As a kid, I hated Sunday mornings with a passion I now reserve only for unimaginable evils such as genocide and raw onions. Sunday — “the day of rest” — was far from restful for me, and I blame it on a weekly ritual, “dressing up for Sunday school.”
Sunday morning was when I squirmed into my finest clothes, slicked back my greasy haircut, and endured a theologically sound itching and scratching madness.
Do you remember those horrible clothes we wore back then?
The coarse wool pants, the itchy synthetic shirts, the painful shoes, the clip-on ties?
Yes, clip-on ties were a Sunday morning staple, and all the guys wore them.
Parents everywhere must have plotted it out one late night after watching “Hee Haw.”
“Oh, I know! Let’s buy silly clip-on ties for our little men!”
And the shirts we little men clipped the contraptions on were ill-fitting works of torture adorned with plastic reinforced collars the size of seagull wings.
We looked ridiculous, but then most males looked ridiculous back then — especially the guys on “Hee Haw.” The girls on “Hee Haw” looked great, but that’s another column.
We dressed up to be respectful little creatures in God’s house.
Adults felt that God wasn’t satisfied unless the kids looked like those dorky models in newspaper ads.
And we did look dorky, probably because most of our clothes came from stores that were just smart enough to advertise clip-on ties for our mothers, but not smart enough to know we’d grow up to be angry adults, hating their retail crimes against humanity.
Now it’s 2013, and Sundays are finally fun for me. I’ve extended the Ten Commandments with a clothing clause for my own benefit: No polyester, no clip-on items, no plastic-reinforced collars.
And, since I play electric guitar in the praise band, I even wear blue jeans. Oh, the scandal that would have been in 1969: rock music and blue jeans in God’s house!
Well, I think God overlooks my attire.
After all, He was fond of John the Baptist, and you know what a lousy dresser he was.
One thing though, I’ll bet John the Baptist never wore a clip-on tie.
But I wonder if Job got stuck with one of those.
The devil is a real jerk, if you recall from your itchy days in Sunday school. It’d be just like him to do that to poor old Job.
David McCoy, a notorious storyteller and proud Yellow Jacket, lives in Covington and can be reached at email@example.com.