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Sunday, August 9, 2020

Gale Acuff Presents an Excerpt from the Miss Hooker Saga

 Spectacular

In Sunday School I asked Miss Hooker why

I was ever born, I'm not old enough

to ask how - don't ask me why I don't know

why not - and she told me to wait until

class was over and she'd fill me in, like

I'm one of those circles that are more like

zeros on the fancy answer-sheets for

our test-papers in regular school, fill

'em in with a No. 2 pencil, no

lighter nor I reckon darker and what

-ever else you might use don't use an ink

pen but what happened was I'd asked her at

the wrong damn time, Miss Hooker that is, we'd

just finished with the Lord's Prayer, we say

it at the beginning of class and half

-way through it and at the end, I call it

a trinity of Lord's Prayers and I

just made that up and that's no lie as God

is my witness and Jesus and for good

measure the Holy Ghost so I guess what

I did was I spoiled the moment, spoke out

or is it up too soon after Amen,

which we all say together, shout it's more

like it, I like religion when it's fun

and sometimes it is, but in church I fall

asleep, not so easy to do since our

pastor hollers and dances and stomps while

he's preaching the Word, a whole slew of words

is what it is, and I hardly ever

get a chance to ask difficult questions

in there or of Miss Hooker in Sunday

School class and usually by the time

it's over I'm anxious to get the Hell

out of there and go home, there's nothing like

running away to stay interested

but anyway after class and after

our final shouted-as-one Amen I

went up to Miss Hooker behind her desk

and asked if she had time to handle my

question and she took off her spectacles, I

wouldn't call them glasses, they're spectacles,

and looked up at me since I was taller

with her sitting down and just me standing

and smiled about as widely as you can

smile or is it broadly and as for ear

to ear, nobody smiles like that except

in comics and cartoons and my sister's

puppet collection, the clowns I mean, and

said Let's take it to the Lord in prayer,

Gale, I'm lucky that she didn't see me

roll my eyes, so we dropped to our knees and

Miss Hooker did all the talking though I

grunted a few times in the right places

and then when she finished I helped her out

with Amen and then up on her feet and

then she asked me how I felt and if God

had given me His answer yet so I

said Nah, but maybe He's busy right now

and Miss Hooker laughed and pinched my right cheek

with her right hand, only not hard enough

and I don't know why I said that, maybe

I should've asked her to do it again.


Good and Mad

I'm in love with my Sunday School teacher,

Miss Hooker, but there's not much hope for us

because I'm 10 to her 25 and

by the time I'm her age she'll be past it

by plenty, fifteen years if I'm counting

right. What I need is a miracle from

God, that He'll put us on a par, the same

age and the sooner the better. Just how


He'll do it is up to Him, I guess, but

He'll have options and I can remind Him

in prayer every night - for example,

He can hold Miss Hooker to her age now

until I catch up or at least until

I'm 16, which seems mature to me, what

with shaving and a driver's license and

my voice like Father's and a part-time job

even though I'll just be a sophomore.

Or He can make Miss Hooker age backwards

to ten years old. I hope He'd do it fast

but even then we'll be too young to do

everything married people can do, like


 stay up too late and have babies and pay

taxes, or not, or at least fudge them some.

But if God makes me older faster and

Miss Hooker younger and quick about it

then we might meet halfway, say 18,

if He takes my advice, not that I'd give

Him advice, exactly, but just point out

His options, like I say, then how could she

turn down my proposal when I put it

to her? Unless there's a lesson to be

learned and I have to learn it the hard way

and it's for my own good and I'll fear Him


even more than I do now, or think I

do. Maybe when we're both 18 I'll pray

to be older the next day when I go

back to ply my troth again, but maybe

God won't answer that prayer, or answers

no. And there I'll be, eight years older and

all of it gone overnight, for nothing.

Maybe then I'll just get mad, good and mad,

and tell Him straight, tell Him that he tricked me,

tell Him if it was He who came to me

and asked me what I asked of Him then I

would've been square, would've played the game out

but good. And I'd see the look on His face

and turn on my heel and ignore His pleas

to forgive Him, it serves Him right, let that

be a lesson to Thee, I'd say, I'll find

me another God Almighty--Jesus

wept, I'll remind Him, and now You know why.

Or maybe He'd get on His hands and knees

and I'd have mercy on Him. Maybe not.

Odds are I'll get no miracle at all,

of course - they don't happen to real people

save the ones in the Bible and those French

kids at Lourdes and maybe some Mexican

Catholics and some Christian Scientists

and Chuck Heston in The Ten Commandments

and Dorothy Gale in The Wizard of Oz

and Willie Mays in a game I saw once

on TV, and folks who win lotteries

(the chances of winning are so slim that

surely winning is a miracle) and

Captain Kirk getting out of those tight spots

and that swimmer winning seven medals,

all gold, and Ringo replacing Pete Best

in the Beatles. I could go on and it

would take time and by the time I finished

I still wouldn't have one my very own,

a miracle I mean. Maybe that means


 I should be giving them, not receiving,

but that would make me God, I guess, a job

I'd probably hate, if I'm any judge. 


