Danger, Will Robinson! There may be sharks in that baptismal pool!
“You say that you will join the church next week, but what if you die in car crash on the way home.” Well, that did it. Pushed my preteen self right over the edge. If untimely death was not enough to secure a get out of jail free card, sign my little kid self up now. On the cusp of being on the planet for just under double digit years, I raced to the front of the church to sign up. You can just count me out of the car crash story on the 11p.m. news tonight.
It was good ole Southern Baptist summer Revival time. A five-night kind of in person PBS membership drive minus the great bonus merch package and the elegant plea from Dame Judi Dench. Eternal life was the sole and the soul entrée on the menu. Apparently, the guest minister had a target to hit that evening and fear of unplanned death was the next card to play when the numbers were stalled. What a pitch, join now or risk death. Always be closing meets death threats on the ride home. It was suddenly very crowded at the sign-up desk with the smiling Deacons updating their ledgers. Not to worry, Mr. Jerry Lewis, we will hit the mark tonight and update the tote board.
After I filled up my sign-up card, I returned to the seat in the pew next to my grandmother. Staring straight ahead she placed her hand on my knee and said in the most deadpan voice I have ever heard “I see by your choices that you didn’t trust me to get you home safely tonight.”
On the very short car drive home from the church to my parent’s house, she further added “your mother is not going to be thrilled with this news and may blame me. She doesn’t want a group of strangers showing up at her door, let alone let them in her house.” Perhaps to soften the blow or protect me, she uncharacteristically walked me to the front door to share the backstory “now don’t get upset, they scared him into it.” It was a rare evening when my father was not on a gig playing trumpet in his jazz band, so was at home and joined the news update on the tiny porch. To make sure that I knew that the actual initiation was a water event he said “I’ll go fill the tub now so we can have a dress rehearsal.” What had I done?
During the next week there was a meeting of the “count me out of the car crash heading home from church people” to go over what the water world experience would actually be like. Repeatedly it was stated that there would be no moment of embarrassment. I thought, a little too late for that. So, you strip down to your underwear, put on a white thin choir-like robe and when it is your turn up you walk down a staircase into the narrow pool. You stand in the middle in front of the minister (the real one as the sales goal one has moved onto the next church’s membership drive), cross your arms in front and the minister dunks you backwards into the water. The entire event is viewed by the congregation through a large window above the choir loft. I can confirm that the window has only partial glass as years later as a highly untalented singer in that same said choir I was drenched when a new member slipped and fell down the stairs knocking the minister over (I thought did someone prank him with a bar of soap on the stairs?). Picture opening credits for Singing in the Rain. That was it. The choir was flooded with holy water. Wonder if they promised him no embarrassment?
On my way down into the pool, I experienced another phenomenon that I had not been prepared for. Upon contact with the water my thin white robe filled with air bubbles that surrounded me like an innertube or donut around my neck. I couldn’t see forward. Okay, no embarrassment? It’s a packed Sunday night service to accommodate the record-breaking revival conversions and I am in a pool in my underwear. I am flopping my arms trying to gain control of the garment to no avail. I feel certain that the organ music got louder with every arm flop. Am I in a remake of the Psycho shower scene? The only good thing I thought was how lucky I was to at least have my underwear on as fellow “dunk-ee” had opted for full out all commando experience. If this happens to him, I think they will need an adult movie rating system. The minster had to fuss with my robe for what felt like hours. Jeez, this was a hell of a lot of work to avoid eternal damnation. Is it too late to get my sign-up card back I wondered? Having second thoughts guys, I’ll risk the car crash home. As I made my way back up the stairs the volunteer pulling my robe off said that was the first time in his ten years that he saw that happen, then went on with chomping on his gum. At that tender age following that week, I was simply not able to morph that comment into “I was special.”
