Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the twentyfifteen domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /chroot/home/a6f7779a/9d7429a5d9.nxcli.io/html/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6170 {"id":360,"date":"2014-07-07T09:11:07","date_gmt":"2014-07-07T14:11:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=360"},"modified":"2014-07-07T12:52:52","modified_gmt":"2014-07-07T17:52:52","slug":"from-sinners-to-saints-part-i","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=360","title":{"rendered":"From Sinners To Saints – Part I"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

From Sinners To Saints<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Part I<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Wooing Begins<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was probably a couple of weeks after the outreach group from the little church had shown up at our house to begin active recruitment of my mother and father.\u00a0 After that first visit they began showing up quite regularly as the hot summer went on and on in Houston.\u00a0 Uninvited, they would vary the times of their visits (but always on Saturdays) to try to catch both of my parents at home at the same time.\u00a0 By now my father had figured out that he was on the church\u2019s \u201cmust see and save\u201d list, and so he reverted to his old but successful tactics, gingerly sprinting out the back door just as they were arriving in their little station wagon.\u00a0 A couple of times, while napping off a bruising hangover, he came precariously close to being caught at home as they were walking through the front yard.\u00a0 But alerted by an uncanny sixth sense, his head would suddenly jerk up, as if pulled by an invisible puppeteer, and he\u2019d be out the door, cursing as he struggled to pull his pants up and trying not to fall off the back porch.<\/p>\n

When my mother had told him about the group\u2019s first visit he had gone absolutely berserk, wanting to know what they wanted and threatening to \u201ccuss them out\u201d if they decided to visit whenever he was home.\u00a0 Her response was notable for its lack of passion and conviction.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo whatever you feel like doing, Bob,\u201d my mother said as she turned and walked away.<\/p>\n

You know, whenever he made his pants-tugging and shirttail-flying escapes out the back door, I was never really sure where he went exactly, but I assumed he ended up going over to my Aunt Janie\u2019s\u2014two houses away.\u00a0 My aunt, and her then-husband Buster, were Catholics and thought the Pentecostals were weird anyway.\u00a0 They would\u2019ve been my choice for sanctuary if I was on the run from the \u201choly-rollers\u201d, but alas, if I happened to be trapped in the house when they came visiting I would have to sit there and endure the histrionics quietly.<\/p>\n

Forced to sit through these sessions I would let my mind fly away into \u201cJerryland\u201d, and would try to keep it there as long as possible until rudely yanked back by the sharp pain of my mother\u2019s not so subtle pinch and a dark stare that said: \u201cListen!\u201d\u00a0\u00a0 I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad but at that age my attention span was pretty short, and my interests did not include spending time with old (everyone older than me was really old to me at that age) Mexican people who dressed strangely and smelled kind of dusty.\u00a0 The worst part of the visits that I was made to sit through was the mind-numbing repetitiveness.\u00a0 Everyone was identical, and all the dialogue was almost as if it had been scripted.\u00a0 It was as if they believed that if something was repeated often enough it would surely come true.<\/p>\n

\u201cSe\u00f1ora DeLe\u00f3n,\u201d they would say, \u201cif you let Jesus come into your life, and you accept Him as your personal savior, all your troubles will disappear.\u00a0 He will take your sins and wash them away.\u00a0 Your life will be new.\u00a0 Your husband will soon follow and you both will be happy, but you have to have faith and take the first step.\u201d<\/p>\n

The group would tag team my mother\u2014each taking their turn testifying to their own previously wretched life and eventual salvation.\u00a0 They would quote verses from the Bible or open their dog-eared copies to read from a yellowed onionskin page.<\/p>\n

Finally after an hour or so, one of them would suggest that they needed to pray over this matter, then they would all stand and gather into a circle for a group prayer.\u00a0\u00a0 My mother, probably not knowing what else to do, would timidly rise\u2014usually assisted by one of the women\u2014and meekly lower her head.<\/p>\n