Dutch


Our God is a good God, says Miss Hooker.

She should know - she's our Sunday School teacher

and is probably closer to Him than

anyone else I know, except for dead

people and babies who've just been baptized.

And maybe nuns but we're not Catholics

so I don't really have an opinion.

Anyway, a God who made Miss Hooker

is all right with me. She's beautiful and

every night before I go to sleep I

pray for a miracle - if you're going

to pray you might as well pray big, I think,

go all out, the whole hog, go bananas -

that one day we'll get married even though

she's more than twice as old as I am, say

25 to my 10. There's not much hope

but I guess that's what prayer's for, a shot

at getting what's impossible. If God

will slow her age down and speed up mine some

then we can meet halfway one day. And if

that happens then it's almost a sure thing

that when I drop to one knee and propose -

that shouldn't be hard, I'm small for my age -

she'll accept me, which means that she'll say Sure

and then we're off to be married and then

on to our honeymoon where God shows us

how to make a baby, or a dozen

but not all at once. And maybe she's wise


already to just how and will show me

because, after all, she is a teacher.

Red hair and green eyes and skin as smooth as

the legs of a grand piano, I'll bet,

not that I play, and a mouth full of keys

and all ivory-white. An angel. And

sometimes she wears a yellow dress and

the next week blue and the week after that

pink or green or some color I don't know

but a thing doesn't have to have a name

to be pretty. She's easy on the eyes

inside, too, I think - she's got the skinny

on the Bible and can tell the story

of David and Goliath just like it

happened yesterday or she saw them fight

on her way to church this morning, so if

we're on the sofa and tired of watching

cartoons and wrestling and infomercials

on TV, she can tell a good story

from the Bible and those old times when folks

didn't drive or use a Dutch oven or

talk on the telephone or go to school

forever or almost get run over

crossing the street to check the mail, like me.

So when Miss Hooker says that God is good

she's damned right. I haven't seen everything

in life, of course, but when I look at her

I've seen it all, and I just made that up.

After every class I almost tell her

that but I'm too shy and always back down.

Mother says, Faint heart ne'er won fair lady,

which she stole from the Bible, or Shakespeare,

or maybe Liberace. Anyway

when I asked her for advice about gals

she probably thought I meant those at school.

Maybe the miracle I want is guts

to tell Miss Hooker what's in my heart. Yes,

I think I'll try that tonight, right after

I say the Lord's Prayer in the dark while

I stare at my attic ceiling, where God

must be, too, because He's everywhere

and didn't Miss Hooker say so last week?

Last night I dreamt I held her in my arms

but I had four of them, the better to

hold her as close as I could. It was good


that it was dark so that she couldn't see

so that she wouldn't be afraid she was

in Hell. In Sunday School this morning I

tried to catch her eye to see if she'd had

the same dream last night. She just smiled at me.


Old Glory


Down at church I'm supposed to worship God

and in Sunday School the focus is on

Jesus but when I'm home, especially

at night, all I think of is Miss Hooker,

my teacher - red hair, green eyes, and freckles.

And sometimes painted fingernails--Mother

doesn't approve but she'll never stop us

getting together when I'm old enough.

I'm just 10. Miss Hooker's plenty old at

25, almost too old, in fact, but

not nearly as old as Mother, Father

too, for that matter. They're over 30

and that's getting up there. All three must die


 long before I do, if everything

works out well and I'm not killed in some way

other than old age. I'll wait a few years

and ask Miss Hooker out. If her hair's gray

by then I'll just think of peppermint or

two of the three colors of Old Glory.

Last week her fingernails were blue. That's three.

Last night I dreamt we had a baby, or

she did. I'm not sure how we pulled it off

but I've heard stories, though not from Mother

or Father. He says he doesn't know. He's

kidding, I hope. I asked Mother but


she said it's been so long she's forgotten.

I told Father that and he just laughed. But

then he frowned and told me to go outside.

He didn't add to play. He just wanted

to be shunt of me. So that's how it is.

But when I'm old enough I'll have a child,

or Miss Hooker will, and somehow I'll help.

That's all the truth I know. Is it enough?

And then I guess he'll come to me, or she,

to ask how they were born. What will I say?                                                     

The truth must be a little terrible,

as bad as death, or damn near, or even


worse. So I don't know where I came from and

I don't know where I'm going. Wonderful.

In Sunday School Miss Hooker says I'll go

to Heaven if I'm good and Hell if I'm

bad. I'm some of both but I think God takes

the average. He totals up the times

for each, divides, and compares. That seems fair.

And she says that all souls come from Heaven

does Miss Hooker. If I was ever there

I don't remember. It's like the time I

was playing monkey in the privet tree


and the rope snapped and the next thing I knew

I was lying on the ground out of breath,

I mean I was out of breath, not the ground -

I didn't hit it hard enough for that

but I did hit it hard enough for me.

