Oh, Happy Campers, Things Have Been Fun around here.
For those of my readers who may be less than knowledgeable concerning the version of the Protestant faith that dominates in small town Texas, let me attempt to explain in two words:
The local bunch and I have a long-standing history, and we have reached an unspoken agreement: they pretend I don’t exist, and I don’t give them the opportunity to grok the entirety of the sentence “A furore Normannorum libera nos, Domine.”
Mother feels about the locals about the same way I do — mainly due to Shi’ite Baptist activities at the funeral of my father — but since Mom is considerably more diplomatic than I am, and given that Granma’s family features in the history of the Texas Shi’a Baptists, Mom has pretty much been immune to any crap.
Hoo boy, has that changed.
The local Shi’a Baptists have been sending a list of names home with the children after Sunday school. Most of this list are names of people who are sick, who have died, or who are on missionary duty, and it asks the child to pray for these folks.
All well and good.
The very first group of names, however, does not ask for prayers, nor does it ask for happy thoughts or anything else; it is merely titled: “The Lost”.
Guess in which section my mother’s name is prominently placed?
Lost, huh? Funny, I’ve got a pretty good idea of exactly where she is … OHHH — the other kind of “lost”.
Listed beside my mother are a couple of the atheists in the town, a Hindu family and the local flamboyant homosexual.
Goodness. Sunday school no less.
I think I’ll just stop right there.