I was also made to go to church, but never engaged in the message being delivered. As a child I would have to go with my grandmothers when they would visit, both Southern Baptists. The older women would be wearing fox stoles; seventy-something degrees out and they would have on a fox stole with the head still on it. The eyes were made out of glass balls and sitting in church next to my grandmothers, I couldn’t help staring at those fox heads. They looked alive and seemingly staring back at me. My mind would tell me they were gonna jump off the old lady’s shoulder any minute and grab me by the neck. That was my mindset during the longest hour of my week, church.
School and Church wasn’t for me, I didn’t know a lot but I knew this.
Funny thing, I was just thinking about the weasels that hung in my grandmother’s closet the other day. Trying to remember as a child whether I was afraid of them or not. I hated sleeping in the spare room where they hung. It was also the room where all the books were stored, so at that age, I had a choice in front of me of where to put my mind. I read. So long as I was reading I didn’t think about those sharp little teeth and the beady glass eyes…
p.s. it hits Catholic women too, the stole thing.
My grandparents had a farm I would work so hard so I could sleep well as soon as I was able to sleep upstairs the locks were great and the chair in front of the door amazing lock the world out and with that the bad things. Counted blessings