In Sunday School class I see Miss Hooker
–and God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost
though I don’t really see them except in
Miss Hooker herself. That is, God made her
and Jesus saved her and the Holy Ghost
inspires her to be the best damn teacher
I ever had. And the most beautiful,
red hair and green eyes and all those freckles.
And she can tell a Bible story like
nobody’s business. I like the one where
Moses parts the Red Sea and Pharoah sends
his charioteers across to slay them
but the slaves cross over just in time and
then the Sea folds in upon itself and
all the bad guys drown. The movie’s good, too.
But Miss Hooker tells it like she was there.
I never thought I’d bite my nails over
the Bible but I never thought I’d like
God, either. He scares me. He’s too much like
death and I sure as Hell don’t want to die
but if you’re going to go to Heaven
you just about have to. I guess it’s like
jumping into the pool when the water’s
too cold but if you’re going to swim then
there’s no other way. Father jumped from planes
in the Big One, World War 2. I asked him
how he was brave enough to do it. Well,
he said, I’d gone to all that trouble to
pack my parachute and it would have been
a shame not to use it. Now he teaches
geography, so there you go. He met
Mother in Atlanta after the war.
Mother was dancing professionally.
I ask her what kind of dances she did
but she’s never told me. I ask Father
but he just smiles. It’s more like a goofy
grin. Then he takes off his eyeglasses and wipes
his eyes and puts them on again, his glasses
I mean, and clears his throat and asks me, Son,
did I ever tell you what I did in
the war? After Sunday School is over
I’m just getting warmed up. Last Sunday I
waited until my classmates left the room
and went up to Miss Hooker in her chair
where she was rearranging the bookmarks
in her Bible and said, Miss Hooker, I
got something I wanna tell ya, and she
looked up at me and into my eyes and
I mean with her eyes, too, and smiled and asked
What is it, Gale honey, so I looked down
as if I was saying the Lord’s Prayer,
leading the class in it, maybe, and saw
my Sunday shoes, black and shiny and two
years old. I only wear them once a week
so if I die as I’m walking back home
they’ll be good enough to be buried in,
and said, I love you, but she took it wrong,
I meant Sweet Romance but she just meant love
like you get from God and parents and aunts
and Santa and your dog and maybe your
cat and your favorite stuffed animal,
not that I have one anymore, only
a G. I. Joe, and he’s not a doll, he’s
something else. I forget. Then she stood up
and kissed me but not on the lips. Goodbye
I said, and turned and walked right out the door
hating her guts. So what if I’m just 10
and she’s 25? We might’ve worked it out.
Maybe I should wait until I’m 16
and try again, though she’ll be halfway
dead, 31. That my mother’s age now.
So I guess there’s more than one way to make
a boy a man even though I wonder
what that other way is. That other way
has something to do with having babies.
I wonder how that’s done. My folks don’t know
or they don’t want to say. It’s a secret.
I might ask Miss Hooker next week if I
come back–she kind of embarrassed me or
maybe she’s just playing hard to get so
there’s a purpose for all my suffering.
Last night I dreamt I died and Miss Hooker
showed up at my funeral and cried and
cried and sputtered, Gale, it was only you.
Then as I watched from Heaven the police
took her to the pokey. I don’t know why.
That’s when I woke up. And I’m still waking.
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.