Grumpy Church Folk

Some churches seem to be full of stern-faced people, watching to make sure that kids do no wrong.

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Assuming you are an adult, 

let me tell you a story about young-me, where I, a condom, and Sunday School Superintendent crossed paths ... in church.

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I grew up outside a small town in Iowa. 

One Saturday, my grandparents (on my mom's side) took me to another small town (pop. 400?) that had a rodeo, 

one weekend a year, and a parade on that Saturday morning. It was that small town's big event of the year. 

I was 11 or 12-years-old. We went to the Saturday morning Rodeo Parade.

After the parade, I needed to use the restroom, so Grandpa Harry pulled into town's only gas station, and I used the restroom. 

Next to the sink was a white metal box with a pay meter, like a gumball machine would have. 

I don't remember seeing such a thing before in my life. I fiddled with the knob, then looked in the dispenser chute and saw a little package. 

I put it in my pocket and took it home, with a twinge of guilt because I knew I took something I didn't pay for.

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At home, I opened the package and found what I later learned were two condoms. I didn't know what condoms were, or what they were used for, 

but I thought they were cool. Since they were contraband, that evening I hid them in hole in my mattress, where I kept a jackknife, a clicker toy, 

and tiny car and other things I would play with while I was in bed.

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The next day, on Sunday morning, I got dressed for Sunday School. I unrolled a condom and put it in my pocket. 

On the way to the car, I saw a cicada perched on an oak tree next to our long sidewalk. 

Being the first one out of the house, I was able to put the cicada in that condom and put it back in my pocket before anyone noticed. 

Then my mom and one sister came out and we went to town.

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They dropped me off at the church, and I went in. I was feeling pretty proud of finding that cicada. 

The Sunday School Superintendent, a rather sober-looking, middle-age, white farm wife - 

was in the main room of the Sunday School area in the basement, fiddling with papers at a podium.

I walked toward her, held up the condom with the cicada, and said, 

"See what I found?!?!"

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She looked up for the briefest moment, looked back down at her paper and said, "Get that out of here."

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I said something to the effect, "It won't hurt you."

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She said, in an even firmer voice, "Get that thing out of here!"

So, I took the encased cicada outside and hid it behind the retaining wall just outside the basement door.

I thought to myself, "She must be scared of bugs." 

I went to Sunday School class.

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The next big thing happened when my mom and sister picked me up after Sunday School. 

I pulled the condom out from behind the retaining wall and showed my mom just before I got in the back seat.

I remember the look of horror on her face when she saw what I brought to Sunday School for show-and-tell.

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While there is more to this story, this is an example of how church people do their best