Its
9am on Saturday morning and already the dank Louisiana heat has my thick white
too tight stockings uncomfortably clinging to and suffocating my little legs
all the way up to my elasticized waist.
My senses drift from the stifling heat and pinching clothes to the
sounds and smells of the ‘Tanglewood’ neighborhood in the heart of the Monroe
ghetto. Crackling bacon and frying eggs,
Scooby Doo cartoons and sharp laughter sing out from the tin-roofed homes, as
my squeaky black patent leather Mary Janes clomp, click, and clunk down the
splitting sidewalk to the next house.
“Anna,
are you ready?” Mom’s sweet, soothing
voice brings me back to the duty at hand: It’s my turn to present the latest
‘Watchtower’ and ‘Awake!’ magazines to the stranger behind the door. My sweaty little hands are barely big enough
to proudly clutch my book bag filled with arsenal of bible, copious amounts of
other literature that I don’t yet understand, and ‘house-to-house’
record-keeping cards. I mutter to myself
what I will say, hoping that I get it right. Good
morning, my name is Anna and I bring to you today the latest ‘Watchtower’ and
‘Awake!’ magazines. As you can see (show
magazine cover) the ‘Watchtower’ is entitled “You Too Can Live on a Paradise
Earth…
“ Remembering last week’s ambush by the biggest
teeth-gnashing Pit Bull I’d ever
seen, I crouch to peek under the rusted out Pontiac in the driveway for killer
watch-dogs on the loose. Hoping none of
my ‘worldly’ school friends, or worse yet -- that girl that pushed me down
yesterday -- will answer………..I take a deep breath and boldly knock on the door…
The
small dark window-less room in the rear of the ‘Kingdom Hall’ smelled and felt
like a dungeon. The florescent light
nervously flickered as I sat there waiting for the private meeting to
begin. “Anna, do you know why you are
here?” From the ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ judgmental looks I had an
uncomfortable suspicion why I was now seated before 3 ‘elders’.
“Anna,
lately your style of dress has made some in the congregation
uncomfortable. Specifically, the
hemlines of your dresses are too short.
We recommend a more modest wardrobe, say right at or only an inch or two
above the knee. Brother Belcher, do you
agree?”
Looking at me with
raised eyebrows then at each other, they motion their hands to their knees the
proper length. Sitting before them
frozen feeling as if I had committed some great wrong when I only thought I
looked stylish in my black and hot pink polka-dotted sundress, Brother Belcher quizzically
utters “If we need to come inspect your closet….”
Once it became clear that the reprimand for my too short
attire was cause for my marriage, to a fellow JW, to not be Kingdom Hall suitable,
the gradual deconstruction of what I once believed to be “the truth”
began. One escape – marriage – for
freedom from coercive constraints led to another – infidelity and divorce.
In my tiny and empty one bedroom apartment, sitting
cross-legged on the floor, I open the letter.
It’s been so long ago now that I don’t recall the exact words, but the
message delivered was both welcomed and feared.
After numerous attempts to contact me about my reported infidelity and
subsequent pending status in the congregation, it will be announced at the next
meeting that I am officially ‘disfellowshipped’, or better known as --
excommunicated. By the mightier and
holier than thou pen wielded by a group of self-proclaimed men of God, my life
as I had known it no longer existed.
As my mother’s favorite, our relationship mostly carried
on like as before save the family vacations I wasn’t invited to, or my sisters
wedding of which an ‘elder’ protested my attendance and subsequent retraction
of the invitation. Recently, though, our communication has only existed if I
initiate. The sinking feeling that our
connection would soon be lost prompted me to write with the intention of
scheduling a visit to Florida sometime in May.
After all, I missed my family dearly and thought openly requesting time
would either be well-received, or, as I feared – mark the end of a once close
relationship. Either way, I’d have
clarity.
“I love you so much, Anna. I am willing to accept that your reaction to
this email will disappoint you so much that you will not talk to me, but from
now on I will do with you as I did with Kristinne when she was
disfellowshipped… We
did not socialize or eat meals together…It
is only fair Anna…Maybe if I had reacted the way I did with Kristinne you
would be back with us, happy serving Jehovah…You know I want all my children to
be with me in the promised earthly paradise. False religion is
crumbling and will soon fall completely as you studied, and then
Armageddon. My great fear is that my children will only want Jehovah’s
protection when it will be too late…My heart aches for your change of
heart.”
Mom, being disappointed is the understatement of the
millennium. I got your message yesterday and I wept like I've not wept in
a very long time, because I know that I will be grieving the loss of the
connection with my family (including you) for a long time. Perhaps permanently. I don't want this, but
you really have given me no choice other than choosing a religion in which I do
not believe to keep my family close, or to lose contact entirely. I'm
sure that my note to you now may break your heart, but welcome to my
world. My heart has been broken into a thousand pieces over the last 15
years. Being shunned and rejected by my own family simply because I do
not believe the same doctrine is the worst imaginable pain that I would not
wish on my worst enemy.
It’s
9am on Saturday morning. The crisp damp
Boulder sky brings a smile to my face as my four-legged girl Dharma and I walk
softly down the sidewalk on the way home after a stroll through downtown. The sight before me is unmistakable: a
family -- the son with the father, and the daughter with the mother -- out ‘in
service’. I consider crossing to the
other side of the street to avoid having to be so close to something that was
once so familiar, but I boldly stay on my path towards them. Their sweet smiles and pleasantries briefly
transported me back to another time causing a pain in my heart both for the
lost connection with my mom and also for the young girl who reminded me of all
the bitter sweet memories I’d left behind.
I wondered if she was happy, or if her individuality was being crushed
to bits. Today, like many other days, I
mourn the ‘loss’ of my family. Do I keep
reaching out to them ‘turning the other cheek’ in the hopes that one day their
eyes will be opened to the real “truth”?
Or, is the pain that I must endure with each rejection too great that
they have to be dead to me? As we walk
away from the family knocking on strangers’ doors, I weigh these thoughts. I close my eyes to breathe in the cool air as
Dharma looks up at me with her wagging tongue, almost human face and
unconditional love. I think of Troy,
Bret, Gabby, Deirdre, Masyn, Emily, Lindsay, Ji, and Nami – my family of friends. I again feel excited for my ‘rebirth’ into
the world. Life is good.
