The Second Plainsong: Oh, May I Know

My dad was worried about me.

His concern was the topic of conversation as we sat at the picnic table in the back yard, brown bottles of Schlitz chilling in the battered aluminum cooler, watching the squirrels fight with the blue jays over possession of the sunflower feeder. Squawking flashes of iridescent turquoise would plunge from the sky, temporarily driving away the furry intruders, only to see the persistent rodents race back to the feeder, stuffing their pouches with seeds before retreating.

For the past three months, in addition to going to bethel with Mom every Sunday, I had spent two hours every Wednesday with the Barbe, a lay preacher charged with the instruction of "aspirants" to bethel membership learning the doctrines. Becoming an aspirant was just the first, easiest level of entry into the bethel. The higher in the hierarchy I wanted to get, the more time I'd have to spend studying.

Dad paused to take the wooden matchstick from the corner of his mouth. Holding it in front of his face he examined it like a trim carpenter might a piece of oak molding. Mom had made Dad stop smoking once they got married. It was the only one of dad's "bad habits" she was able to change. The matchstick remained.

"Why don't you quit all this tomfoolery before you get as nutty as they are, three hours of bethel every Sunday, classes once a week and for what?" he asked. "Elle's a nice looking kid but I don't think she's worth all this, especially since you haven't even gotten as far as first base with her yet.

"There's a couple of girls working at the shop, just outta junior college. Not bad looking, not that they're models or anything but you wouldn't have to put a bag over their heads either. Come on by, I'll introduce you to them and you can have one, hell both if you play your cards right. Believe me Jake, I know they're sure things." he said winking to me as he spoke.

One thing about my father, he never beat around the bush, no matter what the topic was. For him direct conversation was the highest form of manners even when the subject was something others might consider embarrassing.

Dad's ideas about women were simple to him, convoluted and confusing to me. As much as he loved my mother, and he did, he was always flirting with other women. He saw women, in groups or singular, married or not, as fair game. He made no bones about it. Dad was a skirt chaser.

When Dad first started talking with me about sex I was flattered; he was treating me like a real man even though I wasn't even a teenager yet. My appreciation for his frankness and honesty was eventually tempered when it became clear he was sleeping with other women besides Mom.

Where we lived spousal fidelity wasn't a requirement for fathers or even mothers, I knew that. Peyton Place had nothing on our little town. But I had a hard time reconciling Dad's devotion to Mom with his lust for other ladies.

I loved my father and looked up to him, hoping I could at least come close to being the man he was. At the same time, I hated the thought he was betraying Mom every time he had sex with another woman.

Emboldened by my third beer, my newfound religious fervor running through my head, I bluntly asked him, "Why are you fucking around on Mom?"

I don't know what I was thinking, the words spilling out of my mouth made me cringe when they reached my ears. Christ on a crutch, I thought. Now you've done it. The old man's going to blow higher than Krakatoa. I'd be unable to sit for days.

For a moment Dad sat perfectly still as stunned as I was by my question. Then he slowly put his beer down turning to face me.

"If anyone else asked me I'd punch 'm in the face. You get a free pass on this one Jake, because maybe some straight talk now will save you some pain later. I doubt it, but you never know.

"As you get older you're going to find there's a difference between sex and love. A man needs both, not always from the same woman. Yeah I know you're heads over heels about Elle right now. Might be love, might just be you're horny and she looks to be available. Doesn't really matter. One of these days you're going to see another girl, maybe even an older woman, your dick'll get hard, your brain will go soft and you'll get your first piece of strange. Trust me, nothing makes you forget about love like sex."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Don't use that disapproving tone with me," Dad said sternly. "You don't know shit about sex. You know even less about love. Whacking your willy every night while you moan 'I love you Elle, suck me, suck me deeper, ' doesn't mean a goddamn thing. Lemee tell you what does." As I sat uneasily Dad began to tell me his version of why he married Mary Anne McClure.

