With my upside-down life, I was home, asleep in the basement when the door opened and my brother yelled down, “Judy, phone call!” I came to reluctantly and clambered upstairs, picked up the black rotary dial phone’s receiver in the kitchen, and said hello. “Hello, this is Ken Griffith from Berean Christian School in West Palm Beach, Florida,” a voice rapidly boomed. “I’m calling to see if you are still interested in a position teaching English.” Like Roethke, I take my waking slow. I heard Marine Christian School, and was fuzzy on exactly where in Florida West Palm Beach might be. He told me his English teacher had just gotten engaged and wanted to prepare for her wedding, not to teach. She’d graduated from the same college I had (I knew her slightly), and they’d been happy with her. So he’d contacted the education department there, where my résumé was on file. I was being considered, along with another woman from my graduating class. We talked for a bit longer; he promised to call again in two days for an answer. He told me they were prepared to fly me down to see the school or to give me $100 toward my move. When I told my parents about this unexpected possibility, they were opposed to the idea. After I left for work, they discussed it, deciding they would intercept Ken’s second call and tell him I wasn’t interested. They would not tell me he’d called back. I didn’t learn of this plan until much later. Staying near family was the model for their lives, visiting frequently with parents, siblings, and their children. Why would I go a thousand miles away where I knew no one? God works in mysterious ways. I called Ken back the next day to ask more questions; the only one I remember is whether the school had been founded to keep Blacks out, which I’d learned was one of the underlying causes of the growth of Christian schools, especially in the South. He assured me that was not the case. He asked me if I had a “teachable spirit.” I had no idea what he meant, but I knew the right answer was yes, so I said I did. At the end of that conversation, he offered me the job, and I took it, accepting the money toward the move rather than a plane ticket to visit. I’d been to Key West during college, hated it, and had promised myself never to return to the state. I knew southern Florida would be hot and there would be bugs, but this clearly was God’s answer to my pleas to serve Him and earn a living. I would teach grades 6-10 English (they were adding a grade a year, like an add-a-bead necklace, and tenth was then the pinnacle). I wasn’t remotely qualified to teach sixth grade, but I didn’t want to spend my life living in my parents’ basement and working with troubled kids, for which I had no real training or aptitude. I would redeem my failure to find a job or a man who wanted to marry me. Years later, I learned from Ken’s wife that he’d had second thoughts once I accepted the job offer. He’d hired a disembodied voice and a résumé. No Facebook, no LinkedIN, no Instagram—he had no idea what he was getting. In that environment, there was only one important question left, and he couldn’t ask me. “Barb,” he asked his wife, “what if she weighs 300 pounds?” “Then you’ll get a lot for your money.”
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Baptist GirlI was a conservative Baptist girl who grew up to become a career Christian, working first in a Baptist school and then in a Baptist college. For about three decades, it was very good until it wasn’t, and I had to leave. But the Baptists formed me. This is my homage to the good times and good people of the world I left, finally, at forty-three, when I became an Episcopalian. These are my memories; others might disagree with my recollections. So be it. Archives
January 2024
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