The prayer would center on the theme for that particular visit and was usually led by one of the men.\u00a0\u00a0 He would start by addressing the Holy Being by one of several titles.\u00a0 Sometimes \u201cSe\u00f1or\u201d or \u201cCristo\u201d, and other times \u201cSanto Dios\u201d, he would start low and slow and accelerate into high drama with volume to match.\u00a0 Yes, the Pentecostals believed in loud and dramatic prayers.\u00a0 Not just bowing their heads or closing their eyes, or intertwining of the fingers for these folks\u2014no sir!\u00a0 When they prayed they made sure God, or whoever, heard them\u2014literally\u2026and for added measure also anyone within two city blocks of our house.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s call on the Lord to guide us in His holy word,\u201d he would usually say up front.<\/p>\n

Then, just for a second or two while everyone closed their eyes and bowed, there would be quiet.\u00a0 Slowly, he would begin to lift his arms.\u00a0 Then he would start to tilt his head upwards until he looked like someone who was being robbed at gunpoint by a guy glued to the ceiling.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Se\u00f1or!\u201d, he would begin quietly.\u00a0 Then he would go into a few lines thanking the \u201cSe\u00f1or\u201d for a multitude of things like life, health, breath, well-being, the house he was in, the people he was visiting, the temperature\u2014and so forth, and so forth.\u00a0 Taking on a deeper baritone the volume of his voice would begin to increase.\u00a0 By now the rest of the group would start to voice their agreement by whipping out a \u201cS\u00ed, se\u00f1or\u201d, or \u201calleluia\u201d, or maybe a \u201cGracias Padre\u201d or two.<\/p>\n

Next he moved on from the \u201cthank you\u201d phase right into the \u201cbless them\u201d phase.\u00a0 Really getting into the spirit of it now, his neck and forehead would began sporting some pretty impressive arteries, and sweat would start beading and streaming. \u00a0Booming now, he was making damn sure that if God was busy elsewhere, maybe saving some little kids from sure death at the hands of monsters and villains, well, He would have to just drop everything and listen.<\/p>\n

Leaving the \u201cbless them\u201d phase he moved smoothly into the \u201csave the sinners\u201d phase.\u00a0 This was my favorite.\u00a0 See, to the Pentecostals everyone on earth is a mortal sinner.\u00a0 Infants, old people, blacks, Jews and Catholics (especially Catholics); and they were all destined to spend eternity in the fiery inferno that God had created just for them.\u00a0 It didn\u2019t matter what anyone did while living their lives out on earth, if they didn\u2019t follow what the Pentecostals considered the right path\u2014that is, go to Pentecostal church and have their souls washed in the blood of Jesus\u2014they would experience the afterlife in a perpetual and eternal state of fiery agony.<\/p>\n

Then it would get personal.\u00a0 At a near fever pitch now, and bolstered by the growing chorus of affirmations from the rest of the group my family quickly became the main subject of his loud and fanatical supplications.\u00a0 Sinners wandering in darkness and evil, the DeLe\u00f3ns were in dire need of salvation and redemption.\u00a0 Then the crying would start.<\/p>\n

One of the many things that remain forever fixed in my memory on the peculiarities of this particular religion was the propensity of its members to launch into a frenzy of hysterical crying and wailing during their time of prayer.\u00a0 I\u2019ve seen them launch into a tear-spurting, saliva- spewing, teeth-gnashing rant while saying grace over a meal, for God\u2019s sake.\u00a0 So, taking on something as serious as trying to convince God to save the rotting, putrid, sinning souls of a pair of back-sliding ingrates, along with their skinny son, would fire up the water works but good.\u00a0 And to them, this was extremely serious business.<\/p>\n

By now the whole group would have their hands up, waving and shaking, crying and begging God and Jesus, and the Holy Ghost for good measure, to have mercy on these people and make them see \u201cthe way\u201d.\u00a0 Having formed a semi-circle, with me and my mother roughly in the middle, they\u2019d slowly begin to close in around us.\u00a0 All of them with eyes closed, arms lifted and heads high, yelling and crying, tears and spittle flying, encircling us not unlike a pride of lions encircling their prey.<\/p>\n