"I know your mom already told you we had to get married. That's not true. I was only 19, a few months past turning 18 when Mary Anne told me she was pregnant. She was 24 then. I coulda said she seduced me, that would have been close to the truth, although I like to think we seduced each other. I coulda said she was the older temptress who took advantage of a young kid. But that one wouldn't have been true." Dad paused to take a sip of his brew.

"Driving her across the state line to Robinson County for an abortion was out, not that I would've, Mary Anne was determined to have you. I spose I coulda let her have you then pressured her to give you up for adoption. There's any number of things I coulda done to dodge my responsibility to your mother. What I couldn't dodge were the consequences of dodging my responsibilities.

"If we hadn't married your mom would still have had you; I would still have a son. But I wouldn't have been involved in your life; wouldn't have watched you grow, wouldn't helped to mold you," he said his voice growing more calm as he spoke.

"Instead what I woulda done would be to make Mary Anne a single mom; there was no way she was going to put you up for adoption. She'd be struggling to raise you on a waitresses' salary. I may not make a hell of a lot but it's a shitload more than your Mom earns in the diner. She might have had to take a second job. She'd be spending even less time with you. Not the kind of life I wanted for your mom or you."

"Shit," he said pausing to spit little fragments of the masticated toothpick from his mouth, "Mary Anne might even have married someone else; let another man raise my son. I'll tell ya there was no way in hell I was going to let that happen."

"But Dad, you dropped out of school to get married."

"Damn it Jake, I'm a mechanic, not a doctor. I'm a pretty good mechanic. I don't need a college degree to do what I do. Hell, I didn't even need a high school degree. My senior year I was just marking time in school, just going half days, spending the other half working maintenance at the plant. Quitting early didn't hurt me. Anyway that's not the point.

"There's only two things only a man can't hide; when he's drunk and when he's in love. I was in love with your mother, still am. She loves me, despite all my faults, and I mean all my faults. I love her despite hers."

I must have had a disbelieving look on my face because he gave me a rueful smile before continuing.

"Sometimes things aren't as logical as that Dr. Spock guy on TV makes them out to be."

"Mr. Spock," I said automatically; Dad never did get Star Trek.

"Dr. Spock, Mr. Spock, who cares? Point is love doesn't have anything to do with logic. Your mother loves me in spite of myself. I love your mother; not only for what she is, but for what I am when I'm with her. I'm not a high-browed philosopher or a fancy-pants poet but your mother makes my heart sing."

"But it's not enough is it, because when you're not with her, you're sleeping around?"

"You just don't get it do you Jake" he said. "Let me tell you something about enjoying life; the secret is in seizing your chances for pleasure as they go by. Sex isn't only a pleasure; it's a way to kick death in his bony ole ass before he finally gets around to you."

I was pondering Dad's last statement when he asked me a question. "You know I don't go to church right?" I nodded in agreement. "Know why?"

"Because you don't believe in God?"

"Oh, I believe in god, with a little 'g, ' but not the god you find in most churches.

"When I was a kid my mother, your Grandmother Laurell, used to take me to church. I learned two things on Sundays. One is God loves you and you're going to burn in hell. The other is sex is the most disgusting, dirty, sinful thing on earth and you should save it for someone you love. Let's see your Spock guy make sense out of that.

"Listen to the preachers you'd think God created the torso, head, legs and arms, but the Devil slapped on the dicks and pussies. They're creating shame and guilt where they should be celebrating life."

I couldn't let my dad's error stand uncorrected. Even at this early stage of my learning I knew the importance of witnessing. Here was my chance to help bring him to the light.

"That might be true in Grandma Laurell's church but that's not what they're teaching me at the bethel. Sex is a sacrament not a sin. Sacraments are meant by God to be shared for the joy and salvation of all," I said earnestly.

"Think about that for a second Jake," he responded. "Use the logic they're always talking about on that show. You say sex is a sacrament to be shared by all, right?"

I smiled as I nodded my head, secure in my belief I could argue rings around Dad. "That's right. It's food for the soul. The barbe says..."

