I remember well when Daddy became what he called ‘saved’. I didn’t know what that meant, and I really didn’t care. Saved from what, I thought? Due to this new saving thing, we were all going to put on new clothes and shoes and go to church.
Church—what was church?
It sits boxed up in my memory bank as though it just happened. We went to a little white church down the street from our house. I didn’t find a thing of interest. Strange looking men in funny looking clothes were playing music. Things called guitars, Daddy said. They looked like wood with strings tied too tight to me.
Church lasted way too long for my brother and me. We were glad when the preacher dismissed us. We had heard the sirens close by but I thought nothing of it. I just wanted out of there.
We walked outside and one look down the block told me that something bad had happened. Yes, during our first-time to visit God’s house, our house burned down. My brother reminded me tonight, May 1,2009, that our house had burned on Christmas Eve. We were indeed children that believed in Santa Clause. We lost everything that night. We were very sad. So very very sad.....
I remember thinking God must not have wanted us there. How angry he was to do this. I would vow to never go again. I was too afraid.