Junior choir in hell

To steal a line from my favorite college professor, I'm a retired Methodist. It's a good line. I've used it before. Prior to that, I was a pressed-gang Methodist, which included a steady dose of sunday school, church and the one thing I dreaded most, "junior choir."

Junior choir was a weekly exercise in singing saccharine songs about Jesus without really thinking about it. I have no idea what we sang, really. All kinds of traditional and then-modern catchy tunes about Noah and the first Christmas and give God the glory, glory. (Oh, man, do I ever hate that song.)

We had choir practice every wednesday after school right across the stret at the Methodist church. One of my best pals was Casey, and Casey's mom, Marilyn, was choir director, which made it tolerable. She ran my home town's equivalent of the Brady Bunch, and, man, did she ever know how to keep a few dozen kids in line. She's a miraculous woman. She ran a tight ship, and she genuinely cared about a bunch of kids who mostly wanted to be somewhere else. We liked her for it. I liked her plenty, even if she did yell my full name and kick me out of practice once or twice for talking too much. Getting kicked out one time meant my own mother got so pissed she whipped my thighs with the wire end of a fly swatter. Not exactly a recipe for loving the lord. (Don't worry -- she's a great mom. Kids are nutty.)

I don't know what all the grown ups thought about us in junior choir. Mostly, I think all the moms liked to hear their kids sing anything. Now that I'm a parent, I'm suspect part of it was also getting kids out of the moms' houses for a while.

What were we supposed to think about choir? I don't know. This is the stuff I thought about:

1. I can't wait until sixth grade is over so I don't have to be in junior choir anymore. What? They thought up youth choir for junior high and high school kids? Damn it!

2. When is practice over so I can get a couple of old Brach's candies from Marilyn's candy basket that she keeps in the room behind the organ? The Neopolitan coconut ones are pretty good. Who knew? Plus, maybe I can go home with Casey and Marilyn and we can ride the 4-wheeler around the farm!

3. Why does my mom force me to miss the Wednesday episode of the G.I. Joe cartoon miniseries EVERY TIME? I still haven't seen what happens in the underwater battle with the giant tube worm things or when Snake Eyes gets lost in the northern wilderness. This is bullshit!

Here are things I never once thought:

1. You know, this is a really great lesson that I should probably respect my mother and father more.

2. Singing these goofy songs about Jesus is really great. I can't wait to sing on Sunday!

3. You know, these orange choir robe pull-over ponchos make us look like safety cones, but I at least they're pretty much one size fits all!

On Sundays, we had to put on those horrendous orange ponchos and sit as a group in the front three pews. We routinely made all kinds of aerodynamic innovations folding up our church bulletins into paper airplanes and throwing stars. I had a flat-wing design I stole out of a book at school that looked like a prototype stealth bomber. But, any test flights of same were sorely frowned upon.

Those bulletins were a life saver. Not only did they act as an painfully slow checklist reminder for when we could get out of there, we also used them to play hangman and that little game where you each draw one line on a grid to make squares and then put your initial in the squares you complete.

We choir brats sat through about half of church, got up and sang some songs, and then scattered among the congregation to sit with friends or family. Some of us poor schmucks got roped into handing out the offering plate or lighting and snuffing out the candles.

If the intent was to get some of those songs and sermons to stick, it didn't take with me.

The thing that gets me now is how in the world I thought church was somehow insincere back then? I mean, I didn't know much. It'd be easy to chalk it up to being a dumb, selfish kid. Ok, I probably was that. But, it all felt so phony to me, and it still does.

There's sincerity neslted in there, too. Mainly it comes from people in towns becoming friends with church as a mixing tank. But, the minute anyone starts talking about the second coming or sin or forgiveness, I'm headed for the exit for somewhere that has better music.