During this stage of their visit, and when not peeking quickly to observe the antics playing out before me, I would usually keep my head down and stare at the floor.\u00a0\u00a0 A couple of times I would dare to steal a quick glance at my mom to see what she was doing.\u00a0 My eyes meeting hers, she would glare, wrinkle her brow and purse her lips.\u00a0 This was mom-speak for, \u201cSTOP IT\u201d; and I would pop my head back down and wait for the show to end.<\/p>\n

Finally, after having endured a few of their visits an extraordinary and telling event forever changed everything for me.\u00a0 This particular visit had been no different than the rest of them, right up to the wailing and crying.\u00a0 I, my head down as usual, raised my eyes fully expecting my mom\u2019s usual pinched frown.\u00a0 But what I saw shocked me.\u00a0 My mother had her left arm timidly raised, palm up, and her head\u2026bowed.\u00a0 On her face she wore a pained sorrowful expression that I had never seen, but that I would sadly get to know, ever so well, from that moment on.<\/p>\n

On that never-to-be-forgotten day, and unbeknownst to anyone, my mother began her slow and torturous mutation from the crazy, mood shifting, vibrant, fun loving and wildly affectionate woman that I had fearfully adored, into the unhappy, dejected, empty, bitterly heart-broken shell\u2014who, after slipping into a six month coma, finally breathed her last breath of life\u2014sad, bloated and alone on a sunny November morning in 1971.<\/p>\n

Her remaining son, too far away and too busy with his own life, and her husband now long into the habit of living with another woman and not coming home except to wash his clothes, along with the Pentecostal Church, who having cruelly abandoned her soul in its time of greatest need, looked over its shoulder, shrugged its indifference and marched away.\u00a0 Her heart, tortured and broken for so many years, quietly stopped.<\/p>\n

\u00a0Bob\u2019s Resolve Dissolves\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

My grandparents on my father\u2019s side finally stopped producing children after having had five boys and one girl between the years 1908 and 1915; Roberto being the youngest of the five boys, and the girl, appropriately named Dolores (translated as \u201cpain, grief or sorrow\u201d).\u00a0 The elder boys had been given stately or saintly names: Louis, Joseph, George and Francis, but their parents seemed to be caught by surprise and appeared totally flummoxed when my father was born.\u00a0 In a fit of overkill they named him, Roberto Alberto Francisco.<\/p>\n

It is my belief that when the first four boys were born, my grandparents, still influenced by the traditions from which they had recently left, chose names for their children that were popular during that time in Europe.\u00a0 But by the time Roberto and his sister, Dolores, were born, the family, living in poverty-stricken neighborhoods and surrounded by dirt poor Mexicans, a few displaced Jewish families, and not-so-far-removed from slavery blacks, had finally assimilated completely into a lower-class economic life.\u00a0 Most of their friends and acquaintances living in the neighborhood spoke Spanish, and any English that was spoken was done so in a heavily accented Jewish-Hebrew brogue commonly used by working class Jews.\u00a0 The De Le\u00f3n children, who preferred to communicate with their friends and each other in Spanish or the brogue, had mostly abandoned French\u2014now only spoken at home regularly by their parents.\u00a0 As they sank deeper into this poverty-stricken, classless society, and perhaps looking for a bit more societal acceptance, the spelling of their family name slowly mutated from the French, \u201cde L\u00e9on\u201d, to the Spanish\/Mexican, \u201cDe Le\u00f3n\u201d.<\/p>\n

