Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
Boys learn about boundaries at a young age or, at least, they should. I met Lukas in
Sunday School. I was in sixth grade. My mother, in an attempt to keep peace in the
family, took us to a new parish that was more in keeping with my father’s religious
viewpoints than the one we had previously attended. It seemed odd that my parents
would disagree over something as simple as where to receive Mass, but then again, my
church additions, until I found this small room in the corner of the “new” wing. Inside, a
young man intent on competing with home gaming systems and comic books, as though
the extent of God’s marketing resourcefulness was college age zealots, greeted me. He
smiled, introduced himself as John and nodded for me to sit down at the table where
several boys were already counting the minutes until they would be free to continue to
the recital of last week’s summer adventures involving tree forts, wars against invading
I chose a seat at the end of the table next to a boy, with long brown hair that hung
over his face, who was doodling in a carefully hidden notebook under his randomly
opened Bible. He smiled at me when I sat down in the sort of way another prisoner smiles
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
at another.
“I’m Lukas,” he replied. The necessary introductions out of the way, he returned
to his doodling.
John, clearly more excited than anybody has a right to be in church, smiled
broadly at us like a collector who has just found that long lost piece that completes his
“It’s good to see everyone,” he began. “As I was just telling everyone when you
came in, Jake, this summer we are going to be learning about the Old Testament.” He
paused like an announcer on an award show before continuing. “Now, I know what
you’re thinking. The Old Testament? Boring. But, I think you’ll change your minds after
we have read about gruesome battles, awesome special effects, and superheroes greater
I looked around the table to see if my new cellmates were as skeptical as me.
Having been sentenced to this typical fair-weather punishment every summer since I
could remember, I already knew that John’s enthusiasm had gotten the best of him. And,
based on the dull looks of my peers, it was clear that everyone in the room thought the
same.
Lukas nudged his notebook toward me and on it he had written, “Yeah, except
this is Bizarro World.” I laughed. I hadn’t intended to, learning long ago that church was
no laughing matter, but it was too late. Everyone’s gaze had shifted from trying to find
something interesting on the wall to stare at, to staring at me. The wood-patterned
Formica on the tabletop instantly fascinated me. Lukas, sensing the shift in attention
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
“Hard to believe, Jake? Well, it’s true” John said, not missing a beat as though our
entire exchange had been scripted. “Everyone grab a Bible and open it up to the first
page.”
I reached for one of the big tattered paperback Bibles sitting in the middle of the
table. On the front, there was a sticker noting that some blue-haired lady we had never
met had donated them to the parish. The pages were thin like newspaper. Inside the front
cover, a prior inmate from years past had boldly scrawled his name in red crayon.
“Zack,” it read. I looked around to see if I could spot any crayons or markers or even
colored pencils, thinking I might add my name to his, but found nothing. Apparently, the
consequence of Zack’s sacrilege was the banning of crayons, which seemed strangely
thorough. Of course, red crayons were dangerous and it was obvious we couldn’t be
trusted with them. But, surely, green or blue posed little threat.
It was then that I was struck by the quiet defiance of Lukas sitting next to me. Not
only was he not paying attention to the teacher, something I found extremely difficult to
do as my guilt often acted like a helium balloon pulling my head up away from my paper
whenever an adult stood in front of me, but he was using an ink pen dangerously close to
holy writ. I checked the window to see if maybe the blue-haired woman who always
yelled at you for running down the hall, likely the same one who donated the Bibles, was
peering through it. With no Mrs. Kraeger in the window and Lukas casually continuing to
doodle, I decided that he was the coolest boy I had ever met.
“Okay, before we get to the story, who can list all the books of the Old
Testament?” John looked around the room attempting to make eye contact with one of us.
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
However, he had underestimated how adept we all were at avoiding a teacher’s gaze.
With long practice, I had reached such heights of skill that I could go a whole day in
Undeterred, John applied the press. “Come on, you guys. I know you know them.
What about you, Lukas? Remember how we learned them last summer?”
stranger to the complicated power plays between teachers and students, he decided on the
Greg Maneuver. When I was in second grade, I had a friend in class, teachers always
called him Gregory but we knew better, who had developed the strange ability of only
hearing teachers when it was in his strategic advantage. Since there were only a few of us
in this small room, I knew that Lukas must have developed the same skill.
It was a clever move. Lukas couldn’t deny hearing him without admitting that he
wasn’t paying attention. And, since he had previously taught Lukas the year before, the
standard counter move of feigning to be deaf was out of the question. He was trapped. He
would have to answer him. Several of the boys in the class shuffled their feet. The tension
was building with every passing second. It was difficult to see how Lukas could get out
of this. Personally, I thought the Greg Maneuver had been a poor choice—a brave one,
but poor. Given the circumstances, I would have gone with the classic stall.