Someone helped me up. It was Father. He

asked me if I knew who he was and how

many fingers he was holding up and

my name. For some time not time I didn't.

I bet I'll never be that smart again.

When it all came back I was ignorant

as usual. Do thumbs count as fingers?


Small


After Sunday School today I threw up

behind our portable classroom so no

one could see or hear me but Miss Hooker

did and came to the little round window

and pushed it out, I didn't know it would

open but sure enough she stuck her head

out and kind of downward and called Gale, Gale,

what's the matter, Honey, have some bad break

-fast? so I looked up to answer but she

was gone and about two minutes later

she came around the end of the building,

of course there are two, two ends I mean, I

mean the east end but the way my head was

spinning, spinning, it might as well have been

the west but doesn't it say in the Good

Book somewhere about the end and the be

-ginning and the Alpha and Omega

so maybe it doesn't really matter -

Miss Hooker arrived as I was spitting

up the last of my breakfast, which was zilch

since I woke up late and was afraid to

miss Sunday School, God might get me for that,

Jesus and the Holy Ghost, too, and then

there's Miss Hooker, who chewed me out last week

for being ten minutes tardy and made

me stay late to stack hymnbooks and dump trash.

Then she laid hands on me, well, the right hand

but then again it might've been her left

on the small of my back, that's right above

my butt and below my actual back

and I shouldn't say butt, that's a dirty

word and you go to Hell for smuttiness

Miss Hooker says but anyway it felt

fair and so I did it to her, too, I

did it in return that is, that is when

I was standing tall again even though

I'm not, I'm only ten years old and small

for my age and she gave me a look that

meant if I hadn't been upchucking then

she'd have slapped me if I'd been old enough

and then, right then, I wished I was and still

do, then maybe she'd know that I love her

and want to marry her one day and her

slap would've stunned her as well and she'd be

my gal from that moment on so much so

that her attention would last until I'm

old enough to marry her and to Hell

with a first date, sometimes first love is last

and this is one of those times. I wanted

to kiss her but she's too tall, even on

my tiptoes, not Miss Hooker on mine, ha ha,

that would be a Hell of a miracle.

Then I followed her into our classroom

and we sat together on two stools in

front of her desk below God-become-man

on the Cross behind her desk. Then she said

I'll give you a ride home but I said, No

thank you, ma'am, I'll walk there same as always.

Then she said, Well, I'll walk with you and that's

how I fell out of love with her. I said

I'm sorry, ma'am, but where I'm going you

cannot come. It's damn-near like religion.

 

21


After Sunday School this morning I asked

Miss Hooker, she's my teacher, I asked her

what if God and Jesus and the Holy 

Ghost were the first three batters in the line

-up who the clean-up hitter would be but

that one stymied her, it's got me beat, too,

you got a man, though it's more than a man

though most baseball players are if you ask

me, I'm just 10, I should know about man

-hood - you've got a decent lead-off guy and

a second batter who can move him o

-ver and batting third someone with power

but behind him who's the man? Miss Hooker


said that she didn't begin to know and

I said, Well, that's okay, I'll figure it

out and then I asked her her favorite

player and she said The late Roberto

Clemente and not just because he could

go out of the zone to smack anything

but his humanitarianism

and he died trying to help others and

not only others but others a lot

less fortunate than he was so I said


Yes ma'am - I didn't know what to say since

when I grow up I want to play baseball

for a living, I mean in the majors

and make a million bucks a year and not

even Hank Aaron's making that and I

told Miss Hooker so, about my dream is

what I mean and she replied, Well, if you


make enough money for what you need and

a little left over to deposit

in the bank then I'd say you're plenty rich

as it is so I said Yes ma'am again,

what can you say to good sense like that when


it's wrong and the truth is really the truth

like the Bible says inside somewhere, is

it Jesus, someone asks Him Who can be


saved right after He's just said another

impossible thing, shades of Miss Hooker,

and He answered something like With God all

thing are possible but not with just-folks


or something like that, if it hasn't got

pictures and stories about Superman 

and Batman and the Teen Titans I don't

read it but I've got a fair memory

for what folks tell me so before I said

Goodbye to Miss Hooker and See you next


Sunday I looked her in the eyes, I looked

so hard that I stuck myself in there and


was twins, identical to boot, on left

and right or right and left, anyway you

count me, then I forgot what I wanted

to say so instead I said Roberto

Clemente is staring back at me, which


was a fib but it got Miss Hooker good

and this afternoon I'm going to watch

The Game of the Week with Curt Gowdy and

Tony Kubek and Father and my dog,

not all of us inside the tube of course

and I don't know which teams are playing but

I don't care, I just want it to be good


and sometimes the clean-up batter leads off,

especially during a perfect game, 

which I've never seen. Or maybe I have.


 Gale Acuff has had hundreds of poems published in several countries and is the author of three books of poetry. He has taught university English in the US, China, and Palestine.