was SUNDAY SCHOOL... I LOVED the dress-up and frou frou! Sunday morning Sunday school was fancy dress and matching socks with new bright RIBBON in my hair ! Chook seen some bubbles (girls hair accessories) and I had a little coin purse with a strap so I could play big lady properly ! My hair was washed and cane-rowed tightly on Saturday night, so Sunday morning I skipping right ! Sunday for me was FAMILY Day ! Dressed up and loved up with my sister and my cousins in church? What more I want? and as much as I loathed the Sunday School teacher I LOVED the class. Theres a big reason I despised that woman... because it was my grandmothers church, she felt the need to ALWAYS show that I wasnt receiving special treatment. Even going so far as lying on me. My torture at the hands of that woman was endless. She would shout at me, humiliate me when I didnt know a verse. Worst of all shed pinch me. HARD. Once after pinching me so forcefully she broke skin on my shoulder for some triviality, I REFUSED to go back. Nobody could understand why and since I wasnt one for telling, my grandmothers couldnt understand why the sudden decline in my zeal for church. My grandmothers took my skin seriously. Hitting their first grand & first great grand-daughter required STRONG explanation. Hitting me to leave a mark? Yuh was begging for trouble... I was 7years old and Mama still bathed me... Two weeks after the pinching, Mama Olga scrubbing my skin and rubbing me down with honeysuckle oil saw the bruise and asked what de hell is that on your shoulder? I KNOW de bacchanal was coming.. either I lie to Mama or go back and be hurt again. From early in life I could NEVER lie to Mama. My great-grandmother could smell a lie even before it formed in the mind. The repercussions of lying to Mama was the equivalent to sitting on Death Row. So when she asked about my bruise I blurted out the entire story. It didnt make any sense holding out. My great-grandmother listened. Mama ALWAYS listened to me. My great-grandmothers mouth formed a FIRM line. My great-grandmother dressed me for Sunday School and then dressed HERSELF. My great-grandmother sat at the back of my Sunday school class with a smile. When I think of Mamas smile that morning Im reminded of a shark wading in for a kill. Although Miss De Madinherarse Sunday School teacher NEVER touched me again, the experience left me veeeery skeptical and hesitant to attend on my own. Until... one Sunday over a full plate of black pudding and eggs Mama said you do NOT let one arse determine your actions, you go with God. Indeed Mama... indeed. bless
Posted on: Sun, 18 May 2014 14:08:28 +0000
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