Seeing the trap, Lukas moved quickly. “Yeah. I was just thinking,” he said.
Now, this wasn’t an outright lie. We all knew lying was bad and lying in church
was worse than bad. Lukas had been thinking, just not about the books of the Old
Testament. However, if he didn’t think faster, not even the classic stall could save him
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
now.
And, this is where I had to make a choice. Every kid has to make one of these
choices, eventually. I could help him, maybe by running interference, or leave him to flop
around till his death like a freshly caught fish under the greedy eye of a fisherman. On the
one hand, I thought Lukas was cool and I wanted to be his friend. But, this was church.
The slightest moral slip here and I was toast, literally. It was one thing to play these
games at school, where the separation of church and state insured that teachers couldn’t
endanger your immortal soul. Here, with Jesus and the saints staring down at you from
“John,” I said, “someone has written their name in this one. Can I get a different
one?” I still don’t know what made me decide to help Lukas. But, I had thrown my hat
“Oh, ah, sure, Jake,” he said as he turned around and grabbed a Bible off the shelf
behind him. With his back turned, I slipped Jake’s Bible under the table, onto my lap,
“Here you go,” John said as he tossed me a brand new one from across the table.
“Thanks,” I replied.
Leaning back in his chair, Lukas gave me a quick look of thanks. “Okay,” he said.
With that, being careful not to look directly at John or move in a way that would
obscure his view of the table of contents, Lukas repeated aloud the list. His performance
was perfect. Sometimes, he would pause, like he was thinking of the next book and at
other times, he would list off several in a row, as though his memory had been struck by
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
lightning. Whether the boys in the class knew we were cheating, they never said. After
John, having nodded along as he silently read the list from his own Bible, clapped
“Now, turn in your Bibles to the book of Exodus chapter fourteen. And, who can
tell me who Moses was?” He took a moment to look around the room at each of us in
turn. Hoping to avoid being called on, I paid extra attention to turning the crisp pages of
the new Bible. When no one said anything, I looked up and John looked at me
surreptitiously looking at their own Bibles as part of this weird form of tag. But, no
sooner had I resigned to having to answer the teacher’s question, when a small boy at the
I didn’t know him. In fact, I wasn’t sure he had been there the whole time. He had
blond hair, very pale skin, and seemed to be using all his energy to hold his hand in the
air. Realizing that a volunteer, no matter how sallow, is better than a conscript, John
“Moses led the Israelites to the promise land and was a mountain climber,” the
small boy said. Seemingly exhausted by the effort, he slid down in his chair and
The little part of his face that I could see appeared blotchy, either from the
attention or the effort, as if even his blushing was sickly. It didn’t take a rocket scientist
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
to figure out that if Adrian lived long enough to get into high school he would wish he
hadn’t. He was one of those boys who had the unfortunate fate of looking like his name,
as though his parents were motivated by some twisted sense of humor. As every
playground bully knows, and every kid for that matter, the name says it all. I felt sorry for
him. The first thing I would have done if I had been given that name would have been to
change it to something cool like Max or Tony. Sixth grade is dangerous enough without
“Now, has everyone found the chapter?” the teacher asked. “Good. This is the
story of Moses parting the Red Sea. I’ll read it aloud and you follow along in your
Bibles.”
A sigh of relief spread around the table. If there was one thing that was worse
than being called on to answer a question, it was reading aloud in class. But, after a quick
glance down the page, I’m not sure it would have made any difference. The story had
been written in that strange coded language that only priests and your grandparents could
understand.
“And when Moses had stretched forth his hand over the sea,” John recited, “the
Lord took it away by a strong and burning wind blowing all the night, and turned it into
dry ground: and the water was divided. And the children of Israel went in through the
midst of the sea dried up: for the water was as a wall on their right hand and on their left.
And the Egyptians pursuing went in after them, and all Pharaoh's horses, his chariots and
horsemen through the midst of the sea, and now the morning watch was come, and
behold the Lord looking upon the Egyptian army through the pillar of fire and of the
cloud, slew their host. And overthrew the wheels of the chariots, and they were carried
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
When he had finished the paragraph, John looked up excitedly at us. “Well,” he
I didn’t get it. Judging from the blank look on the faces of my fellow prisoners,
they didn’t get it either. We had all been told the story of Moses parting the Red Sea but
“Come on, guys,” John pleaded. “Moses just held up is hand and the whole sea
split down the middle so that the Israelites were able to cross it without getting their feet
wet. And, then, when Pharaoh’s army tried to follow them, the sea filled back up and
drowned them.”
Now, John’s version of the story made more sense and sounded like the version
we had all heard since our first days in Sunday School. And, I had to admit that I was
always impressed by it. But, I could think of several superheroes that could have done the
same thing. It was difficult to figure out what made Moses better than any of them.
