Baptism by spaghetti and meatballs

I was a bundle of nerves!

Although this jittery sixth grader was allowed to let it all hang out with the amiable adolescents who came to help us move into our new digs yesterday, I was fully expected to put my best foot forward this morning at the inaugural church service for Ellwood City Assembly of God’s new first family where everyone would be laser focused on us.

That was a great deal of pressure for a would-be stand-up comedian – who was constantly in search of unconventional ways to make others laugh out loud – as I walked across the front lawn in my dress slacks and button-down shirt to the colossal red-brick building with stained glass windows next-door.

Considering we attended Sunday services at the Pentecostal church the previous month when the blond-haired minister candidated for the open pastoral position, I was quite familiar with the building layout as well as the structured format which the faithful congregants followed to kick off the Sunday school hour; so, this quick study expeditiously descended into the bowels of the giant edifice to join the other elementary-age children for opening exercises.

Following a truncated singspiration featuring several familiar tunes that stirred up many fond memories of another church basement approximately seventy miles to the south, I was obligated to stand up – along with my younger siblings sitting in the front row of seating next to our mother – in order to be recognized as the new kids on the block.

With all eyes purportedly looking in my direction, this bashful little stripling was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief upon slipping unnoticed into the Junior Sunday school classroom – designated for fourth through sixth graders – which had two entrance portals along the north wing of the underground level.

Now I know what it feels like to be a guppy in a giant fishbowl!

“It’s not that bad,” murmured Chris Honneffer before attempting to lift my spirits with his take on the prickly situation. “By the time Easter rolls around at the end of the month, you’ll be just like one of the guys and no one will pay you any mind; so, enjoy the celebrity status until the newness wears off.”

“I’d like to welcome our newest addition to the class,” announced Jackie Streckeisen as she brought the class to order. “Since Mark is unfamiliar to most of us, perhaps he’d like to share a little bit about himself; and that way it would give everyone an opportunity to get to known him on a more personal level.”

This embarrassed newbie gave his former summer camp bunkmate the hairy eyeball!

Shortly after giving a few detailed facts about what life was like living in a small coal mining community in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in southwestern Pennsylvania, I was perfectly content to blend into the background and listen to the story about Queen Esther until it was time for junior church with all the other grade school youngsters in the multi-purpose room.

By the time Sunday school ended with a bang – a witty fourth grader named Jimmy Allen fell over backwards in his metal folding chair – causing me to jump out of my skin, the animated conversation quickly shifted to the church dinner following the morning worship service as we spilled into the large hall with a raised platform at one end.

“I’ve come up with a brilliant idea,” divulged Donald Streckeisen while filing into the back row of wooden seating. “Once the men set up for the spaghetti dinner, we can place our Sunday school materials on the table next to the men’s restroom; so, we’ll have a direct path if nature comes a calling.”

You’re the man with a plan!

In the blink of an eye, these Junior Sunday school classmates were sitting next to my big brother John and the crew of teenage boys who not only helped us move into the church parsonage but also gave us a taste of what life was like living on the county line where two competing school districts were constantly being pitted against one another as archrivals.

We’re gonna cream youns in football this fall!

About halfway through the noon meal, Dirk Arkwright decided to share an off-color joke involving a wet speedo wedgie and butt floss as I was in the process of gulping down some cherry-flavored cola; whereupon this would-be human volcano spewed out the carbonated beverage across the table when the hilarious punchline was delivered.

Napkins flew from every direction to soak up the sticky discharge!

“Talk about an unexpected surprise,” chuckled the astonished eighth grader. “Since you just spit out your soda pop, I’m going to start calling you Mark Spitz; and oddly enough he’s a gold medal Olympic swimmer who actually wears a speedo.”

Directly after the statement about the Olympic champion’s swimming attire, bubbly liquid began dripping from my nose and into the half-eaten dish of pasta as I convulsed with laughter.

“The gift that keeps on giving,” professed the brown-eyed stripling when I blew my schnoz into his napkin. “If you’re finished with that plate of food, I’ll throw it into the garbage can while you catch your breath; unless of course, you like the taste of boogers in your spaghetti.”

When the smooth-talking jokester stood to dispose of both our scraps, I discreetly reached an arm around the back of his waist to whack him squarely on the hindquarters in response to the sarcastic remark that he made at my expense; after which he inadvertently dropped the stringy leftovers mixed with meat sauce onto the top of my head.

Baptism by spaghetti and meatballs!

“Let’s go hose you down,” suggested the Riverside Middle School student after scraping the noodles and marinara from my brown locks to the stifled snickers of those around us. “While you may not realize this yet, there’s a baptismal behind the platform upstairs just for this purpose; but it’s typically done with water and not this ungodly concoction.”