"Wait, don't get ahead of me here. So if sex is a sacrament, have you shared this sacrament with Elle yet? No? With anyone other than your right hand? No? That's what I thought. So if sex is a sacrament why hasn't the bethel let you fuck Elle or at least get a blowjob or two?" Dad sat back waiting for my response.

As he drank the rest of his beer, I explained to Dad how things worked in the bethel. Once the barbe was satisfied I was a genuine convert I would become an "acceptant," allowed to participate in some but not all of the bethel's sacraments. I didn't admit at the top of the "not all" list, at least as far as I was concerned, was theopathy. It was only after the Oblate Council had exercised its power of advowson or right of appointment, only after I had knelt on the prie-dieu in front of the altar and heard Reverend Cassell declare my status before the congregation as a "sanctified" could Elle and I enter into a covenant courtship.

"That's bullshit Jake. There's no shortage of pussy in this world; it's just the delivery system's messed up. Getting religion to get laid is like buying an airplane for the free peanuts. It's effective but there's easier ways to get what you want."

Dad stopped to open two more beers, handing one to me before taking a swig from the other.

"You asked me how I can cheat on your mother. Well, I don't think of it's cheating. Neither does your mother. If you don't believe me and you've got the balls, go ahead, ask her. Just be sure you're ready to hear what she tells you."

"Why, what's she going to tell me," I asked."

"The truth Jake. Your mom will tell you the truth. After she tells you the truth, you come see me and we'll talk some more."

I stewed for a week before I got up enough courage to ask my mom. This time I made sure we weren't in Couf's. It was just the two of us sitting at the formica kitchen table drinking coffee when I gingerly brought up the subject of my conversation. Dad would be at work for at least another three hours, which would give us plenty of time to talk.

Mom didn't hem and haw or beat around the bush, she just reared back and let fly.

"First of all Jacob, let me tell you how disappointed I am in you. Not because you asked your father about our relationship, but the disrespectful way you did it. I'm ashamed of you. You ought to be ashamed too. When we're done here, I expect you to apologize to your father."

I couldn't believe my mother's reaction. Being upset with me because I stuck up for her was unfair. Fiercely I asked "How can you sit there and defend him with what he's done."

Her reply was as cold as my question was hot. "Now I'm not only disappointed in you, I'm angry with you as well. I'm not defending your father because he hasn't done anything needing defending. Maybe you should reconsider becoming a member of the bethel, you certainly don't seem to have taken any of the teachings to your heart so far."

Not softening a bit, Mom continued to correct me, a basilisk stare locking my eyes with hers.

"When you first asked me about the bethel I told you it was woman in the form of Eve that led man in the form of Adam into sin. I thought you understood by our actions, our subservience to our men, we women redeem Eve's actions in Eden when she disobeyed the Heavenly Father. Our willingness to make this sacrifice preserves our souls and our place in the kingdom.

"Have you forgotten the lesson in Ephesians that the husband is the head of his wife and wives should submit to their husbands in everything? Or that Corinthians calls on women to be obedient with deep respect and sincere loyalty to our masters, to please them and wholeheartedly do their will," she asked. "The creed of obedience is basic to our values. If you don't share it, I mean really believe it in your heart, maybe you don't belong in the bethel."

I felt like a man trying to extract himself from quicksand. I had to move slowly and carefully or I'd sink beneath the surface. If Mom thought I was just pretending to believe in order to get into Elle's pants she'd tell the barbe. That'd be the end of everything.

As a bethel member almost all of her life Mom had been expected to marry within the faith. She hadn't. Worse than the fact the man she married wasn't a member, Dad was openly scornful of the bethel and most of its teachings. As a result, I was being treated with more skepticism than a normal aspirant.

Not only were the sins of the parents being held against this child, the fact I hadn't shown a real interest in the teachings of the bethel until I developed my interest in Elle, just increased the level of scrutiny I was under.

