heaven…”
You know the rest. Or maybe you don’t. I’m completely surprised to learn that I actually do know the rest. Me, of all people. And I don’t know how this could have happened, considering the kind of home I was raised in, yet I realize that all the words are coming to me as he is saying them.
“Give us this day our daily bread…”
How is this possible? By the way, I’ve been working pretty diligently on my vocabulary, as you know, and I think I can state with confidence that
art
is not a verb. And I have no idea what
hallowed
means.
I guess they had no takers back at the registration table because a woman approaches me with a tray of apple cider and doughnuts like this is some kind of cocktail party. Ugh. Even thinking of the word
cocktail
makes me want to hurl.
“Would you like a little refreshment, hon?” She has gray hair that she’s wearing tied back with a navy ribbon. There’s a name tag on her jean jacket that says HELEN, ALL SAINTS CHURCH .
I try to be as polite as I’m able, considering my headache. “You know,” I say, “I think you want to be over there.” I motion to the crowd melting in the sun.
She looks puzzled. She looks at my name tag and then quickly down at her own, and a wave of understanding washes over her.
“Oh, no, dear,” she says gently. “I’m in the right place. I believe the cross should be removed from our town seal. I don’t think religion has any place in the public sphere.”
Wow. Go, Helen. I decide to take a doughnut.
The morning passes with speeches and prayers made at the cardboard podium. Heidi speaks on behalf of the ASA and does a really great job. The rabbi from Temple Isaiah was excellent too, and he was bald with a closely trimmed beard, so I realize he’s the perfect person to take my question about baldness to, but I chicken out later when he walks past me and smiles. When the mind-numbingly dull guy from the town historical society is addressing the crowd, I spot my nemesis from the Organic Oasis. This is going to be good.
I walk over to her casually. “Hi.”
She looks at me and smiles. She has absolutely no idea who I am.
“Remember me?”
She looks at me carefully. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Laura Anderson.” So now who’s suddenly Ms. Hi-I’m-So-Friendly?
“I’m Simone. We met at the Organic Oasis.”
It takes her a minute. “Oh, yes. That’s right. The ACLU girl.” She looks at my tag. “I think you need a little help with your acronym there.” Now there’s the lady I know and love.
“I’m not here with the ACLU today. I’m here with the Atheist Student Alliance.”
Look at me! I’m a member of a club! And proud of it!
The redness returns. And so do the whispering and the spit. I’m in complete awe of how quickly this creature can turn from smiles and sunshine into some kind of dark lord ruling over a land of fire.
“I’ve heard about your group,” she spits, “and I intend to do something about it. My daughter is a freshman at Twelve Oaks. I’m up for a seat on the board. And when I get there you can count on your little group getting banned from campus. Good day.” And again she turns around and walks away.
Well, the first thing I’m left thinking is, who the hell says “Good day” anymore? What is this, Elizabethan England? Australia? This isn’t exactly how I imagined my terrible revenge. I was supposed to wow her with my mastery of the issue and my wicked wit, then turn on
my
heel and leave her standing there with
her
mouth open. But today my mind and wit are as dull as that guy from the historical society. For a minute I imagine the scorecard: Evil Bitch 2, Simone 0.
I retreat back to my team of green-shirted atheists. Heidi is giving a little pep talk, thanking everyone for showing up, reminding us how important it is just to be here in numbers and how we will monitor the case, and telling us not to forget our next meeting a week from Tuesday. The
You know the rest. Or maybe you don’t. I’m completely surprised to learn that I actually do know the rest. Me, of all people. And I don’t know how this could have happened, considering the kind of home I was raised in, yet I realize that all the words are coming to me as he is saying them.
“Give us this day our daily bread…”
How is this possible? By the way, I’ve been working pretty diligently on my vocabulary, as you know, and I think I can state with confidence that
art
is not a verb. And I have no idea what
hallowed
means.
I guess they had no takers back at the registration table because a woman approaches me with a tray of apple cider and doughnuts like this is some kind of cocktail party. Ugh. Even thinking of the word
cocktail
makes me want to hurl.
“Would you like a little refreshment, hon?” She has gray hair that she’s wearing tied back with a navy ribbon. There’s a name tag on her jean jacket that says HELEN, ALL SAINTS CHURCH .
I try to be as polite as I’m able, considering my headache. “You know,” I say, “I think you want to be over there.” I motion to the crowd melting in the sun.
She looks puzzled. She looks at my name tag and then quickly down at her own, and a wave of understanding washes over her.
“Oh, no, dear,” she says gently. “I’m in the right place. I believe the cross should be removed from our town seal. I don’t think religion has any place in the public sphere.”
Wow. Go, Helen. I decide to take a doughnut.
The morning passes with speeches and prayers made at the cardboard podium. Heidi speaks on behalf of the ASA and does a really great job. The rabbi from Temple Isaiah was excellent too, and he was bald with a closely trimmed beard, so I realize he’s the perfect person to take my question about baldness to, but I chicken out later when he walks past me and smiles. When the mind-numbingly dull guy from the town historical society is addressing the crowd, I spot my nemesis from the Organic Oasis. This is going to be good.
I walk over to her casually. “Hi.”
She looks at me and smiles. She has absolutely no idea who I am.
“Remember me?”
She looks at me carefully. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Laura Anderson.” So now who’s suddenly Ms. Hi-I’m-So-Friendly?
“I’m Simone. We met at the Organic Oasis.”
It takes her a minute. “Oh, yes. That’s right. The ACLU girl.” She looks at my tag. “I think you need a little help with your acronym there.” Now there’s the lady I know and love.
“I’m not here with the ACLU today. I’m here with the Atheist Student Alliance.”
Look at me! I’m a member of a club! And proud of it!
The redness returns. And so do the whispering and the spit. I’m in complete awe of how quickly this creature can turn from smiles and sunshine into some kind of dark lord ruling over a land of fire.
“I’ve heard about your group,” she spits, “and I intend to do something about it. My daughter is a freshman at Twelve Oaks. I’m up for a seat on the board. And when I get there you can count on your little group getting banned from campus. Good day.” And again she turns around and walks away.
Well, the first thing I’m left thinking is, who the hell says “Good day” anymore? What is this, Elizabethan England? Australia? This isn’t exactly how I imagined my terrible revenge. I was supposed to wow her with my mastery of the issue and my wicked wit, then turn on
my
heel and leave her standing there with
her
mouth open. But today my mind and wit are as dull as that guy from the historical society. For a minute I imagine the scorecard: Evil Bitch 2, Simone 0.
I retreat back to my team of green-shirted atheists. Heidi is giving a little pep talk, thanking everyone for showing up, reminding us how important it is just to be here in numbers and how we will monitor the case, and telling us not to forget our next meeting a week from Tuesday. The
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