Not Now, Helen

The Old Man doesn't know a lot about women. But then, what man does? I thought that maybe Dr. Phil would, but according to my last trip through a super market check out line, I'm doubtful. Case in point, my early adventures. Let me set the scene.

At our church in Bedford, our Sunday routine was ironclad. There was Sunday morning service, followed by lunch at Coleman's Restaurant. A quiet afternoon (Dad forbade Sunday movies, but curiously enjoyed TV) led up to Sunday evening service. We trudged upstairs and dutifully re-donned our shirt and tie. This may not sound like a huge deal, but a second story bedroom in Bedford in August was akin to the very breath of hell we were going to church to avoid in the first place.

Now it was the practice of our church to have the children/youth choir sit in the choir loft and perform during the service. I was about 10 years old when I had my first encounter.

It was about mid way through the evening. Rev. A.G. the Short Tie Preacher had worked up a full head of steam and was thundering through his message. The little cardboard fans with the tongue-depressor handles provided by Carder's Funeral Home were going at warp speed. Now, those of us in the choir were not allowed fans, so we just suffered. A. G.'s wife on many occasions responded to those who said it was too hot for church with, "I know of a place that's hotter". I'm not too sure I would agree.

At any rate there I sat, next to Helen. She was a couple of years older than me and so pretty that I had begun to take notice that girls could be good for something other than playing dodge ball. All of a sudden, I felt something against my shoulder. It was Helen's head. It seemed that no one in the congregation had yet noticed, so I whispered, "Not now, Helen", and gently moved her head back up straight. As soon as I relaxed a bit, here came the head. "Not now, Helen" I tried again. No sooner had I put her back together, than the whole thing happened again. By now, I was close to full panic. This time I moved away a bit and Helen fell into my lap. By this time the congregation had gotten in on the project and recognized that Helen had a problem. She had fainted.

Well, somehow, they got Helen back among the living. She nor I ever mentioned the incident again to the best of my memory. Hopefully she's still with us, out there somewhere. She may or may not remember my Don Juan polish, but I hope her life has been filled with a good mixture.