“Hey, holy roller!”
There are many memories I have of growing up Pentecostal in public school in the eighties. It was one thing attending high school in Cave City, a town of less than 1,000 where the main sport was basketball and farming. I grew up there, knew everyone, and they all remembered the year my family became Pentecostal in 6th grade, and the Holly Hobbie pants my mom had made into a skirt.
I had already answered all the “big” questions, like: “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 look, like I was the one that was weird.
Prior to my senior year my family moved to De Queen, and I traded my Caveman mascot for a Leopard. The school was big enough to have a football team. I was able to start all over. Even though I didn’t want to move, 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 that rumor came about, but it managed to make me less invisible. The irony wasn’t lost on me. At Cave City, I’d barely scraped by in math and science thanks to generous grading curves, but De Queen was a higher-ranked school. Luckily, I’d already completed most graduation requirements. While other seniors were still knocking out harder courses to earn credits, I coasted through library and office duty electives with a mediocre GPA at the bottom of the “smart-enough-to-graduate-with-honors” crew.
“Hey, holy roller!”
The courtyard was buzzing with end-of-lunch chatter as students gathered for the bell to ring. Joy, another new girl who ate lunch with me, and I stood near the doorway waiting to enter. We weren’t paying any attention to the students behind us, just quietly standing there, minding our own business while the dull hum of horseplay and conversations played in the background.
Over the din of the chatter, we heard it again.
“Hey, holy roller!”
I silently prayed, “Dear God, please don’t let them be talking to me.” My stomach churned and my armpits grew sticky. My body was frozen. I desperately prayed there was another holy roller in the courtyard. 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 get, a guy named Dennis was waving his arms and horsing around with his friends, clearly gesturing right at me.
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.
Life After the Bell: Growing Up Pentecost
I’ll never know how the rest of that could have played out, but I do know that moment didn’t define me. My senior year in De Queen was a good one, and I went on to make several lasting friendships. More than forty years later, some of those people are still in my life.
✨ Curious about those Holly Hobbie pants turned skirt? ✨
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I feel like I can relate to this story to an extent because when I lived with my mom off of Westline Road (a road outside of Horatio/DeQueen we also were going to the Pentacostal Church (Holiness). Most of my family still go to this church and though I never really fully bought in I was still labeled as a “holy roller” by those that didn’t know me better. One such instance I can think of was my senior year when I convinced my mom to let me play basketball for the public school. I agreed to wear warm up pants and a t-shirt during the games but I was still pretty good and really a matchup nightmare for most of the small schools Umpire played that year (6’3″ish point guard who can shoot from half court in and athletic enough to drive and dunk). I heard a lady yell “hey, you forgot to take off your pants there kid!” the first game of the season. I blew by the guy guarding me and went up and dunked it on two more. I shouted back “no, they just wanted to make things equal for your kid is all.” Not only had I never really bought in but I was a bit of a smart ass as well…that being said I can still relate to growing up feeling like the world was watching you, scrutinizing what you did on a daily basis.
The building of this story is awesome. The intervention at the end puts a realistic “stop” to a story that could have had a much different (but not better) ending. I loved the passion in which this was written. Very bold and straight forward. I’m so glad you were saved by the bell….for real.