I grew up in the Northeast Arkansas Delta town of Marmaduke. It had a population of 650 people. Within the city limits there were five churches. If attended equally, each church would have averaged 130 residents. Although most folks did attend, not everyone was a churchgoer, at least not on a regular basis. I don’t think I ever went to any one church back then that had 130 people in attendance. The town had one Church of Christ and one Methodist church. The three other churches were all various branches of Baptist: General Baptist, Missionary Baptist, and Southern Baptist. Outside the city limits there were many country churches, including a few more Baptist congregations.
My two sisters and I attended the Methodist Church regularly with our mother. When small, we mainly went to Sunday school. I liked Sunday school because there was always a good chance that some kid in the class would have a birthday celebration. When that happened the teacher would run down to Crouch’s grocery store and buy vanilla wafers and little tubs of vanilla ice cream that we ate with wooden spoons.
Another perk of Sunday school is that we got to color mimeographed pictures of Biblical scenes. I didn’t care what the subject matter was as long as I could take advantage of the dozens of crayons available to me. There were colors in the Sunday school classroom that I didn’t have at home.
When I got a little older, I opted to stay home and watch African American church services that were broadcast on television via Memphis stations. I watched only for the music, and I turned off the TV when the preaching came on. My mother didn’t mind if I stayed home. It was my choice. However, I was not to go out of the house on Sunday morning because some good churchgoer might see me and wonder why I wasn’t in church.
During summer my church hosted a week-long vacation Bible school. I loved going, mainly for the cookies, the Kool-Aid, and the crafts. One of the Baptist churches was directly across the alley from our house, and they also hosted a vacation Bible school. One year the Baptist preacher came a-calling and invited my sisters and me to attend. My older sister told him that we couldn’t because “We are Methodists.” That didn’t stop me. I knew that the Baptists also had cookies, Kool-Aid, and crafts.
I started going to both vacation Bible schools when I was five years old. When I was in the first-grade class at the Baptist Bible school, each student was given a line of scripture to learn. The line was to be recited at a program performed at the end of the Bible school. Each year the program was held at night in the church sanctuary, and it was heavily attended by beaming parents, grandparents, and family friends.
The line that I was given was “The Lord is my Shepherd.” I was to recite only the one line. I misunderstood and thought that I was to memorize the entire 23rd Psalm. I practiced and practiced until I had it down pat. The night of the program, my entire family was in attendance. Each of my classmates recited their one line. I recited all of the 23rd Psalm, and I received a large round of applause.
When we got home, my older sister wagged her finger at me and said, “You were just trying to show off in front of the Baptists. You are nothing but a show-off.”
My mother stepped in and said, “No, he is just an overachiever.” I asked her if that was a good thing. She said, “Yes.”
Thereafter the term overachiever stuck in my mind. At least she didn’t call me adorably precocious or a ham. Bless my mother’s heart.
When I was six years old, my teacher during that summer’s Baptist Bible school was Miss Betty. There were ten students in my class. Miss Betty had a baby boy who was a few months old, and she brought him to class with her. One morning the baby was fussy, and to stop his crying, Miss Betty opened her blouse and pulled out a very large breast and proceeded to nurse the baby. I was fascinated. I had never seen an uncovered breast.
When I returned home from Bible school that day, my mother was somewhat shocked when I answered her question, “What did you learn today?” with “Miss Betty’s booby is bigger than my head.”
It took a lot of begging on my part before my mother consented to let me return to the school the next day. I felt lucky to be there. Half the kids were absent due to the “exposure.” It was difficult for me to pay attention that morning. I kept looking at the sleeping baby boy and hoping that he would wake up and cry. However, no such luck.
