Ahhh, education. That’s where it all started, if I remember correctly. I was in my 9th year. It was a year of possibilities… for her. My parents were, by that time, spiraling down into a multi-level marketing induced stupor. They had just purchased their first Cadillac (got to admit the power windows were cool), and we had recently moved into the freshest, glitziest part of town. Our new home was the latest in a string of annual housing upgrades. It had fourteen foot ceilings, a chandelier and a river view. All that was needed to surpass the Jones’ was to enroll us kids in a private school.
Alas, the budget was such that a premium education for all three of us was out of the question. I can only imagine that they figured I already had rugged good looks, and my brother possessed more street smarts than the average 8 year old. Marilyn, being genetically left out in the cold, must have needed the warm blanket of a good education.
I admit that she did very little gloating. Her plaid, pleated skirt and crested blazer did it all for her. Of course it all came with a new set of aloof friends, and extra-curricular options like jazz dance. She became the golden child. To her was given the keys to the family kingdom; her siblings were made subject to her vast aura of superior responsibility. She mastered the dark arts of propaganda, blackmail and fear-mongering; we countered by creating a terrorist cell dedicated to blowing the stuffing out of her plush Papa Smurf.
As for our education, my brother and I were left to slum it out as best we could in the local public system. For after school extras, I managed to convince the cutest new girl in class to smooch me behind the corner-store, and little brother became adept at pilfering coins from every pocket in the house to feed our growing arcade habit. “Classy” is not an adjective often associated with the 1980’s.
We all love one another now, though my sister’s affections for us boys may have been helped along by a healthy dose of self-preservation as we got bigger and more menacing. Papa Smurf, sadly, was never the same.
Lesson for the week:
Sometimes Christians act as if they are God’s favorites. Attending church and reading the Left Behind series has given many of us an arrogance that is quite unbecoming. As our Emerging brothers and sisters grow in wisdom and stature, we should take heed lest we find ourselves defending a plush spirituality that seems more suited to a two dimensional, make-believe world.