Struggling to survive in a city that itself was striving to establish its own identity\u2014given its lack of navigable roads, humid climate, and its abundance of marshy wetlands and mosquito-infested bayous\u2014the young and over-burdened family toiled courageously everyday to earn just enough to feed and house themselves.\u00a0 Having been relatively financially comfortable in Europe, they found that not being able to speak English fluently, and probably most importantly, not possessing a marketable skill, restricted their earning potential gravely.\u00a0 The mother, homebound with the children, took in washing and sewing occasionally; and only when able to buy enough ingredients, baked bread and pastries for the children to sell at a nearby market on weekends.\u00a0 The father, now reduced to handy-man status, left each day and traveled to the more affluent Houston neighborhoods, tools in hand, to knock on doors and ask if there was any repair work that needed to be done.<\/p>\n

As soon as the De Le\u00f3n children were able, they would be sent out to do odd jobs around the neighborhood for a few pennies a day.\u00a0 School was an afterthought, but by the time that Roberto was five the family was stable enough for him to be enrolled in the neighborhood elementary.\u00a0 He would continue his education through the seventh grade when the lure of the streets and the dream of easy money would put him firmly on a path filled with booze, cigarettes, bloody fists and loose women.\u00a0 His extremely high intelligence and his ability to learn quickly turned his penchant for fast and flashy automobiles into an extremely marketable skill: repairing, painting and delicately detailing show cars for the Houston affluent.\u00a0 Dolores, the least encumbered of all the children, went on to earn her high school diploma\u2014and many years later, after having met and married a successful railroad company executive, retired from a long and fruitful career as an accountant for Sears and Roebuck.<\/p>\n

When Roberto (now commonly referred to as \u201cBob\u201d) and his new bride Evelyn set foot in the little Pentecostal church in Houston during the pre-war years, he was smoking two to three packs of unfiltered Camel cigarettes a day, and was known to consume the better part of a fifth of hard whiskey in one sitting.\u00a0 He was quick with his fists and did not shy away from using the .38 caliber handgun or the .22 caliber lever-action carbine he religiously carried under his car seat whenever someone stoked his volatile temper.\u00a0 Always a snappy dresser, he favored dark felt fedoras and blood red ties when he was out on the town, and sharply creased khaki shirts and pants when working as a specialty auto painter.<\/p>\n

Probably initially attracted to the church by raw curiosity, and maybe sensing the opportunity to impress the mostly lower-class Mexican congregation with his quick wit and good looks, he nonetheless quickly became bored when he discovered that all they really cared about was saving his soul and eventually making him a tithing member.\u00a0 In that he saw no advantage.\u00a0 He was fine with his soul the way it was, and he sure wasn\u2019t about to let go of his hard-earned money to some brown-skinned Mexicans to use in the name of God.<\/p>\n

But I truly believe that as short as his exposure was to that church, and the Pentecostal religion, somehow a small seed must\u2019ve been planted deep inside his soul.\u00a0 And now\u2014probably after all the disappointments and failures in his life, the unmanageable medical debts, and the unexpected birth of my brother\u2014now he was just tired; and that fatigue coupled with realization that his life had gone nowhere now provided the fertile ground the seed needed to come to life.\u00a0 Maybe.<\/p>\n

Then\u2026on a punishingly hot and humid late summer evening in 1953, it finally happened.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Coming home from school that Friday afternoon and walking into the stifling little frame home, I was surprised to see that my mother was not wearing her normal plain thin cotton dress, but instead had donned a dark blue skirt topped with a white silky-looking blouse with puffy short sleeves, whose collar was gaily decorated with little red flowers on intertwined green stems.\u00a0 Her jet black hair, freshly washed and pinned up into a tight shiny bun, gave off a sweetly scented fragrance as she scurried about hurriedly putting the finishing touches on a rich saliva-inducing meat and potato stew gently bubbling on the gas stove.\u00a0 And, she had on makeup.<\/p>\n

