My Real Memoir
I started my senior year with the sense that I’d arrived. I was wise, mature, blessed. Wait, no, not blessed—I was the one who at 17 had made myself who I was. I was the master of my fate. I, after all, along with my brilliant actress friend Paula, was one of our school’s two “Most Talented” seniors—the yearbook said so!
On top of that, I was in “the next Beatles.” I mean, sure, every ambitious wannabe band back then said that, but we really were! After all, we’d played the Ice House in Pasadena and been told we “might be asked back!” We were also the most divisive band to play our school dances, and were proud of that. Why? Because we did all original material, turning our appearances into concerts, with half the crowd grumbling that we were “hard to dance to” and the other half calling out their favorite Daily Planet tune.
And now we were booked to open for Pat Collins “the Hip Hypnotist” at the legendary Mecca, the music club I’d grown-up watching my hero Hoyt Axton play at, and where the following year the group Chicago would get their start as the house band! When Pat called for volunteers, we rushed forward, still high from our opening performance. But when she “hypnotized” us, telling us we’d forgotten what we looked like, and then sending us to hunt for our “faces,” I began to squirm. No one, no one was going to tell me who I was! And then, when we were directed to find little pictures of ourselves in our belly buttons and to celebrate with a happy dance, I just sat there, refusing to obey. No one was going to control me. I alone would choose my fate. I left the club that night half-delighted, half-rattled, and completely unsure why I felt the way I did.
I was also in love with a smart, beautiful girl named Martha. The first time I picked her up, after we’d officially become “Mitch and Martha,” she squeaked across my mom’s Ford Falcon bench seat and snuggled into me. Again, I was half-delighted, half-rattled, and completely unsure why I felt the way I did.
Was I the master of my fate?
Martha’s parents were believers. Not “religious” types, mind you, but bona fide Jesus people who exemplified kindness and inclusiveness. The Wallaces had become our high school theatre group’s unofficial den parents; their home, in contrast to those of my other friends, exuded peace. And even though they knew I was an atheist (my poem “The Coffin” about the death of religion had been published by our school’s literary journal), they welcomed me like a long-lost son.
I was proud of my atheism, considering myself more rational and progressive than my religious friends. But I couldn’t explain The Wallaces. “I don’t get it,” I told my buddy Marc, “their lives are based on a delusion, and yet they’re the most together people I know. How can a fake foundation support such a strong house?” There was something about the Wallaces that left me half-delighted, half-rattled, and completely unsure…
Why I felt the way I did.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Bona fide Jesus people do have a way about them that you can feel.
Yep.
Mitch,
What wonderful steps to faith. So many people have that struggle.
Thank you, Gary
They do indeed, Gary.
I love that they lived their testimony, rather than “spouting” it.
Me too. May I ask your name, btw, new friend?
My name is Dodi. Nice to meetchya 🙂
Likewise, Dodi!
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Thank the Good Lord for people like the Wallaces who understand the importance of emulating Jesus for all those who they encounter, especially the unbelievers. You were quite the character on and off stage, Mitch!
Yes, it seems (for good and for bad) I have what people call a “big personality,” Nancy.
And as this fellow has discovered, christianity doesn’t make a difference, people do. plenty of christians preaching hate, and ignorance.
Actually, for “this fellow” it was the Wallaces’ faith that made the difference. They were models of love, not hate, and wisdom, not ignorance. Which challenged my atheist assumptions.
plenty of people are loving and not christians. It’s always curious how the religion doesn’t make much of a difference.
and if they still believed that people who didn’t agree with them should be tortured forever, there is no love or wisdom there at all.
Delightful, fascinating post with the perfect ending Mitch. It kept me spell bound all the way through. And I get bored easily. School daze. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world…
Thanks, Darrell.
I’ve long believed that the best way to teach someone is by example. If they had lectured you about their christianity, you would have tuned them out at that point in your life. But they showed you what it meant to be a follower of Jesus, so you noticed that!
Exactly, Ann.
….and the rest or the story?…
Memoirs in progress, Warren. But if you want to “cheat” and jump ahead, click here: https://mitchteemley.com/2019/12/02/why-i-believe-c-s-lewis-and-me-part-one/
“How can a fake foundation support such a strong house”..what an excellent observation Mitch and question to really make you think and challenge us all.
Excellent introspection, Mitch! I loved the post.
Thanks, Kellye!
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