thomasunderlandaily

Easter Sunday:

Maybe I was 5 or 6.  My mom was getting us all ready to go.  You know how it is when the house seems like utter confusion.  My brother is standing at the refrigerator with the door open drinking milk from one of those paper cartons they use to use.  You know the ones that did not always open properly so you have to really go at the thing.  First you try one side and when you mess it up you try to open it from the other, by the time you are done there is milk all over the place.  My sister is in her room changing her dress, because she does not like the red one my mom told her to wear.  She hates girly dresses and this one has yellow flowers with white middles all over it.  She is so good at getting what she wants.  I mean nobody can win an argument with her, she just keeps talking louder and louder.  My dad is sitting on the couch, watching TV, and eating a hardboiled egg, the yellow shell is scattered over one of our white dishes with the green leaves on it.  We colored eggs last night and the kitchen table has two wire racks, and newspaper coving it, little colored eggs all over the place.  We will be eating eggs for the next week.  I have already eaten two this morning.  An orange and blue one, brown where the two colors came together in the middle, and a super blue one that I left in the dye for five minutes.  My dad timed it for me on his watch.  For some reason we eat the ugliest eggs last.  You would think we would save all the beautiful ones, but no way, they are the first to go.  My dad is now yelling for me to change the tv channel (no remotes yet) and I am waiting by the dryer for my favorite, white collared shirt to dry (I forgot to put it in the dryer last night like my mom told to be sure to do if I really wanted to wear it today).  I hear my mom rushing down the stairs, stuffing things into her purse and asking my father where the car keys are, she is shouting, "Ok kids lets go or else we will be late for church."  I yell back "my shirt is not dry yet."

 ...we are speeding towards our weekly visit to the West Alexander Baptist Church for another sunday morning of eternal damnation (two whole hours of it).  Somehow my dad is so lucky he never has to come. We leave the house just like every other sunday, my brother and I both hanging onto the door frame, "Why do we have to go if dad does not."  My mom, "Lets go, you are going no matter what."  My dad, "Have fun, see you guys later."  So here we are, me awaiting what promises to be another boring visit to sunday school, while my brother and sister get to go upstairs with the big people and do who knows what.  Today is a little different though, one because it is easter and two because I have on a different uniform than I usually wear.  My black trousers that I do not like very much, because they are just so stiff.  My black shoes. I kind of like the black shoes.  I never wear them, but they are kind of shiny and I like the way they distort all the colors and the light. My black socks.  I absolutely hate dress socks.  They are so thin.  I imagine half the reason I do not like church is because of these socks.  You know a good pair of socks can make or break anything.  If your socks are right you feel so cushiony and comfy, but not with these super thin dress socks, plus they keep sliding down my ankles and I have to reach down and tug them back up.  I also have on my black belt.  The belt is alright, except it has this gold buckle that is shaped like a half oval.  What silly person thought that a little kid should have a grown up buckle.  For goodness sake I am going to be wearing this crap my entire adult life, for now let me wear some crazy, comfortable, cool looking shit.  Lastly I have on a white, sleeveless, t-shirt that I love.  I love it because it is really, really old and broken in.  This shirt and I have been through a lot together.  There are some stains on it, but the neck still looks nice so my mom lets me wear it under my dress shirts.  My dress shirt is at this moment being pulled in the window by my mom.  We did not have time to finish letting it dry in the dryer, and since I really wanted to wear it my mom hung it out the window of the car and closed the window on it.  All the way to church it flapped out there like a white flag of peace.  Here we come to church our car and its white flag, "We give up, please just let us go home." My mom hands me the shirt, my brother and sister are laughing, it is still a little damp.  I tug it over my head, and ask, "Do I have to tuck it in?"