Kid
      Stuff #14

      

      A
      Series About Childhood Memories


      
 Lynn
      Perrier

      

      What
      Will the

      Minister Think? 

      

        


        Lynn Perrier,
        age 10, in her

        best Sunday-go-to-meeting outfit

How to stand out when
the Minister pays a visit

By LYNN PERRIER
of TheColumnists.com

IT WAS the mid-1950s when ladies still wore gloves and hats to church and it was not unusual for the minister of our church to visit his parishoners at least once a year. This is the story of how our family made the most of one of those special visits.

My father, who was European by birth, had what a lot of old country folks have--a wine cellar. Many a night I watched my Dad crush grapes and test the juice that came out of them. He would bottle it and put it away until fermentation did its thing and then he would share it with visitors. Dad's wine was his pride and joy. As a young girl I loved that wine cellar. It gave me a wonderful opportunity to spend time with my father listening to tales about the old country.

The Minister was due to arrive shortly for his annual visit. Dad, proudly holding two newly fermented bottles of home-made wine, suggested to my mother that since his latest crop was ready for consumption, maybe he should offer a small glass to our special visitor.

With an absolutely horrified look on her face my mother loudly said, "Don't you dare! I don't want him to know we drink."|

Mom was very Victorian in her upbringing and outlook. To her it was unthinkable that The Minister would know either her or my father ever inbibed spirits. I guess the fact that Jesus drank wine didn't make much difference to her. She felt that partaking of alcohol in any form was a sin. Well, at least she thought the minister would think so.

Young Lynn, our resident expert on living with cats, always was good with animals. Here's young Lynn getting friendly with a goat.

The Minister arrived and, after courtesies, everyone sat down in the living room for a cordial visit and conversation along with  a cup of tea. It was a quiet, uneventful visit and after an hour or so Reverend Jones got up to take his leave. As my Father helped him on with his overcoat, there was an incredible sound of an explosion coming from the kitchen.

Mom, Dad, The Minister and I all ran into to see what happened. The kitchen--my mother's pride and joy with all her white pristine appliances and white walls--was no longer white. The whole room looked kind of brownish red. Patches of brownish liquid were sliding down the walls, off the counter, stove and refrigerator.

It took us all a few minutes to realize what had happened. My father had placed the bottles of his wine, which hadn't quite finished fermenting, in the kitchen cupboard under the sink. They had exploded with enough force to open the cupboard door and hit the back wall and all the surrounding areas.  My mother was a terrible color of pasty green, which quickly turned to ghostly white as she realized how this must look to The Minister.

As if being responsible for this nightmare wasn't enough of a sin, my Dad really buried himself when he started to laugh. I thought my Mom was going to turn him into a pillar of salt with the chill coming from her stone cold stare.

I am sure Mom believed she would go to hell now that The Minister knew our household had alcohol brewing within its walls. Of all the nights for this to happen, it was the worst possible one as far as Mom was concerned. The Minister left, I was sent to bed and all was very quiet.

I don't think my mother spoke to my father for at least a week after that episode.

©2001 by Lynn Perrier. The photos are from Lynn Perrier's files. All rights are reserved. The wine bottle drawing is from IMSI's Master/Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.

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