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Daughter of Ishmael by Diane Stringam Tolley

Daughter of Ishmael

by Diane Stringam Tolley

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Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Judgement Seat

Me and my Partner in Crime/ Future Best Friend

I was sitting in a Sunday School class yesterday.
The group was studying a particular scripture.
It concerned what happens when we all die.
The teacher explained that, when we die, all of us will be taken back to that God who made us.
I was with him that far.
Then he explained that everyone will wait there until the final judgement.
The righteous in a state of peace and calm.
The wicked in a state of anxiety knowing that the final judgement won't be pretty.
It was an interesting class.
It reminded me of something.
Because I have an active imagination.
And because I can't pay attention to anything for more than two minutes.
Unless there are moving pictures and/or shiny things . . .
My next older brother, George, and I used to squabble.
A lot.
It was his fault.
I can say that because this is my blog.
Okay, yes, it's connected to his blog, but I'm going to worry about that later.
Moving on . . .
I don't think we could exist in the same room for more than a few seconds before a fight would break out.
She's touching me!
He's taking my toys!
She's playing stupid games!
He says I'm playing stupid games!
HE/SHE'S BREATHING MY AIR!!!
You know the drill.
My mother tried all sorts of remedies.
Chores.
Confiscation of treats.
Loss of privileges.
The only thing that worked was 'time out'.
George and I spent many, many minutes thus engaged.
Or rather dis-engaged.
For first offences, such as minor disagreements over toys, she started out small.
“You two go and sit on a chair!”
This punishment was usually informal.
Consisting of a few moments spent sitting at opposite ends of the table.
If the crime was a bit more serious, ie. name-calling, time was added.
“You two sit there until the timer on the stove goes off!”
Rats.
Then there were the major offences.
Where things had gotten a little . . . physical.
Hair pulling and/or pinching and/or scratching.
“Both of you sit there on that piano bench until your father gets home!”
Oh, man.
Not only did we lose playing privileges.
But we had to sit in very close proximity to the person who had landed us in this predicament.
Sigh.
Did you know that, sometimes, older brother have cooties?
Well, they do.
Just FYI.
So there we sat.
Back to the discussion in Sunday School.
And I don't mean to be disrespectful.
But I think I know precisely what the teacher was trying to tell us.
My brother and I sat on that piano bench for what was probably only a matter of minutes.
But which seemed like hours to a four-year-old.
In a confined space.
Unable to leave.
Waiting for the punishment of a just father.
Yep. I know.

13 comments:

  1. Love this Diane (as usual) and can totally relate. I make my children sit and hold hands, side by side, when life being siblings has overcome them (and their better sense). If the infraction is a really bad one, they have to sit cheek to cheek. Man, are those a fun few minutes. One day I thought my middle son and daughter were going to have to figure out how to eat, brush teeth, and, well, do everything holding hands. But it works. Thanks for the smile. Sending one right back at you!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much, Amy! It certainly works! That boy I used to spend so much time with on the piano bench (in disgrace) is now my best friend! I love him so much! I wonder if maybe it was because we spent so much time there . . .?

      Delete
    2. Wow, Amy. I would imagine this is quite a deterrent. I can only imagine how exciting those cheek to cheek minutes are!

      Delete
  2. And the mind, oh the mind, so busy thinking of what the punishment was going to be when in actual fact....that WAS the punishment. Oh how I wish I was righteous, peaceful and calm.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Absolutely right! That WAS the punishment! Righteousness certainly would have been more peaceful!

      Delete
  3. Ok, Diane. You left us in suspenders again!

    ReplyDelete
  4. I LOVE that statement! I'll have to write down all of Dad's 'isms'. :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. You left out the part where Mom sat us down on wooden stools across the kitchen from each other. 'Now don't you move!" I'd wiggle my finger. "Mom, George is moving," And so on and so forth.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I was such a tattletale! How did you stand me?! :)

      Delete
  6. Oh man! When you put it that way! :) lol...

    ReplyDelete
  7. Diane, this is precisely why I had my children 22 years apart... not sure I would have survived 2 children so close together... lol. They would have owned me:)

    ReplyDelete
  8. You're so right. Children 22 years apart probably wouldn't argue over toys. :)

    ReplyDelete

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Diane was born and raised on one of the last of the great old Southern Alberta ranches. A way of life that is fast disappearing now. Through her memories and stories, she keeps it alive. And even, at times, accurate . . .

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