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THE POWER OF PRAYER TO CONTROL LITTLE BROTHERS AND THE VACUUM CLEANER

    Both of my parents worked at the Sherman Democrat newspaper as I was growing up in Sherman, Texas.  It was only about half a mile from our home and they often walked to work.  The paper was a very low key affair and our dog would walk down there during thunderstorms and sit under my mother’s desk.  My two brothers and I had paper routes and kept our delivery bags at her desk, as well.   




     During the months we were in school, we would deliver our papers and get home about the same time as my parents.  However, during the summer months, mother would attempt to maintain control from over the phone, while the three of us were home alone.  She would usually rush home, whip together some quick lunch, eat and race back to work.  After she left, my brothers and I would sit in the tiny breakfast nook and eat.   

     It was with the luncheon prayer that I exerted the most control over my younger siblings.  As the oldest, I assumed the role of saying grace over our peanut butter sandwiches and pulled the Lord onto my side of the power equation. 

     It went something like, “Dear Lord, thank you for this food before us and please forgive Bob for not sharing his G.I. Joe toys with Bill.   Holy Father, we all know what a rotten kid Bob can be and I hope you will forgive him for being particularly bad today.   Precious Jesus, I know, you know, Bill has been equally as bad and has done a poor job listening to me today and not doing what I tell him.”

     As soon as I started into this prayer, my brothers, with head bowed and eyes closed, would attempt to interrupt with, “Now, wait a minute Lord, Bucky was bossing us around and I had the G.I. Joe’s first!”   

     I would talk over them in a loud, sanctimonious voice, “DEAR LORD, HEAR MY PRAYER AS I ASK FOR YOUR MERCY ON THEIR STINKY SOULS AND FORGIVE THEM FOR THEIR BADNESS AND HELP THEM TO BE MORE LIKE ME!”  As my brothers continued to attempt to interrupt me, to get to Jesus (“WAIT, WAIT LORD”), I would wind everything up with a rousing, “AMEN!”

     This shut everything down.  They were irritated I got the last word in to Jesus, but it never occurred to them to launch back into another prayer.  Until they became a bit more sophisticated, it was taken for granted I was the only one who could initiate the conversation with God and their best hope was to jump in once the prayer started.

     When mother came home at noon, she was irritated if we had not cleaned the house to her specifications.  The sound of the vacuum cleaner filled me with terror as a child, and it only got worse as I grew older.  I can remember the first time my mother turned it on... I was a toddler and I knew the world was coming to an end.  That sound was horrifying and as I grew, I associated it with mother’s rage and often a spanking.  To this day, my bride Mizz Nancy will not turn on a vacuum in my presence and I am grateful.

     My son Jacob had a big, slobbering, lethargic  bulldog, whose days mostly consisted of sleeping, passing gas and relieving himself in the yard.   However, if the vacuum came on,  the dog (Tatum), my baby granddaughter Annie and I would all sit and tremble in terror until it stopped.  The dog has gone on to dog heaven, Annie is now 5 and outgrown this fear, so now I have to sit and tremble alone.


     My grandchildren attempt to comfort me from the noise, but I am now and always will be a broom man.  My prayers now beseech the Almighty to make the vacuum quiet, go away and be silent.  My mean-spirited children tell me when I am admitted into a nursing home, they will place me in a closet with a vacuum cleaner, turn it on, turn off the light and leave.    “You know, you raise your children, protect them, care for them…then they turn on you like a rabid animal!”

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