HOW WE GOT HERE

VOLUME 3

The renovation at Jupiter road rolled along quite nicely. The idea was to add a bigger auditorium on to the front of the building and convert the old one into classrooms. We had outgrown the small auditorium (praise God) and would build one bigger than we actually needed and go to work outgrowing that one as soon as it was finished.

When I think back on it, the structure seemed massive. It took up the front lawn, and during the construction we had to have our potlucks at the Fairview Volunteer Fire Department (Darren’s dad was a volunteer fireman).

There would be progress made on the building, and then the money would run out. We would take up a special collection and work would start again. When I was really little, and the collection plate would come around, I asked my mother what the money was for. “It’s for God,” was her answer. A perfectly legitimate answer, only in my head, I imagined a big truck full of cash driving to heaven and dumping the money at God’s feet. The construction of the new auditorium taught me a little more about the finances of the church.

The new auditorium was finally finished and it was a thing of beauty. A giant Noah’s ark (as no one outside was going to survive the second coming) of beige metal. A very high roof (still no steeple), a new cry room, and, I think, two new restrooms. During the construction, Brother Smith had stepped down and Joe Fields had taken his place.

Joe was A LOT younger than Brother Smith. He had a mustache and red hair that touched his collar in the back and covered his ears. He was as hip as any Church of Christ preacher in the early 70’s could be, and he was a hero to me. I had no idea that part of the congregation was dissatisfied with his ways and were hatching a plan to get rid of him. Oh, firing preachers is another Church of Christ shared hobby.

Now, you will remember that growing up, most adults had no trouble discussing murders and car crashes and other gory things in detail around children, especially if it would help teach a lesson. Church business however was a different story. They didn’t want children to see the dirty side of things. I suppose it’s a carry over from Santa Clause. Let us believe for as long as possible, and then one day we’ll figure it out on our own. No, church business was as mysterious as the inside of Mecca.

So, I don’t know the details of the switch, but I do know that Joe was out, and a new guy named Mike Somethingorother was in. He was even younger than Joe, but nowhere near as cool. We had a church gathering at our house one summer night and a lot of people showed up. Hot dogs, softball, you know, the usual. Preacher Mike was in our “playroom” shooting pool when he noticed a poster of Linda Ronstat that my brother Todd had put up. It was a shot of Linda looking over her exposed left shoulder. Preacher Mike pointed to the poster with his pool cue and asked my mother about it. She probably laughed it off. But Preacher Mike told her it was contributing to her children’s lives of sin (not a quote mind you, but pretty close). I think it hurt my mother’s feelings. I did notice that the preacher kept looking at ol’ Linda, and it didn’t look too disapproving to me.

It was around this time also that some of the adults in the congregation noticed that a lot of kids were starting to get a little bored with traditional church services, and that it probably wouldn’t be too long before we got bored with the straight and narrow. So, a sort of youth group was organized. This meant that we took frequent trips to the McKinney, Texas Del Taco (Allen only had a Dairy Queen and not much else at this time). On the way back from Del Taco, the goal was to try to hold hands with a girl. And by hold hands with a girl, I mean hope that God would intervene and that some miracle would land her hand in yours while your heart beat out of your chest all the way back to the church building where it was too late to make your move, sending you home disappointed and frustrated once again. I firmly believe these trips to Del Taco were the beginning of my downfall.