Despite being eleven years old, our generation’s skepticism of easy comparisons and
patent answers had already started to take root. If John was going to persuade us that
Moses was a greater superhero than Superman, he had his work cut out for him.
Beginning to sound a little frustrated with our lack of enthusiasm, John tried
again. “Didn’t I tell you there would be superheroes and awesome special effects?”
with a large round face, pinched tight as though it was desperately trying to hang onto
“Yeah, I guess. But, what about Superman stopping the earth and then spinning it
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
“Well, Tom,” John began but was cut off by a tall skinny boy, wearing clothes
“Yeah, that was cool. Superman could have just used his super breath to blow
away the sea and then use it to blow away the army” he interjected. The boy lived down
the street from me and would occasionally ride past my house on his bike. It was a bright
red Huffy. Whenever he did, I always wanted to ask him if I could try riding it but I had
“Or, he could have used his heat vision to burn up all the water and then
“I think you guys are missing the point,” John said. But, it was too late. He had
unleashed our imaginations and our love of comics like a scientist who unwittingly
“Well, what about Storm?” Lukas offered, looking up from his doodles now that
the topic had turned to something more engaging. “She could have created a storm that
would have moved the water out of the way and used its lightning to kill off the army.
Everyone nodded. Lukas had a good point. Storm, who looked cooler than
Superman in her black punk rock costume, could do the job just as easily as the Man of
Steel. And, if she was with the X-Men, then Pharaoh’s army didn’t stand a chance.
“But, what about the Green Lantern?” I asked. “With his power ring, he could
create a giant wall that would keep the water out. He could also make a big hammer and
smash the army to bits. And, he can fly as fast as Superman and in space too.”
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
At first, all the boys thought that this was a good choice. I looked over at Lukas to
“The problem with the Green Lantern, though, is that he needs the power ring.
Without his ring, he is just a normal guy. Storm and Superman don’t need a ring,” he
pointed out. And, he had a point. I had overlooked a fatal flaw. “But, you’re right that the
It was a small thing, really. He could have just pointed out my flaw and moved on
to arguing for his favorite superhero. But, he didn’t. It was then that I knew Lukas and I
“Now, fellas, hang on a minute,” John said loudly. “You’re missing the point.
We’re not here to discuss which superhero is better or which one could do a better job.
Like most adults, John had mistaken his confusion for ours. As far as I could see,
we were right on point. He was the one who had said that Moses was greater than
Superman and that the proof of this was the awesome special effects. Surely, he couldn’t
blame us for simply trying to figure out if what he said was true, when he was the one
“Let’s get back to the story, guys.” And, just as he began to thumb through the
pages in his Bible, having lost his place in it too, Adrian raised his hand again.
Catching it out of the corner of his eye, John turned and asked, “Do you have a
question Adrian?” The boy nodded. “A question about the story?” The boy nodded again.
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
John sighed. And Tom replied, “Aquaman isn’t as good as Superman. I mean, he
can talk to fishes and stuff but he can’t fly. And, he doesn’t even have heat vision.”
Adrian, defeated, slid back down in his chair. This made me mad. Sure, Tom was
“So,” I said. “Aquaman could push the sea back and he could make a hurricane to
“But, how is that better than what Moses did?” asked the tall boy from my street.
It was true. Aquaman, like the Green Lantern, wasn’t any better than Moses. I looked
“What about Kryptonite?” Lukas said. “If Pharaoh’s army had weapons made of
Kryptonite, then Superman would be just as bad off as the Green Lantern. They could
simply shoot their arrows at him or hit him with their swords and he would die.”
“Oh yeah, well,” Tom started and then paused. Lukas had pointed out the
obvious. Tom had been hit by a Kryptonite arrow square between the eyes. “Well,
Superman would know that and he would use his super speed to dodge the arrows.”
I was beginning to wonder if Tom read a lot of comic books. It’s universally
known that you never want to sound stupid in front of your friends or other kids in your
class. And, there is always an acceptable amount of posturing to avoid doing so. But,
“Storm wouldn’t have to have super speed or worry about Kryptonite arrows. I
think that makes her better than Superman,” Lukas concluded. He had done it. The debate
was over. We nodded together. Storm was better than Superman and better than Moses.
“That’s not true,” Tom stuttered. “One punch from Superman and Storm would be
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
out cold.”
“So,” Lukas fired back, “we weren’t talking about them fighting each other. We
Tom was beginning to turn this odd shade of pink. It was the same shade my
father’s face always turned whenever the police brought me home after interrupting a
well-planned adventure. We all knew the debate was over but Tom wasn’t ready to throw
in the towel.
Everyone but Lukas laughed. The boys thought Tom had finally found Storm’s
Kryptonite. And, that’s when it happened. The ugly voice that most days I could keep
quiet, buried deep under mud, toy guns, comic books, and video games, sprang to life.