The ironic thing is they were right; I started all of this just to get into Elle's pants. But as I sat through the lessons with the barbe what I was being taught began to make sense to me. I felt like the slow student in school who suddenly understands what the teacher is talking about. God did exist. Living in accordance with his plan was a life-enriching experience.

I wanted to become a member of the bethel; not because of Elle, not because of theopathy, OK not just because of Elle or theopathy, but because receiving God's word was filling a spot within me that I never even knew was empty. Now all that was at risk.

Sliding my coffee cup around the table to give me the time to choose my words cautiously, I tried to steer the conversation from my beliefs to Dad's actions. If I could just get a foot on ground that was firmer not only theologically but emotionally maybe I could climb out of this quagmire.

I told Mom I understood her duties toward Dad. I wasn't questioning her devotion or the teachings. But didn't my father have duties and responsibilities too, including remaining faithful to her?

"Jake your father has never been unfaithful to me. He's never failed in his duties to me, just as I hope I've never failed in my duties to him."

'But mom," I sputtered, "how can you say he's been faithful. You have to know he's been sleeping with other women?"

Sighing deeply, Mom shook her head in sadness at my ignorance. "Don't equate sex with love. They're not the same thing. Oh, there's a small element of love in sex, a degree of intimacy and trust. When we experience an orgasm, we let our egos die for a moment, giving us the chance to experience a true connection with another person. But the connection is Eros, the instinct of life, not love, just a pale imitation, which is why you should never believe someone who tells you they love you while you're having sex.

"Casual sex may be very intimate at the physical level, but there usually isn't much personal or emotional depth involved. Even where there is it doesn't come within a mile of matching what your father and I have."

Mom reached across the table to take my hand in hers, a beseeching look on her face. "You know King Solomon had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines. I don't think Len has gotten anywhere close to Solomon's total, although not from lack of trying," she said making a joke of my father's lust. "While I get us some more coffee I want you to think about something.

"Your father wasn't the first man I slept with. I was well into a covenant courtship with another member of the bethel when I met your dad, who the other man was isn't important. What is important is I loved your dad, loved him so deeply I was willing to risk being proscribed to marry him. I didn't do it for the sex; I did it for the love."

As she got up, I pondered my mother's words. Clearly the old man's extra-curricular sex life didn't seem to bother her, or if it did she was putting on a good front. But what she told me only raised more questions, questions I needed answers to if I was to fully understand what both my parents were trying to tell me.

When she got back, Mom not only had two mugs of hot coffee, she also had a plate of fresh cinnamon rolls. Mom was a terrific baker; her pies, rolls and breads were always among the first to be sold at the local bake sales.

We sat in contemplative silence as I chewed a roll, its flaky texture melting in my mouth, leaving behind the warmth of cinnamon dissolving on my tongue.

Ever since I was a little boy my mother could read me like a book, no matter how hard I tried to disguise my thoughts or feelings behind a poker face. This day was no exception.

"You've been looking everywhere in the room but at me. I know you're not that interested in the cream pitcher and even though the pattern on the sugar bowl is fascinating you've still got things on your mind. Talk with me Jake. What do you want to know?"

After gathering my thoughts I peppered Mom with questions that would have been unthinkable before now. She answered them frankly and honestly, pulling no punches.

Her acceptance of Dad's sex life outside their marriage wasn't because of her duty of obedience. Dad had never once made a secret of his conquests. He had never ordered her to look the other way or to just accept his wanderings. To my mother there wasn't a lot of difference between his golfing with another woman or going to bed with her "In both cases he's just trying to get his balls close to a hole," she joked.

More seriously she told me, "Remember Jake, sex is another way to find God. Maybe your father doesn't believe the same things we do in the bethel, maybe those women don't either. But God moves in mysterious ways. Who's to say these women won't find their way to salvation through casual sex?"

We talked for another half-hour, sipping coffee and munching on rolls when I asked the question that would reshape my universe in ways I didn't fully understand then.