Greetings, everyone!
There are events that, no matter how long ago they happened, always bring smiles, and sometimes laughter, whenever we think about them. I have many such memories, but one stands out as a peak moment, unfolding like a joke.
It occurred many years ago, back home when I had just finished secondary school, awaiting further education at a higher institution. I was deeply involved in my home church, where I enjoyed numerous privileges despite being just a small boy in the midst of elderly ones. I was practically seen everywhere, engaging in all the activities....I wish I'm still like that now. Lol
At that time, we had one pastor, accompanied by other elderly individuals who also functioned as pastors at various levels. Most of them were elderly, and only a few of us were young, causing us to tread cautiously, knowing how easily elderly men could become angry.
One particular man among them was named Patrick, but we dared not call him by his name alone; we always attached 'Pastor', 'Elder', or 'Bro' to his name, in order not to cause disrespect.
His son who was in his 20s was also among us as the ministers that take assignments on the altar on during church days.
On a particular Sunday, the son was given an assignment on the altar. There was a protocol whereby, after completing their assignment, the minister would welcome the next minister to take over.
When the son finished, he made the announcement, "Let's clap our hands together as we welcome Bro. Patrick to continue."
That's when all hell broke loose. He just called his Father, 'Bro.'
"Who are you calling 'Bro.'?"
"Are you calling me, your father, 'Bro.'?"
Patrick's voice thundered from his seat in the ministerial space. He couldn't fathom his own son referring to him as "Bro."
The situation escalated quickly. It being a Sunday service, with the congregation already gathered, made matters worse.
The pastors beside him attempted to calm him down, urging him to lower his voice and compose himself, as the church members watched the drama unfold. However, it was too much for him to bear. How could his own son address him as "Bro." in the context of the church?
He refused to accept any consolation. Angered, he grabbed his briefcase(briefcase of the 90s) mounted his motorcycle, and sped off, vehemently declaring that he awaited his son's return home to face him.
Image source
It was a scene straight out of a comedy show. Instead of being upset at the disruption to the service, the congregation burst into laughter.
As for me, seated in the pastor's corner when the incident began, I knew I shouldn't laugh, considering the seriousness of the situation. Yet, I couldn't contain my amusement. I discreetly slipped out of the corner and went outside to indulge in a hearty laugh. Such occurrences were rare and precious....I needed to maximize the scene.
At the close of the church service that day, my pastor, accompanied by some elders and the son, drove to Patrick's house to plead for him to allow his son entry that day.
This situation, even when I'm in a mourning ground and this pops up on my thought, I will laugh out loud.
Thanks for reading.
This is my entry to Hivenaija prompt of the week