1975 – Oh . . . Damn it!

It was probably in 1974 or 75 while I was still the Director of Pioneer Royal Ambassador Department at the Brotherhood Commission in Memphis. I had been married to Ginger since 1970, now with an 18 month old Jason, who already lived up to the “Terrible Twos” moniker, an active and vocal little boy!

We were a little family on an annual trip to Glorieta, New Mexico to conduct leadership conferences for church Royal Ambassador Leaders. It’s a long, tiring drive out I-40, with at least one overnight stop, this time it was maybe in Amarillo, at a Holiday Inn of course, like all the other Baptists heading to our retreat, arriving just in time for dinner.

After checking in, we head for the hotel dining room for hopefully a quiet, relaxing dinner. We order for ourselves and the toddler, while greeting Baptist preachers and other leaders I knew, also meeting their friends. It was like the conference was starting a day early on the road, or like having Sunday lunch at the cafeteria where half your church is also eating; good ol’ Baptist fellowship.

Our meal arrives, we stop talking and begin eating, helping Jason with something like a grilled cheese and French fries. He had been starved for attention the last few minutes as we talked to adults. Then suddenly he turns around in his high chair, knocks his French fries on the floor, screaming out “Oh God Damn it!”

I feel the blood rushing to my head, turning red as a beet, some surrounding Baptist friends laugh or snicker at the humorous but terribly embarrassing incident for me. Silently I was damning his mother for talking like that in our home, while later she blamed it on TV. Oh well, life moves on.