Seeing me, she stopped in mid-step and curtly told me to hurry up and get ready to take a bath.<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d I asked, a bit confused.\u00a0 \u201cA bath? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you need to be out, dressed and ready to eat when your father comes home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, he doesn\u2019t get home for another two hours and it\u2019s only 3:30!\u00a0 Anyway, why do I have to take a bath and get ready before he comes home?\u00a0 What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, as soon as he gets home he\u2019s going to take a bath, we\u2019re gonna eat, then we gotta leave.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLeave?\u00a0 And go where?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChurch!\u201d\u00a0 (Of course she pronounced it chursh)<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat church?\u00a0 We never go to church!\u201d\u00a0 Thinking that we may be going somewhere really fun (which we never did anyway, but still hoping), I persisted, \u201cOK mom, where are we really going?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCHURSH!!\u00a0 Now get into the tub.\u201d<\/p>\n

Going to church?\u00a0 Huh?\u00a0 Not wanting to irritate her anymore, I put my books down and started for the bathroom.\u00a0 But why in the world would we be going to church on a weekday, plus at night, and most puzzling\u2014why was my father going?\u00a0 He never went to church!\u00a0 Heck!\u00a0 WE never went to church!\u00a0 I wondered if Robert or his grandparents had something to do with this.\u00a0 After all, besides the disastrous visit my mom and I had made to the Catholic Church, Robert had been the only other person I had ever gone to church with.<\/p>\n

Easing my worn brown oxfords off my feet and stepping out of my still stiff denim jeans I turned the squeaky faucet on the yellowing tub.<\/p>\n

Wait!<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Mom!\u201d I yelled.\u00a0 \u201cI can\u2019t take a bath.\u00a0 There\u2019s no hot water in the tub.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cC\u00e1llate!\u201d\u00a0 She yelled through the closed door.\u00a0 \u201cOpen the door, I got it here on the stove.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it hot water?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAy, que est\u00fapido.\u00a0 Of course it\u2019s hot water.\u00a0 I put it on right after I finished my bath.\u00a0 Open the door!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait, I\u2019m in my shorts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo?\u00a0 \u00a1Abre la puerta pronto!\u201d (Open the door, quick!)<\/p>\n

\u201cOK!\u201d\u00a0 I opened the door hiding my lower body behind it while she shuffled in with a large steaming pot of water.<\/p>\n

After my bath I came out wrapped in my towel.\u00a0 \u201cMom, what am I supposed to be wearing?\u201d<\/p>\n

Looking over her left shoulder as she stood over the little gas stove nursing yet another large pot of water next to the simmering stew she said, \u201cMira, I already ironed your nice pants and got the white shirt ready too.\u00a0 When your father gets home he\u2019ll help you with the tie.\u201d<\/p>\n

Still not really believing that we were going to church I asked, \u201cSo, what church are we going to?\u00a0 It\u2019s not that Catholic one, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1No, tonto!\u201d\u00a0 She was getting a little testy.\u00a0 \u201cThe chursh that you went to with Robert, and the one where those brothers and sisters have been visiting from.\u00a0 You know, that one.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was stunned!\u00a0 For the past couple of months whenever the scruffy little group had visited, my father had bailed and scurried out the back door not to return until the group was long gone.\u00a0 I was the one that had been made to stay and endure the seemingly endless prayers, Bible quoting, and their tortured bawling.\u00a0 How and when did this happen?<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d I asked as I dressed by the chester drawers, \u201care you sure that dad is going too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK, Pancho!\u00a0 Like I told you when you came home.\u00a0 We are all<\/strong> going to chursh tonight.\u00a0 Your dad and I talked about it last night and he said he wouldn\u2019t mind going.\u00a0 So, hurry up.\u00a0 He\u2019ll be home any minute!\u201d<\/p>\n

Inspecting my worn-out brown shoes and wondering how they were going to look with black pants, I said, \u201cI didn\u2019t hear anything last night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Ay, yai yai!\u00a0 \u00a1Ya no te voy a decir otra vez!\u00a0 (I\u2019m not telling you again!) Get ready!\u00a0 I don\u2019t have time to explain everything to you.\u00a0 I still have to get your brother ready!\u00a0 \u00a1\u00c1ndale!\u201d<\/p>\n

