Chapter 2 - Open-Faced, Cheese Spread, Potato Chip Sandwiches

Well, since the time of Burton, I have arrived and spent some time walking around in adulthood and upon my arrival and the aforementioned walking around I have concluded these folks are simply silly. Those things that perplexed me then no longer do. I have come to realize that most of the people who arrived at station adulthood before, during, and after my debut are just simply, certifiably whacked!!! They have grown only in bone length and pant size.

These people must have packed their logic in a suitcase which is now sitting in a seaport garage somewhere along the Malacca straits, or perhaps going round and round at an airport luggage carousel in Tulsa or Tupelo, Mississippi. Yes, I must confess to you now that I am often deeply disappointed.

When I grew up my father told me “… If you don’t understand something, break it down into its most simple terms…” This makes sense to me, but obviously, a lot of people must have been ill or watching a good ball game or devouring a freshly cut three-by-four-inch phenomenal-tasting piece of fudge-frosted chocolate cake and washing it down with a glistening clear glass of white milk while their fathers passed on the break it down to it’s simplest terms lesson and they surely did not take notes. Fathers and mothers have got to make sure they have the attention of their children when they teach these kinds of lessons. When teaching sons and daughters about how to brush a batter back from the plate with an inside curve ball or how to spit for distance or how to make lefse then focus may not be quite as important - although pretty much so – but for God’s sake the “break things down” lesson, that’s a big lesson. It’s right up there with cattle judging at the state fair or how to nail a double-back hip circle in gymnastics. (Lefse; A traditional soft Norwegian flatbread made with potatoes, flour, butter, and milk or cream, cooked on a large, flat griddle. Special tools are used to prepare lefse, including long wooden turning sticks and special rolling pins with deep grooves – A little help for those non-Norwegian readers) Thank you Wikipedia.

There’s got to be a reason why so many people have such difficulty in breaking things down to the simplest terms. We need to get that lesson in schools or have breaking things down to the simplest terms checkoffs on our state income taxes and maybe do some of those free public service announcements on television and radio because you know these people must watch an awful lot of television.

I started this journey as most did - with a split personality. You know half sperm, half egg, then for some reason decided to hook up and spend some time in an ever-increasingly cramped womb before I found my way to my first freedom. Yes, I have concluded that this escape was my first real taste of freedom. And yes, I know using the word decided here could probably be debated quite effectively, and I will leave that discussion to the scientists, linguists, the radical pro-life “ists” and pro-choice “ists” as well any other “ists” who wish to enjoin the fray.

My second big taste of freedom was when I got my driver’s license. Check that. My second big taste of freedom was the car that soon followed securing said driver's license. However, the getting of the first automobile is closely followed by my brother and me receiving permission to sit upstairs - in the balcony – at church during Sunday services. Both of these events were huge as each of them lengthened the proverbial leash from the overseers. Otherwise known as mom and dad.

You know when rethinking this, the church balcony thing may rank right up there with birth…

Among Lutheran boys, being able to sit in the church balcony was a rite of passage ranking up there with birth, baptism, confirmation, and getting one's driver's license and a car. I always thought the idea of being baptized and having an in with God was cool. I looked at being baptized kind of like being a legacy at an Ivy League school. We got in because our parents went before us and then slid a few bucks to the institution. As long as Mom and Dad were still in good standing, we had our tickets punched. Of course – like the Ivy League, there were always a few show-offs in the Lutheran church. You knew who they were because they would have their names emblazoned on little copper nameplates which were glued to one of the collection plates, or silver-plated serving plates, or perhaps there would be a nameplate screwed into an organ bench so everyone would notice. The extremely audacious church narcissists would purchase multi-colored stained-glass windows so whenever God gifted us with a bright glow of sunlight, announcing his presence and warming the congregation a bit, the narcissists felt they could kind of associate themselves as co-producers.

You know that’s gotta be a good deal in the end. They will probably get special seating while waiting at the pearly gates and all. Now confirmation - as its name implies - is confirming that what your parents did when you were a baby with the baptism thing was cool with you. At the time of your baptism, when the minister poured that cold water over your forehead, it was kind of freaky – and you felt it was a bit rude - but when you more fully understood what it was all about you saw it was kind of like a little bit of a Lutheran hazing and your good with it all.

As for Confirmation, you need to attend a few classes with the minister before you can get the official church Confirmation high five, but the classes were always a good time. There were also a couple of bonuses attached. One got out of chores on the farm, and there were always one or two cute Norwegian Lutheran girls in the class. Plus, you got to ask crazy questions of the minister. Our ministers were great too, although I did get a stern look from Pastor Olson when one night at class I asked if it was true that some Christians sin six days a week and then on the seventh day they rest. You know, they go to church and nod off during the sermon?

When you are done with Confirmation classes you get all dressed up, go in front of the church congregation and your relatives, and say “Yeah I’m in. I’m good.” And there ya go. Then everyone goes down into the church basement where we’re treated to cool-aid, milk, coffee, cake, ice cream, and the piece de resistance, open-faced, cheese spread, potato chip sandwiches, and everyone gives you cards with money in it!!! It’s a party unequaled and a hell of a way to spend a Sunday morning. Oh, excuse me, a heck of a way to spend a Sunday morning. Sorry for that Mom, God.

For the non-Lutherans who may be reading this perhaps you’ve never heard of an open-faced, cheese spread, potato chip sandwich. If you feel the need for further information, please contact the Ladies Aide at your local Norwegian Lutheran church. And if they are not familiar with it, or their eyes do not light up upon the mention of the open-faced, cheese spread, potato chip sandwiches, then just smile, turn around, and walk away slowly. It would be obvious; they are not REAL Norwegian Lutheran Church women.

No, thinking back on it now birth was a bigger event for me than getting balcony permissions. Yeah, let’s go with the birth deal as number one, then the balcony, then the car. It was all exciting and with each milestone, I knew I was moving closer to the ultimate coup de tat. The goal. The medal. The finish line. The checkered flag. The stripes. The… Okay, you get it. (Background music here. DA! Da!) Adulthood! For I understood upon arrival, I too would obtain come to understand things not yet known, to drink from the cup of wisdom. The world would not only be my oyster. Never fully grasped that phrase even after drinking from the cup of wisdom. No, the world would be my picnic basket and there would be no ants or black flies!!!