There are many memories I have of being the only Pentecostal in public school in the eighties.  It was one thing attending school where I had grown up and already knew everybody and already answered all the “big” questions.  You know the ones, “Why are  you wearing a long dress?” “Why aren’t you wearing makeup?”  “Why don’t you cut your hair?” and other less polite questions. Very few people asked the important question about salvation or my core beliefs.  That was fine with me at that point in my life.  I just wanted to fit in or be invisible.  Not the invisible that meant nobody saw me or knew who I was, but the invisible that avoided the “big” questions and weird looks–like I was the one that was weird.

Prior to my senior year my family moved to De Queen where I was able to start all over.  It was a new beginning, right?  I could be a “cool” Pentecostal kid that managed to hang out in the background.  All the kids there had built friendships since Kindergarten so all I had to do was be invisible for one school year.  It’s really much harder than it sounds especially when you talk–a lot.  Add to the fact that somehow I transferred into a bigger school as a “smart” student. (I have no idea how the smart rumor came about but it managed to make me less invisible.)

One particular school day stands out in my memory.  It was a pretty fall day and as always, students congregated in the court-yard during lunch.  I had met another new student and we tended to hang out together during lunch.  The two of us were standing near the door with our backs to the rest of the groups in the courtyard waiting on the bell to ring, minding our own business.  Over the hum of conversations and horseplay we heard somebody call out, “Hey, holy roller!”  We didn’t pay any attention as there were a lot of students in the courtyard and we weren’t involved in any other conversations. After a few seconds, we heard it again, “Hey, holy roller!”

The second time I heard it  I realized what I had heard and was silently praying, “Dear God, please don’t let them be hollering at me”.  I was still shooting for that invisible thing and decided to ignore the hollers and assume they were talking to somebody, anybody else.  Apparently, ignoring the call didn’t help as we heard it again, much louder and more insistent than before, “HEY HOLY ROLLER!”  At this point somebody tapped my shoulder and said, “I think they are hollering at you.”  I was mortified, embarrassed, sweating from nervousness.  I turned around and as far across the courtyard as you could be from where we stood was a guy named Dennis,  hollering at me while horsing around with his friends.  I’ll never know how the rest of that could have played out as I was literally saved by the bell.  I hurried into the building thanking God the bell rang and I could escape with my red face.

So much for being invisible.