“Are you ready?” he asked. I wonder if he realized the pain and chasms that question would create in my mind. I sat on the bench in my locker both anxious and excited for the attention soon to be drawn towards me while squirming into my white jumpsuit. The fluttered energy of the children outside made me want to go out and play with them more, but my daddy’s gaze was serious and I knew I had to stay. This concept of baptism was as foreign to me as was the bathroom we were in. I knew every crevice and climbable object inside of the church’s edifice. It had been my playground and world to search and hide whenever and wherever I wanted. But I never had before seen this part of the bathroom and it made me feel uncomfortable. The gushing water coming from the font next door trickled my senses and I figured I must have been standing with a spacious look long enough for my dad’s face to twist impatiently. “Pull up your zipper, they’re waiting”. I did as I was asked still wanting to go outside and play with the rollie-pollies, chase the birds, and smash play-dough in all the cracks. Yet, inside I felt strangely that I should follow close behind dad and do as I was asked. My fingers were bending and twisting between my hands, but my feet continued stepping down into the pool of warm water to join my father. I couldn’t tell if the pressure I was feeling was coming from all those around me noticing my obvious discomfort or from the water around me squeezing into my jumpsuit. The world, as I once knew it, was washing away and before I could object or comprehend what was happening I was plunged deeply into silence.
Walking back up the stairs before my father, the water that filled my tiny jumpsuit came splashing before my feet. Nearing my locker I could sense the footmarks I left behind me were bleeding with the colors of the world I once knew. A child paints a picture splattering paint onto the white walls of his understanding, and, before he is ready to fathom the colors before him, the grown-ups destroy it. Yet, amidst the utter confusion and chaos playing in my mind, my fingers were no longer bending and twisting between my hands. As I stripped myself of my waterlogged clothes the weight I was feeling dropped to the floor in a thudding echo. That echo reminded me of the peace I was feeling despite all of the new emotions that were exploding inside my mind. When I was beneath the surface of the water in the grasp of my daddy’s strong arms the whispers and thoughts around me was cut to sudden silence. For two seconds I could not even hear my own voice screaming. I remember seeing in my mind that the rollie-pollies outside stopped crawling and the birds stopped trying to fly away from my tiny reach. It was as if they were telling me to stop struggling and to listen. I did listen and I heard, in the utter silence of the world beneath that water’s surface, a reassuring voice that everything would be okay. Now, as I pulled on my dry underwear and grabbed my church clothes I could see my father dressing himself just as silently as I was. All I could hear was the ruffling of our clothes bouncing off the walls of the bathroom, whispering peace into my new mind. My father stepped out and I followed behind him.
As the years raced by and it was no longer considered “cool” in our family to sing happy birthday, I kept thinking about that question my father asked me at eight years of age. “Are you ready?” It seemed like a whip he used to control me despite my tenacity to break free and do whatever I wanted to. When the sun was highest and the sky fully blue he would ask my brothers and I to get ready to go work with him at the construction site. When it was more important to us to beat King Koopa with Mario and Luigi than to get ready for church he would get angry. When playing football would bring more friends and attention than doing my homework, he would remind me what priorities mean. But the moment he asked me if I was ready to leave home for two years and serve the Lord on a mission, my world plunged back underwater and I was as silent as I had been the moment I walked out of the baptismal font years before. This time it was a question I knew would come but had hoped or waited for the day to remain in the “tomorrow” scheme. I remember reading from U.S. President Lincoln that “one cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today”. His words were echoing against the walls of my bedroom as I sat thinking about my father’s question once again. I wanted to go outside with my iPod and go running or escape to my friend’s house where I was never harassed about my choices. But as I heard the engine of the neighbor’s car starting, I realized I must have appeared completely apathetic to my father who was still standing by my bedroom door. He walked away and I remember feeling so trapped and angry inside as I struggled to comprehend what it was he was asking me. I wanted to scream at him to help me to understand but instead my eyes swelled up and water began crashing down before my feet.
As I stepped off the plane from an almost eighteen hour trip, I grabbed my luggage and began looking for my family. I had an idea of how the reunion would be because my two older brothers have left for two years and came back also. But part of me did not want to see them. I felt as though my heart was still beating on the seat of the airplane that was getting fueled up and ready to return to Brazil. I could hear the overwhelming feelings of anticipation as loved ones were departing and reuniting echoing with the customer service personnel calling out flight times and destinations. The echoes, though loud, brought peace to my mind and I continued to walk forward. I didn’t know what to expect seeing my family once again, but I could feel the pressure building around me as I pictured what they would think of me noticing my obvious discomfort. I knew I wouldn’t be crying like my two older brothers before me had; I just didn’t understand why. I had learned and grown so accustomed to portraying my deepest thoughts and emotions in the letters I wrote home that I didn’t think I would have the capacity to show them how much I cared for each of them. I stepped on the escalator and began descending below the surface of the world around me. I saw my family all grouped together so calmly. They all looked at me as if to say, “stop struggling and listen”. I listened and I heard a reassuring voice that everything would be okay. As I looked into my father’s eyes and embraced, I could hear him asking me, “are you ready?” He grabbed my suitcase and walked out the airport doors into the chaos and confusion of the world. I followed behind him finally understanding what he meant.
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