March 26, 2020

Church had a program for children and it was called Primary.  Primary met on Wednesdays at the chapel on the corner of Hess and Hawthorne Roads.  Mom would take me and pick me up.

They called Mom to be the Primary Chorister.  She would teach the children songs and lead them in singing them.  It was accompanied by lots of visual aids.

The format of Primary was first, opening exercises, then we'd go to class with kids of our age, then we'd have closing exercises.  The "exercises" portion consisted of talks, presentations and singing time, as well as an opening and closing prayer.

I wanted so desperately to have friends.  Before Primary one snowy day, a bunch of kids were having a snowball fight.  I ran over to a group who had built a small snow fort and asked if I could join them.  They said I could.

Knowing I could not throw a snowball, I volunteered to make snowballs.  I figured that would keep them from asking my why I wasn't throwing any.

Packing balls of snow as fast as I could, I built a pile of tightly packed snowballs.  It was then I decided to stand to see what was going on.

About then, something hit me in the face.  It hit me in the eye.  I slid to the ground and put my hands to my face.

"Hey, kid," one of the children said, "you're bleeding."

I looked at my mittens and they were covered with blood.  Two of the boys helped me up and walked me part way to the church building.  I entered the building alone, walked to the chapel, and entered the room.

Primary had already started and my mom was teaching them a new song.  She look one look at me and dropped everything and came running to me asking, "What happened."

My mom and others got me cleaned up, and while leaving the building, one of the boys who helped me up showed me a snow covered rock, about the size of an egg.  There was blood on it.

"There was a rock packed in that snowball that hit you," he said.

Since then, I have never been one for snowball fights.


One spring day, I didn't feel like going to Primary.  I decided to fake being ill.

Mom let me go in to her bedroom and lay down on her bed while she prepared some warm Jello for me to drink.

A call came and it was the girl from a farm down the road asking if I'd like a ride to Primary.  (They'd come and take me to Primary after Mark was born because my Mom was staying home to watch him.)  Mom explained I wasn't feeling well.

Primary time and and went.  A knock came on the door, and I could hear my mom inviting some people in the house.  It was three girls from my Primary class.

"We heard you weren't feeling well, so we baked you some cookies," she said.

Did I ever feel guilty.  They left the cookies and I vowed to never fake sick again.

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