When we moved to Richland we started going to church and Sunday school at St. Paul’s Lutheran church on East Main Street. That picture above is what used to be the church, it has since been turned into a library when the consolidated Millcreek church was built.

At that time in 1957 the pastor, Reverend Paul Shoeneman, was fairly old. One of the first times we went to church I recall there was a little ceremony where they welcomed my father as a new member of the parish. Presumably my mother had retained her membership from her previous residence in Richland.

Shortly thereafter that pastor left and a younger minister replaced him, a fellow by the name of William Gunther. He was a good looking young guy as I recall, but he rubbed a lot of folks the wrong way by some of the off the cuff remarks that he made and he was soon replaced by John Rodgers, not quite as young but very popular with the people in the parish.

I’ve written previously about how much I liked Reverend Rodgers and his wife, whose first name I can’t recall and I can’t find her name in newspaper clippings because she’s always referred to as Mrs. John Rodgers.

My sister and I were pretty much always sent to Sunday school, and then our parents would join us for the church ceremony.

Actually, when we were very young, my mother would take us to Sunday school, and I think she would stay with my sister during those first few years when she was still a pre-schooler.

But at some point even Donna was old enough to attend Sunday school on her own, and the two of us were sent off. This was non-negotiable. We had to go. I really hated Sunday school. I especially hated it once I became a pianist for the lower grades. I don’t know how I ever got roped into that. But no matter how I pleaded, I had to go to Sunday school. We both did.

It’s not that we were a particularly religious family, thank goodness. It was just that one day of the week, just that one hour of Sunday school and then that even longer unending hour of church services. But we had to go. Unless my parents had some other activity planned for that Sunday, of course.

Our parents did join us for church services. I hated those as well. Especially when I was an acolyte. 

I’ve written about some of this before.

But last evening I got to thinking. And you know me. Bright ideas just pop into my head.

And sometimes I can even put two and two together and come up with a reasonable answer.

When Donna and I were sent off to Sunday school every week, that was the one hour every week that my parents had alone in the house together. 

Any other time when we were away, like at school, they were also working. But that one hour every week was their alone time. Away from the kids.

They could do anything they wanted to do.

I remembered how, uh, surprised I was a few years later, that summer when I was working at my uncle’s drug store, and discovered my mother was taking birth control pills. Because there had always been this nagging question in my mind.

When?

When could they possibly have found the time to, you know, do it?

Last night I think I finally put two and two together, and I ended up with a big smile on my face.

No wonder they insisted that we go to Sunday school every week!