One Sunday Morning

My dad worked six days a week and on the seventh day he rested! He was always excited to rise and shine early Sunday morning. He had polished our shoes the night before and set out his suit, shirt, and tie. He was ready for worship!

We lived on West 36th Terrace. Our church was off 1st Avenue about 20 blocks away. The ride was always nice as we passed the park like setting of the big Hialeah Race Track and lots of colorful Cuban houses and businesses. Tall palm trees, bright red poinciana trees, and all colors of hibiscus dotted the landscape. I would sit in the backseat and love the ride to church. But not one Sunday morning.

I have no idea what made my mother upset that morning. But in her anger she decided she was not going to ride in the car to church. She pulled me out of the car. She had decided I was going to walk with her. Daddy begged her to get in. But she was resolute in her decision. He drove beside us the entire walk. Cars would pass him as he drove about 5mph. Mother’s eyes were fixed straight forward. He was pleading. I was crying. The only time she looked at me was to tell me to “Hush!”

The trip took forever. The sun was hot.

My parents were leaders in the church. Daddy was a deacon. Mother was the pastor’s secretary and a Bible study teacher.

We arrived early as usual despite the slow trip. Daddy pulled into a parking spot and started greeting people. My mother wore a bright, big smile and went to her class.

I stood there. That was the day I learned how to have two faces.

I continued to stand there. That was the day I decided I didn’t want to wear two faces. God spoke to a young child that Sunday morning before I even went into church.

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