My sixth grade Sunday School teacher at First Baptist Church Jackson was an up-and-coming local attorney. He had a beautiful young family (wife / two elementary-age children), and they lived not too far from where we reside today.
This man was an only child (if I remember correctly) who was reared exclusively by his mother. And, oh my goodness, did he ever love his mother relative to the single-parenting duties she'd endured (he reminded us most every week of the arduous task she endured therein).
Up to this point in my childhood, I remember little of my Sunday School teachers / coursework. And I believe that's because I didn't attend regularly enough for proper memories to crystallize.
I believe Sunday School attendance became more of a priority for our family - around my sixth-grade year - due to my father being ordained a deacon (at FBCJ) around this same time (1985). For deacons are expected to fully commit to church attendance for themselves and their families.
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There were only 5-6 of us boys (no girls allowed in this particular class) who regularly attended this sixth-grade Sunday School class, and it was only because we had no other choice. Those who did have a choice attended only once before never returning.
Dr. Addison (as we covertly salutationed him) was incredibly earnest and so very hellbent to make a distinct spiritual impression on each of us boys. Whilst looking back, I can appreciate that, but his heavy handedness / dourness was always too much for us preadolescent children to endure.
For example, at the very beginning of the "school year", he announced that we'd each be expected to submit a paper - on a predetermined theological topic - at some fixed point during the spring. Each of these papers would then be adjudicated, and the winner would receive - wait for it - an NIV Study Bible! Too, he'd on occasion have us boys pray quietly there at our stackable chair - down on our knees. Each of us would place our '80s freshly blow-dried hair into our hands (elbows supported via the plastic seat), and with our eyes closed, quietly recite our verbiage to God (until given the go-ahead to get back up).
In short, every 45-minute Sunday School class was militantly executed by a man who had not one iota of fun / humor within his staunch makeup. And we, do doubt, were the absolute wrong audience for this. Yet, we were stuck with this dude at the outset of each and every Lord's Day.
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Around Thanksgiving of that year (1985), on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, Dr. Addison had us meet him at his abode with a grocery bag of predetermined (list) food items in hand. From there, we prayed together that God would lead us to a needy family to gift these staples to.
After driving a half hour or so into the city, our teacher's SUV pulled into the driveway of a very small, nondescript house in a part of Jackson that I'd never been to. From there, Dr. Addison knocked on the door beneath the carport before stepping inside to (seemingly) explain our serendipitous intentions. Around 5-10 minutes later, he returned to his idling vehicle full of sixth-grade boys to retrieve the collective goods. I remember sitting quietly there within the back seat with the others who'd come along, all the while feeling excited yet strange as this took place.
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Eventually, our surprisingly happy teacher returned to the driver's seat, having delivered all of the grocery sacks, before we sped away. But this was without any of us boys having the opportunity to visit with (or even be introduced to) our now bequeathed, needy Jacksonian family.
It was during our return trip to the suburbs that our devout leader divulged that God had miraculously led us to his maid's home for these non-perishables to be delivered / gifted to for the holiday season.
Let me repeat that:
It was during our return trip to the suburbs that our devout leader divulged that God had miraculously led us to his maid's home for these non-perishables to be delivered / gifted to for the holiday season.
I was too young, naive and intimated to question Dr. Addison's sincerity here. In fact, as a 12-year-old boy, I bought it hook, line & sinker. And I believe my peers did the same.
Whilst looking back, I have to wonder what his intentions / motivations truly were.
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