Sunday arrives, time for Sunday school. Nothing like going to school during the week, and then being sentenced to Sunday school on weekends. I guess I needed to do this or God would not approve. It wasn’t that bad. Half the time spent there went towards coloring with dull and broken crayons. When you reach your teens, parents begin to ask you about baptism. Well, this sounded cool. You hop into this small area of water and the preacher comes in and dunks you under water getting rid of all of your sin? I thought kids were not held accountable for their actions because they are minors?
So, I finally decide that it’s time to make some change in my life. I want to get dunked in the water because it sounds pretty kewl. I begin taking classes with the minister and this other guy who was my age and went to my school. He was kewl on Sundays, but when ‘real’ school was going down you didn’t want to be caught talking to this guy. Pretty sure everyone thought he was a little crazy. His dad looked like the Little Ceasar’s guy if you put a pair of glasses on him.
I begin taking these classes with my Sunday buddy. I am doing horrible on every step to the dunking in the water. My buddy was doing much better. He was actually showing me up, that bastard. Guess I won’t be acknowledging his existence in gym class when kids begin to beat him up. I bet I would though if I got my head dunked under water.
I begin meeting with the minister with my buddy as well. He talks to us about the ceremony briefly and then begins asking questions and feeling out where we were in the process of reaching this ceremony. Come to find out, you don’t have to do well at all on any of the steps leading up to the baptism. That’s kewl. I started working harder in my Sunday school courses. Just kidding, I didn’t do shit. I think the minister was on to me as well. He started saying stuff like, “You boys don’t have to do this now. You can be baptized at any point in your life.” The minister was a total buzz kill.
Family members would ask about my progress and I would tell them “I’m going to get my head dunked in water because that is kewl.” Might not have been those exact words, but close nonetheless. Now there was pressure from both sides: the minister with his condescending chats about not getting dunked; and family members wanting to videotape me being dunked. So much confusion with what to do! Better just go ahead and get dunked and then ask God later.
It’s drawing close to the end of our few weeks of preparation. My Sunday school buddy sticks a knife in my back by telling the minister that he is ‘not ready’ yet. That little backstabbing jerk, now I have to be the jackass that goes through with this charade. So he is now excused from meetings with the minister, but my dumbass still has to go. I’m just going through the motions waiting to be dunked so all will be right in the world.
A few more condescending chats with the minister and then a date will be set. Oh boy, dressed in all white I wait backstage with the dried up bread pieces and grape juice. I guess it used to be wine, but not anymore. That was half the reason to get dunked. I could then get my own bread and ‘wine’ during communion and not have to ask my parents for theirs. That would definitely be pretty kewl. I think the minister was on to me though. Our chats would consist of him asking me a question and me not being able to answer them. “You don’t have to go through with this Wesley.” Not sure he ever said that, but his body language was saying that.