It’s about time I cleared up something that has been going on for a long time. Maybe you wouldn’t notice all those little half-muffled giggles from all the checkout folks in a local grocery store, when they process that identification code on your key chain. Or those sideways glances from the guys at the automobile repair shops, when they hand back your keys.
Of course, it’s vaguely flattering, that anyone could suspect someone who looks my age of flagrant misbehavior. But enough is enough. I have mostly preferred to keep this to myself and not make more of it than was ever intended. But finally, I am going to reveal to you why, for the past 30 years or so, I have carried around a key chain with a little brass disk on it engraved “chastity belt.”
You will be greatly disappointed.
The story begins 30-some years ago, when MHTB and I first moved to Cumberland. Our church had a thriving bowling league and, although we didn’t have time to join them every week on the alley, we did love being invited to their Christmas parties every year, where the food was good, and the games were a lot of fun. (Mainly because the people were a lot of fun, which makes all the difference.)
Among the first of those parties was one in which the food was delicious, of course, and the games (mostly on paper) were cutthroat. You had to use every opportunity to score a point, or your team would lose miserably. One of the first games we played was one in which you had to list all the articles of clothing you could think of that began with particular letters of the alphabet. “C” was a hard one, and already you know what happened.
Yes, we came up with a few (you try it — it’s hard: combat jacket, cloak, cape, caftan, corset, chicken suit — the choices dwindle down). And then I came up with chastity belt. What can I say? We were desperate. I don’t remember whether we won, but we deserved to. And my teammates never forgot my unique contribution to team spirit.
So grateful were they, in fact, that when Maxine saw a key chain with “chastity belt” engraved on its oval brass disc in a tourist market the next year, she bought it and presented it to me before the team. And I, well, I couldn’t not use it now, could I? Besides it’s quite impressive if you can’t read.
It only goes to show how important one’s acquaintances are in one’s moral development. (And church friends are some of the most important influences in our lives, no doubt about it.) You gotta watch the folks you hang out with!
Reminds me of when our oldest daughter Carol was three or four, and played a lot with the older child next door. The neighbors were nice people, (though not church friends), but they were not too inclined to watch their mouths. To be honest about it, they swore a lot. More than your average acquaintance, in fact.. Still, Judy was a good kid and she took great care of Carol.
I didn’t realize how that kind of stuff rubs off until supper one evening, when my father (another pastor, by the way) was visiting. We had tried to teach Carol good manners, even at that early age, and were very proud to hear her start out with every evidence of civility and good breeding.
“Please pass ... .” She paused, and tried again. “Please pass ... ,” she said, and then remembered those intriguing words she had just learned that day while playing at Judy’s house.
You could see the old memory kick in.
“Please pass the g-d corn,” she said.
Of course, she didn’t abbreviate it.
Maude McDaniel is a Cumberland freelance writer. Her column appears on alternate Sundays in the Times-News.
Maude McDaniel - Living
Things you learn from your friends in church
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