Like Bruce Banner just before he turns into the Incredible Hulk, I knew I had precious
As my ears were getting hot, I tried talking it down. You’re wrong. That’s not
true. Not here. Not now. I could feel the sting of tears forming at the corners of my eyes.
No, it’s not true! It’s not! I tried thinking of comic books, of my favorite video game
waiting for me at home, of anything. You’re a liar! I hate you! I tried reciting the prayer
to Mary that my grandmother had taught me. I clicked my heels together, wishing I had
Dorothy’s slippers. But, it was no use. The accusing voice simply grew louder and louder
Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face and I was yelling. “Shut
up!” I wanted my words to sting him, to goad him the way his words had provoked me.
“What do you know? Girls aren’t dumb, you fatso! Maybe you should read comic books
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
Tom, looking deflated and small, leaned back from the table. His strained face,
instead of holding on to a thought, was holding back tears. Despite the dark voice’s
whispering words of justification, I felt sick. I knew what I said to Tom was wrong.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I noticed Jesus looking at me from his picture frame.
And, I felt again the familiar sense of shame that hung heavy on me like my grandfather’s
winter coat. I wasn’t a child of God. I was some kind of mistake; an awful creature
“Alright, that’s enough” John said sternly. “I had hoped we would talk about
Moses and the escape of the Israelites from Pharaoh’s army by the power of prayer. I’m
pretty disappointed in you guys.” He checked his watch. “Well, we’re out of time. I guess
we’ll try again next week. Put your Bibles away and don’t run down the hall when you
leave.” Looking at me, he said, “Jake, can you stay for a minute.”
Silenced by my outburst and John’s scolding, everyone got up from the table and
put their Bibles away on the shelf as they left the room. Only Lukas paused long enough
in the task to give me a sympathetic look. I just sat there, numb, like a condemned
After all the boys had left, John sat down in the chair formerly occupied by the
tall kid. It’s funny how adults always think this is a reassuring move. To me, it always
“I don’t know,” I lied. Sometimes, you know exactly what you did and why, but
you don’t have the words to explain it. And, sometimes, you don’t know why you did
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
what you did even if you do have words to describe it. However, in this case, I just
John didn’t reply right away. He simply sat there looking at me. I imagined that
he was trying to figure out what kind of animal I was, like a scientist who has discovered
“You know, what you said to Tom was wrong. You hurt his feelings. And, I think
“Yeah, I know.”
“No.”
Again, he paused. I wondered if the boys were all gathered behind the church and
taking turns making fun of me; laughing at my tears or my suggestion of the Green
Lantern as a worthy superhero. I wondered if Lukas was with them or if he was waiting
in the hall to find out what sort of horrible torture I had experienced at John’s hands.
“Well, if you ever want to talk, you know that you can always talk to me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
John sighed. “I guess you can go. Put your Bible away and don’t be late for
Mass.”
Hurriedly, as if any delay would be excuse enough for John to keep me in the
room longer, I got up from the table, threw the Bible on the shelf and ran out the door. If
they were behind the church making fun of me, I wanted to snag them. I was halfway
Wincing, expecting to see blue-haired Mrs. Kraeger and her tightened face, I
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
stopped and turned on the spot. Relieved, I saw Lukas walking down the hall to me. He
smiled and I waited for him to meet me. Standing up, he was about my height, though his
shoulders were hunched forward, from what I guessed was too much doodling.
We both knew why I had been asked to stay behind but it’s common courtesy to
give your friend a chance to tell the story, especially if the story involves a teacher.
“Nothing. He just yelled at me for yelling at Tom.” We started walking down the
hall, being careful to keep our voices down so that passing adults wouldn’t overhear us.
“Tom’s stupid.” Lukas brushed his hair out of his face. I was jealous of his hair.
My mother constantly fussed over mine. Either it was too long or too short or too unruly.
And, come Sunday, she would always spend valuable time applying gel and comb to it so
“That’s dumb. Who doesn’t know that Kryptonite kills Superman? And, who
“I know. But, John will probably tell my mom or Fr. Mark.” Entering the foyer, I
looked around to see if I could spot Tom or Adrian or any of the boys from class.
“They’re probably out by the church bus,” Lukas noted. “Why don’t you wait
until after Mass? Then, your parents will want to go and you can just say that you didn’t
have time.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling better about the prospect of getting home without having
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Chris Sowers
3614 SE 60th Ave., Portland OR 97206
(503) 536-5908 / email: trans_idealist@hotmail.com
“Sure.”
I wanted to tell Lukas how much it meant to me that being a girl didn’t matter or
how cool it was that his favorite superhero was Storm. I wanted to tell him that I loved
him for sticking up for me. I wanted to tell him that his friendship made me feel a little
less misshapen, a little less hurt, and a little more whole. But, I never did. With boys,
[END]
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