For My Baptist Readers

Part of the fun of working at a Christian Daycare (besides the fact that every time I type it, I always write 'Christina' first. Always. I don't even KNOW any Christina's) is that every day has the potential to contain an adventure of the religious kind. When part of your curriculum is based on the bible and songs and dances lean towards Noah and His Ark rather than Rings and Rosies, it just becomes part of the norm. Sometimes, you don't even realize you've made a giant GIANT religious faux pas until it's too late.

This past week I helped the school with a staff shortage in the afternoon for after school kids. Essentially, once kids get out of elementary and no one is home to get them off the bus, that same bus conveniently brings them to us and we pack twenty seven of them into one room at a time with some puzzles and juice and expect them to get their homework done all before their parents pick them up.

These children include the owner, and obviously my bosses, three daughters, two of which attend a local private Christian school during the day since they're too old for our facilities. Then they begrudgingly join the rest of their kids in the after care while their mother works in the office. And I get to help them with their homework. Their religious, religious homework.

So the other day we're enjoying our grape juice and I'm busy peeling one fourth grader off of his brother over a book he wants to read during quiet time when my boss comes in and hands me a slip of paper and explains:

"My middle child needs to have this memorized by tomorrow. Can you help her?"

And sure. Why not. I'm not currently holding a combination of one hundred and twenty pounds of uncontrollable, adolescent boy in my arms. I'd LOVE to help your child with her homework.

And memorize we did. We said those three sentences over and over and over and over again until I thought that my head might explode. And trust me, it's not easy for a seven year old to remember squat. But I made it fun...we screamed it out for the class. We used exuberant arm gestures and stomped our feet and by the time her mother came back an hour later and said, "Hey let's hear it!" her daughter stood up proudly, held her arms out in front of her and said it just this way:

The Baptist from ashley earp on Vimeo.

That's right. Without even realizing it, I had been teaching her kid to say it just the way a Southern Baptist might at a Sunday congregation in Georgia. And she was so proud and all I could see was my boss' confused face as she quirked her head to me, trying not to deter her daughter but still curious and said, 'That's...great...honey but why are you saying it like that?'

"Because Miss. Ashley Taught me to say it like that!!"

And what did I do?! I stared like a deer in the head lights at my boss like I had no idea what she was talking about. Because it was true! I had taught her to say it like that!

I stereotyped and mocked the bible. At my Christina Day Care.