About Listening and Remembering and Forgetting

A few weeks ago I looked over at my eldest son in church, and realized that while he was listening to a sermon about the Christmas Story, he was drawing a picture of the most grotesque scaly monster with multiple tentacles.  The picture was great.  It had lots of details.  However, me being me, I was worried that someone would see the scary monster and judge me for allowing my child to draw scary monsters during the sermon.  (I tend to have some issues regarding extreme paranoia about being judged . . . it’s a long story).

I thought it might be best to steer my eldest son toward a different listening activity during the sermon.  (Amazingly enough he can always tell me exactly what the sermon is about even though he draws evil monsters all the time the pastor is talking . . . so in hindsight, maybe I should have just left it be).  The next Sunday, as we settled into our pew, I gave him a hug and gently suggested that maybe he could draw pictures of what the pastor was talking about, or write down some important words to remember, or maybe even make a comic strip about the Bible verses the pastor and congregation were  examining.

Mr. SP:  But why?  I’m listening when I’m drawing monsters!

Me:  Well, maybe this would just be more respectful for the people around you. I don’t want them to look at your evil monster and get scared in the middle of church!

Mr. SP:  Mom, that is ridiculous.  And besides, don’t you even remember what it’s like to be a kid in church?  Probably your mom told you to pay attention and you were already paying attention and you wanted to say “Bla, bla, BLA BLA BLA!”  at her.  And now look!  You grew up an you’re doing the EXACT same thing!  You’re JUST LIKE your mother!

Well.  Hmmm.  For the record, my mother DID let me draw pictures in church (although I wasn’t drawing scary evil monsters) and I don’t really actually remember her telling me to pay attention.  Sit still, yes.  Pay attention?  I don’t remember that.  I do remember sometimes feeling like church services were the LONGEST things ever.  I didn’t really dislike being there, but until about fifth grade, it seemed like church lasted four hours instead of just one.

This week, Mr. SP just rolled his eyes at me and brought his Bible to church and read it while the pastor was talking. And guess what, he could STILL atell me what the pastor was talking about AND what he read about.  What a dual track mind that kidlet has!  I think I’ll keep him around.