The women in our church were divided into camps: the Good and the Wicked. The Good wore pointy brassieres on their neat, pert breasts, neat fluffy sweaters over the pointy brassieres, and neat modest skirts. They formed trios and wore matching scarves and beehive hairdo’s, played the piano or the organ as opposed to the saw or the banjo, and went to the beauty parlor every week. Their children arrived early for Sabbath School. They ate only vegetarian foods, and quoted Sister White. They folded their hands flat, palms togehter, fingers straight, bowed their heads, and closed their eyes when we prayed just like the children in Uncle Arthur’s Bedtime Stories. They called God “Our Dear Kind Heavenly Father,” and formed musical groups with their musical mothers. Sometimes their fathers joined in, brumming along quietly in the background. In our church, most fathers couldn’t sing. Nevertheless, such groups were known as, “The Allen Lee Family,” “The Dave Swanson Family,” or even more simply, as “The Singing Andersons.” These groups achieved some degree of local fame, and sometimes even went on tour to other Adventist churches within driving distance–”a Sabbath day’s journey,” in other words.
A few families cut records. More got reel-to-reel tapes of church services where they provided special music, spliced them together, and distributed them to their friends.
When a family friend asked Momma if we girls and Matt could sing special music for the Young Adult Sabbath School class Momma, flattered, said, “Of course. They’ll be happy to.” She did not consult us. Pam was mortified at having to sing at the teenagers in the Young Adult Sabbath School. Marie just didn’t want to because she was Marie, and contrary. For me, the thought of standing up in front of anybody even without actually trying to sing was terrifying. Sally and Matt were too young to be allowed opinions.
