The Humper Game Pt. 07 Ch. 13

"But the big thing wasn't a matter of what the text said at all. You know Dad had grown up with the King James, that's the version he knew, and he loved it. He wasn't unhappy to be in a church that stuck with it, at all. But when it came to insisting that it was a completely valid translation, and no other translation was acceptable, he didn't hesitate to say that was just foolishness. And you know he could be stubborn, as much as all of us are—and our spouses are to be honored for putting up with us all. You're included in that, Ellen." There was a lot of laughter and there were a few comments. Well, Ellen laughed and nodded, too, and so did Mom.

Uncle Joe went on, "They didn't do anything like kicking him off the board, mind you. They just didn't nominate him the next time around. I'm pretty sure Dad felt hurt about it, but I think he didn't let it bother him that much, after a while. You should know what his position was: 'For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.' He wasn't serving formally in that way, but he was still responsible for doing that job as appropriate in his circumstances, whatever they were, and still qualified. And you need to keep that in mind for yourself, Phil."

It occurred to me that I'd better treat his words as a solemn charge from the Lord. Uncle Joe was a deacon himself, after all, serving in their church. And that scripture was taken slightly out of context—but I had no doubt that it was applicable. I might question whether I was gifted and called—but if I was, it was for the rest of my life.

Uncle Joe wasn't done, though. A couple of minutes later, he said, "Phil, Dad would have been pleased, and proud of you. Well, both of them, but Dad especially." I must have looked surprised or something, because he went on. "He would have been thrilled that you're a believer, of course, though for some reason he was very sure you would be, eventually. But what I meant was that he would have been very pleased that you have both the gifts and the character needed for that office. He wouldn't have been proud about the gifts, of course—that's a matter of what the Lord chooses to give, though you've brought them into readiness by using them. What he would have been proud of was your acceptance of the call."

It wasn't as though my being a deacon was rare enough to stand out, in this family. Several of the men there, maybe more than half, served that way—whether or not actively and officially at that moment. That also was a kind of encouragement to me.

The following week also brought a big surprise, when we had dinner with Mom and Dad. We had told them at each point what was happening. We tried to make a point of calling them at least a couple of times a week. And the same for Ellen's parents, at a little greater length since we didn't get to see them very often. And then Mom and Dad had surprised me by being there at Aunt Betty's. Dad hadn't taken much part in general conversation, but at several points he had been off at the sides, talking quietly to one or another of his brothers and sisters.

At any rate, Dad put down his fork and looked at me very seriously. So of course I paid attention, leaving Mom and Ellen to deal with anything that came up with the kids. And what Dad said was, "Phil, you should know I'm really proud that you were made a deacon." We had explained about the specific role involved, in this case. He went on, "I've recently been realizing how rarely I've said anything to tell you how proud I am of you. I know your grandparents had you a lot of the time, and even when we were home I was apt to be working so much your mom mostly raised you by herself.

"But I know a church like that one wouldn't be commissioning you unless they were sure about your character, and we've had enough opportunity to see for ourselves how you've turned out." I suddenly realized that Avi was listening to Dad, still eating but clearly focused, and I wondered what he was making of this. Anyway, Dad went on, "I've mostly been proud of you most of your life, and I almost never told you that. And I never said very often that I love you, either. I know they didn't single you out for this just to honor you, but it really is an honor and a testimony. I'm sorry I didn't think fast enough for us to be there the Sunday they commissioned you."

I really wasn't sure what to make of that. Unsurprisingly, I choked up too much to say anything very coherent. Mom and Dad knew enough not to be surprised about that, certainly. Probably Avi did too.

When Bella was five, one night she went and got herself ready for bed. Of course, one of us, usually Ellen, supervised bathing—if any—and tooth-brushing, so what I really mean is that she got herself dressed for bed. Except that I was hard put to keep from laughing, because the nightgown was plainly inside out and backward. It had some frills on it, and the stitching that showed made this pretty clear.

"Vieni qui, Bellissima," I said to her. I was thinking I'd just pull it off and help her put it on right.

I was startled, because suddenly Ellen was shrieking at me in excited Italian. It was a sign of how far I'd come that I managed to understand most of it. The gist was that she loved me, and I was so smart—or maybe that meant "clever." And she came over and hugged me, pretty hard.

Now, I didn't see why this was such a big deal. My Italian still wasn't really ready for prime time, but what I'd said was pretty basic. So I tried to get a word—a few words—in edgewise, and said, still in Italian, something amounting to something like, "What did I say?"

Ellen started to answer, still excited, but abruptly stopped. She just said, in English, "Tell you later."

Bella looked at me very seriously, and said, "Mamma ti ama, papà."

I looked back at her. I abandoned Italian for this, though. "I know, Bella. And I'm still amazed at it. The most beautiful, smartest, and most elegant woman I knew fell in love with me and wanted to marry me. It's a blessing from God, sweetheart."

Bella hugged me, and Ellen took her off to the bathroom for tooth-brushing. She came back to hug me again, and we all prayed briefly, and then Ellen took her off to get settled in bed. I never found out whether the nightgown got inverted and turned around that night—the next night it was on right, and I never found out whether Ellen had said something or Bella figured it out for herself.

When Ellen came back, she sat in my lap. She said, "I've come down in the world, I guess. The last time you said that, around the time we got engaged, you said I was the most talented one, too. Your Mom asked about Sam, and you said Sam wasn't in the universe of discourse at that point."

"Ellen, if I'd been trying to give her an exhaustive list of your virtues, she'd still be in here, and long since out of patience with her papà."

She kissed me, thoroughly, and said, "I'm sorry I got so carried away. It's just that—Um. Remember when Mom asked about names for the baby? You came up with three names, the ones I'd already heard we were going to use, but then I had to ask about nicknames. And you said Avraham, or probably Avi, and that was right. But when it came to Bella, all you came up with was Beautiful. Remember? But what I'd heard you using, over and over, was Bellissima. Well, I thought, wait and see. And we have a few more years left, but really, I was beginning to wonder whether I was going to have to suggest it to you. So it relieved me a lot when you used that, tonight."

I said, "It's just that she looked so cute, with her nightgown like that and oblivious to it. She really is 'very beautiful, and going to be be beautifuller still.' But not 'Bellississima,' because that's her mother." That earned me another serious kiss, and, well, we kind of hurried off to bed. Which didn't happen that way as often as we both would have liked, any more.

Revision: 8/21/2019