Sunday morning escapades

The next morning my brother and I bounded into the kitchen to eat breakfast. Our sister Kathleen was in the high chair eating her oatmeal like a big girl.

It was Sunday – the biggest and the busiest day of the week in the life of a minister’s family. Dad was already upstairs in the church sanctuary preparing for the morning service.

We gave our little blonde-haired sister a kiss on her head before walking over to the stove where our mother stood while stirring a pot.

“What are you doing over here?” Mom questioned as she put out her hand to keep them at a distance. “Now don’t get to close to the stove. It’s very hot. I don’t want you to burn yourselves.”

When Mom laid the spoon on the ladle in the middle of the stove top, we gave her a great big hug. The black-haired woman wrapped her loving arms around her two little boys.

Just when our mother thought we were going to go over to the table, we pulled out our toy pistols and startled her.

“This is a stick up,” John mimicked the line from a movie he had seen on television. “Reach for the sky.”

We found our plastic guns in one of the toy boxes out in the play room, which doubled as the utility room, yesterday after the police wrapped up their investigation concerning the break-in at the church.

“You’re under rested,” I snickered.

“Oh my,” Mom put her hand to her mouth as her eyes grew as big as saucers. “Whatever did I do?”

“You was caught stealing money from the church,” I laughed again. “We’re taking you to jail.”

“Mom, you’re supposed to put your hands in the air,” John complained while putting his hands on his hips like he had seen his mother do many time before. “You know… reach for the sky, like I said.”

Our mother looked sternly at John because he was the oldest and warned us to leave those guns in the house. She didn’t want us taking them to Sunday school and giving our teachers a fright.

“Oh mom, you’re not playing right,” John protested as he laid his toy gun on the kitchen counter. “We’re supposed to lock you up.”

“Boys,” Mom became agitated. “Now is not the time. It is Sunday. There is too much to do. I don’t have time to play games right now.”

I went over to pick up my sister’s spoon after she dropped it on the floor.

“Can we at least wear our junior detective police badges to Sunday school?” John queried while giving a pitiful look.

“Oh, all right,” Mom gave in as she poured the contents of the pot into a couple of bowls. “But if I hear that you used your fingers as guns to stick your classmates up, you’ll both get a good whooping.”

“Now sit down and eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” the tall slender woman put two bowls of oatmeal on the table.

John snatched the gun from off the counter and took the other one from his brother as he hurriedly put them back in the play room, which was off the kitchen. Then he and I moved around the table past the radiator to the seats against the back wall where they sat down to eat our oatmeal and drink our milk.

Mom told us to put our dirty dishes in the kitchen sink when we finished. Then she took Kathleen out of the high chair and disappeared around the corner to get herself and the baby ready for church.

When we finished eating, our mother met us in the bedroom to help us get dressed for church.

Mom dug into our closets to pick out some clothes for church. While she was searching, John blurted out his wishes of what he wanted to wear. “Can I wear my vest without the suit jacket? That thing is way to stuffy.”

“Can I wear my pants with the suspenders?” I piped in with my order as well.

“Take off your pajamas and start getting your church clothes on.” Mom threw John’s pants from his closet and they landed on top of his head.

When I began to laugh as my pajama bottoms fell to the floor, our mother peeked out of the closet to see what she had done before switching to the other closet.

“What are you laughing at?” the eldest looked at his younger brother and retorted with laughter of his own. “You look like you’re about to tinkle on the floor with your britches around your ankles.”

“Oh you better not,” Mom poked her head from the closet as she brought my clothes to the bed. “I don’t have time to give you another bath.”

“It’s a good thing you boys get them at night,” continued Mom. “I would run out of time on Sunday morning.”

“Mom,” I announced making a funny face. “I know where the toilet is.”

John took off his pajamas and ran around the bed in his tighty whities to put on his church clothes. He was embarrassed to change in front of his mother. When they finished getting dressed, Mom took us in the bathroom and combed our hair into a pompadour just like our father’s. We no more left the bathroom and John had the back of his hair sticking straight up. He was doing back flips off the couch.

“Mercy, how in the world did you do that?” Mom licked her hand and used it to pat down the cowlick. John squirmed while she did it. “Now you stop that right now. I’m not the one that can’t be still.”

The young mother of three gave us both a kiss and said, “Now you two behave yourselves and I’ll see you after Sunday school.”

This was the Sunday that our mother was helping out in children’s church after she played the organ for the adult song service.

When we opened the door to leave, Bonnie Denny and Vanessa Rose entered the family’s living quarters to have class with Mom, who was both the Teen and Hi-teen Sunday school teacher, in their family room.

Both teenage girls doted on the young brothers by giving us each a hug and a smooch on our cheeks.

“Aww… chucks,” John complained while wiping his cheek. “Now I’m going to have to wash my face. Girls are icky.”

“John Mark Price,” Mom castigated her oldest son. She only said all three of our names when we were in severe trouble.

The teenage girls laughed.

“I was only kidding mom,” John back stepped toward the door. He made sure his Mom didn’t see when he stuck put his tongue at the girls.

Bonnie hid her face from Sister Price with her long blonde hair and stuck out her tongue in response to John’s silly face before giggling.

“Honestly,” Mom laughed nervously. “I don’t know what has gotten into him. He must be going through a stage.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Not to worry,” Vanessa chimed in flipping her long brown hair. “We can just love on Mark that much more.”

I was eating up the attention. Both teenage girls knelt down beside me with my dimples on full display and kissed me again before giving me a great big hug.

“He is gonna be a ladies man,” Bonnie smiled showing her own dimples.

“He’s the one you have to keep your eye on,” she added.

“I agree,” Vanessa chimed in as she tousled my brown locks. “He’s going to be a real heart breaker.”

Stay tuned … this is the fourth in a series of eight connected stories about a break-in at the church where my dad was the pastor in November 1971. You can read the next exciting segment of the “Church Thief” in my column next Tuesday.