My mom is a songwriter. Actually, she used to write songs; I'm not sure if she still does or not. She wrote inspirational music with her friend, Margo. Someone else actually recorded a couple of them on their album--if I get a chance, I'll post a picture of the album cover for you because the big glasses and monster sideburns are pretty freakin' awesome.
My mom performed these songs as well. She was part of a group called Servants of the Savior, and they traveled around to various churches to perform. The women wore matching, velvety full-length dresses, and the men wore matching leisure suit separates. While you're under the hot lights in a church sanctuary, singing about being saved by the blood of the Lamb, you might as well do it in the comfort of synthetic fabrics.
I was roped into singing with the group a few times. Margo's daughter, who was five at the time, had a part in one of the songs--everyone knows that a kid ups the emotional impact of any song (e.g., "Enter Sandman"). However, little Danni was scared to sing on her own, so they convinced me to sing along with her. I don't remember how old I was at the time, but I know I was old enough to be humiliated by the experience of singing "I Believe in Jesus, Mommy" with a five-year-old, the two of us in matching pinafores, for the Lions' Club pancake supper in the basement of the Farmers' Savings Bank. Later, we sang the song on an AM Christian radio station's Saturday morning program, which I'm sure roughly four people heard.
The Servants of the Savior traveled to Illinois for one church performance. I don't remember if I sang with them or not, but I did have to go to the church's strange and foreign Sunday school class. The teacher asked me to recite one of the 10 Commandments.
"Um . . . don't kill?"
That response was followed by gales of laughter from the other students and the teacher. Apparently, I didn't recite the exact words that God wrote down with his Sharpie in the King James Version of the Bible. I was traumatized. The only other thing I remember from that trip was that we rode in an RV and I had motion sickness (for pretty much any story that involves me riding in an RV, bus, ferry, or back of a station wagon, that's how the story ends).
My mom was commissioned to write a song for a Kiwanis Club's silver anniversary celebration. As was the case with most of the songs she wrote, she practiced this song a lot. I didn't attend the celebration, but apparently, the song was very well received. And when I meet someone from Ankeny or hear someone mention Ankeny, which happened to me just today, the song plays in my head. On repeat.
Hi, Kiwanis of Ankeny/Happy quarter century/look at where you've been/look at what you've done/and it's been a lot of fun . . . etc.
Yes, they paid her for that. I have to hand it to her--it is a catchy little song.
And speaking of music, Okkervil River has posted a free "mixtape" on their website. It's a set of live covers, and although they do not do a cover of "I Believe in Jesus, Mommy," you should still check it out.
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3 comments:
I read "Okkervil River" as "Overkill River" and thought you had gone hardcore for a minute.
When I was a kid our church always had a children's sermon. Usually it was something banal (see what I did there?), and the only one I remember went like this. The pastor was trying to explain how God answers prayers with "yes," "no," or "wait", and then used the analogy of a green light, red light, or yellow light.*
The pastor asked this cute little girl, "So what does a green light mean?" "Go," she whispered cutely.
"And what does a red light mean?" he asked. "Stop," she whispered, more cutely than before.
"And what does a yellow light mean?" the pastor asked -- and the little girl cackled, "Go fast, mommy, go fast!"
The congregation cracked up, and we all had a story to tell. It probably took me 10 years to realize that it had been staged. Sigh. I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes.
Please post the album cover and an MP3 of your mom singing. She'd want you to do it, trust me. And remember, it's easier to apologize than ask permission. Also post pictures of you and your mom in matching pinafores, please.
*An aside: I love this video that involves praying to a jug of milk to highlight the inanity of the whole "Yes / no / wait" prayer thing.
Lee
Your story is even more entertaining when imagined in an Alabaman accent.
Also, your reading comprehension level leaves something to be desired.
My bad. I'm not used to band names lifted from Ikea catalogs. :P
Of course, I have no room to talk about band names, as the latest CD I bought was by a group called Genghis Tron.
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