It would be many years before my mother talked to me about their conversation that fateful night\u2014and when she did it was almost anti-climatic.\u00a0 She told me that as she was drifting off to sleep my father had gently touched her arm and softly asked, \u201cVieja, \u00bfcrees que si regresamos a la iglesia Dios nos pudiera ayudar con estas cuentas?\u00a0 Ya no se que hacer.\u201d\u00a0 (\u201cOld lady*, do you think that if we return to the church God would help us with these bills?\u00a0 I just don\u2019t know what else to do anymore.\u201d)\u00a0 When I heard that, my first thought was that if he\u2019d stopped spending all his money on his drinking sprees he\u2019d made quite a dent in the bills.\u00a0 I guess he needed help doing that too.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

We were instant celebrities.\u00a0 No sooner had we pulled our old 1936 Dodge coupe into the dusty little parking lot and screeched to a shuttering stop, when a clutch of church members, who\u2019d been milling about chatting, practically ran and surrounded us as we stepped out.\u00a0 I instantly recognized them as some of the ones who had paid many tearful visits to our house.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Bienvenidos hermanos!\u00a0 \u00a1Ay, que bendici\u00f3n!\u201d\u00a0 (Welcome brothers!\u00a0 Oh, what a blessing!).\u00a0 This from sister S\u00e1nchez, who had rumbled up to the driver\u2019s side of our car pushing and shoving lesser sized brothers and sisters out of her way.\u00a0 \u201c\u00a1Y Frankie tambi\u00e9n!\u201d\u00a0 (And Frankie too!).\u00a0 With that, she grabbed me by the neck as I was closing the back door, pulled me towards her, and put me into a smothering bear hug\u2014shoving my face unceremoniously between her more than ample breasts and really messing up my carefully coiffed, Crown Royal-ed up, pompadour.<\/p>\n

As I inhaled lilac intermingled with baby powder, and afraid to open my eyes, she continued breathlessly, \u201c\u00a1Miren hermanos, estos son los hermanos De Le\u00f3n: Avelina, Roberto, y aqu\u00ed,\u201d pulling my head out and turning it towards the now enthralled group, \u201c\u2026est\u00e1 Frankie!\u201d<\/p>\n

Not really knowing what to say, but grateful to have been given the opportunity to breathe the gloriously smoggy Houston air again, I said, \u201cHey!\u201d\u00a0 The group grinned and one of the men tipped his slightly lopsided hat.<\/p>\n

My father, stepping out of the car while casually repositioning his black fedora and making sure the front brim was stylishly raked over his left eyebrow, gave the group a quick once over and firmly shook the extended hand of the closest brother: a short squatty man who could\u2019ve passed for sister S\u00e1nchez\u2019s twin.\u00a0 \u201cEvening,\u201d he coolly said, \u201cthanks.\u201d\u00a0 Looking over to where my mother was now walking around the front of the car he tilted his head toward her and said, \u201cand this is Evelyn, my wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Ah, s\u00ed.\u00a0 Hermana Avelina,\u201d sister S\u00e1nchez squealed, \u201c\u00a1Qu\u00e9 bueno que pudo venir!\u201d\u00a0 (Sister Evelyn, how nice that you were able to come).\u00a0 Releasing me, she bounced over to my mother and proceeded to put her into a bear hug.<\/p>\n

The brother who was still pumping my dad\u2019s hand said, \u201cOh, you no speak el espanich?\u201d<\/p>\n

My dad gave the brother a smirk (the kind that Elvis would later popularize) and said, \u201cOf course.\u00a0 Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

Stuttering, the brother mumbled, \u201cOh, no, quiero decir\u2026bueno, que bueno.\u201d\u00a0 (Oh, I mean\u2026good, really good).\u00a0 \u201cYo soy el hermano Rodr\u00edgues\u2026Seferino Rodr\u00edgues.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoberto De Le\u00f3n,\u201d my father announced, \u00a0\u201cpero usted me puede llamar Bob.\u201d\u00a0 (\u2026but you can call me Bob.)<\/p>\n

