Conservative by nature?

Well, so far, the feedback has been great!  Truly, I have been overwhelmed by the enthusiasm for my little tale (350 pages, so I'm using the word 'little' somewhat tongue-in-cheek).

 

I've been surprised to hear that a few people, some of whom actually know me, have been shocked a bit by some of the more ribald stories I share.  Shocked?  Why?  I've been giving this some thought and here's what I've come up with: I am generally a modest person, conservative by nature, so you don't really expect to find me in some of the predicaments I've found myself in.  I actually think my conservative nature adds to the humor of these situations, but that's neither here nor there.  In any event, it's got me thinking.  I am beginning to wonder if I am inherently conservative or not.  This is another nature vs. nurture thing. 

 

Are you ready for a little pre-teen story?  Here we go…

 

After a day and a half of camping I was dropped off, very early Sunday morning, at church for a confirmation rehearsal that I was unaware was even going to take place – why I was unaware escapes me now.  My mother was horrified to see me in Levis and declared I would not be attending a sacred ceremony wearing jeans.  "It's not a sacred ceremony; it's only a rehearsal for a sacred ceremony," I pointed out.  "Don't get fresh with me," she said.  "Now give me those pants!"  "What?"  I couldn't imagine what she was thinking.  "You'll just wear your confirmation gown," she stated authoritatively.  "Can't I roll up my jeans?  No one will see them under the gown," my voice trailed off in acquiesced defeat.  "Give me those pants!"  Now why she had my confirmation gown in the car and not a change of more suitable clothes I will never know but, clearly, since I was already on thin ice, I just grimaced through the bile induced nausea and gave her my pants. 

 

Keeping to myself, I remained quiet while receiving our instructions.  When it came time to actually run through the procedure, my full concentration was on keeping the gown from flapping open while I walked.  After the rehearsal, we were promptly dismissed.  Most of the parents came quickly to pick up their children; they had to get them home, bathed and dressed – ready to return a short time later to partake in this blessed religious ritual.  Note, if you will, that I said 'most' parents.  Most would imply that although many came, all did not.  My mother was nowhere in sight. 

 

I roamed the halls for what seemed an eternity, clenching my gown closed, wondering where she could be when Father Morello emerged and asked me what I was still doing there.  After a hard swallow, I croaked out, "I'm just waiting for my mom."  I don't know why, but he terrified me.  Did he know that I was petrified to be speaking with him?  Did he know that I had been unprepared for the rehearsal?  Did he know that I was only in my underwear?  "I'm sure she'll be here soon," I said through a meek smile.  "I'll just go wait outside."

 

I paced outside a while longer wondering where my mother was.  Fearful that Father Morello would see me still lurking around the church, I felt I had no other recourse but to walk home.  I walked about two miles down a heavily traveled county road in my underwear and a flapping confirmation gown – think Marilyn Monroe in The Seven Year Itch, except in my case, I wasn't Marilyn Monroe, a sexy blonde in a beautiful dress, standing over an exhaust grate, on a movie set; No, I was a mortified, awkward, prepubescent trying to keep my gown from flying up over my head as vehicles whizzed by, in excess of 50 mph, in my hometown – in real life!  This is the stuff nightmares are made of.

 

My mother, who had simply lost track of time, picked me up when I was halfway home.  She and my sister found this all very amusing; I did not, however, and to this day, I attribute my considerable modesty, and conservative nature, back to this extremely embarrassing experience. 

 

Nature vs. nurture?  It's a coin toss.  - M