With that, sister S\u00e1nchez released my mother, brother Rodr\u00edgues dropped my dad\u2019s hand, and the group closed in around them both peppering them with questions and compliments.\u00a0 I was left alone, standing in a small pothole anxiously trying to reform my now totally destroyed pompadour.<\/p>\n

Instead of entering the church through the main front doors the group escorted us through a small side door\u2014the one that I had seen Pastor Villa use when he had exited the church one Sunday morning and gotten into his new Buick.\u00a0 That door provided access to front of the auditorium and the large area between the first pew and the altar\/stage.\u00a0 Turning left at the center aisle we were shepherded to the second pew on the right side of the auditorium and directed to sit directly behind the special pew where Rev. Villa and his wife usually sat.\u00a0 Apparently, this pew was just a notch below \u201croyal\u201d, and was reserved for dignitaries and special guests.\u00a0 The people who had already entered the church and were scattered about in little knots cheerfully chitchatting suddenly grew eerily silent as we were seated.\u00a0 The little group escorting us dispersed in all directions after having given each of us paper fans (the ones with Jesus bleeding on one side and \u201cCrespo Funeral Home\u2014where your loved ones would go, if they could\u2026\u201d on the other) to whip up the hot air around us.<\/p>\n

Since this was a Friday night, the service was designated as \u201cEl Servicio de los Hermanos\u201d\u00a0 (male brotherhood service), and was ranked as the second most important service of the week\u2014right after the Sunday night service.\u00a0 We had picked a good one.<\/p>\n

A few members, both male and female, came over to greet us and welcome us to the service.\u00a0 Mostly, they seemed to be sizing us up.\u00a0 Since I\u2019d been there before my greetings were limited to a welcome back and most of the more probing questions and comments were reserved for my parents.\u00a0 My father, having removed his hat and placed it on the pew next to him, sat quietly; his arms crossed over his chest unintentionally and slowly pushing up the open pack of Camels that he\u2019d placed in his breast pocket when we left home and had forgotten to leave in the car.\u00a0 The camel\u2019s head was peeking out discreetly when my mother noticed and hastily whispered something into his ear.\u00a0 Again, flashing the Elvis smirk, he casually uncrossed his arms, letting the pack slide back down into his breast pocket and out of sight.\u00a0 Then, he coolly crossed his legs and quietly cleared his throat.<\/p>\n

My mother was as nervous as my dad was cool.\u00a0 After the last of the church members had paid us a welcoming visit, and the congregation had settled down to await the start of the service, my mother suddenly became a bundle of nerves.\u00a0 Fanning herself furiously, crossing and recrossing her legs, primping her hair, and making soft sucking sounds as her tongue searched for that last fibrous strand of stew meat jammed stubbornly between two back molars, she was a blur of motion and sound.\u00a0 Finally, my dad leaned his head next to hers and said, \u201cStop that!\u201d<\/p>\n

Stopping all movement suddenly she turned and gave him her patented death stare.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh you!\u201d\u00a0 It was as all she could come up with but she delivered it with a sharply hissing breathy whisper.\u00a0 I hoped to high heaven that a full-fledged argument wouldn\u2019t break out now, because if it did then the brothers and sisters would have quite a show to watch and a whole new foreign tongue to experience.\u00a0 Besides, at the moment I was pretty much entertained eyeballing Joni on the piano and secretly enjoying those pleasant little throbs of hot energy deep inside my groin that not too long ago had started waking me up late at night.\u00a0\u00a0 (To be continued\u2026.)<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

*My parents regularly called each other \u201cvieja\u201d (F) and \u201cviejo\u201d (M).\u00a0 Loosely translated they mean \u201cold lady\u201d and \u201cold man\u201d, and are usually used as terms of endearment.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"