Posted by: Joelle Burnette | May 22, 2011

The Mormon’s are coming!

I’ve heard today is supposed to be a day of reckoning or rapture, or something (don’t ask me what that is; I’m Jewish). So wouldn’t you know it; the Mormons are showing up at our door.

“There’s a man at the door,” my daughter quietly announced in the kitchen. No one is expected which causes a big stir and suspicious glances wondering who it could be. During these modern days, our children are taught not to open the door to strangers. In fact, aside from a few friends, they don’t open the door to anyone outside of the family; well, most of the family.

When someone knocks at our door, in my mind, I’m just thinking about how messy my house is and I hope it’s nobody who expects to walk any farther into house beyond the entry hall.

It is 3 p.m. on a Saturday and I’m still not out of sweats and Zoe isn’t dressed either, so Mark goes to the door to see who it is. He’s all sweaty and wearing clothes with holes because he’s been working in the yard, but the girls aren’t going to the door having not cleaned up for the day.

In his Southern style, he greets the man in a tone as though he knows him (something I’ve never been able to do as a paranoid Californian) and closes the door behind him as he goes out into the front yard. His friendly behavior usually prompts me to ask if he knows the person with whom he is being so cordial. Nope. Mark is just being a friendly Southerner.

He’s gone for a few minutes and returns to the kitchen. The Mormons were at our door, he says when he returns, and proceeds to tell about their conversation.

“Have you been saved by Jesus?” the man asks Mark.

“I don’t know, but my wife is Jewish,” Mark responds which leaves the man flustered. Guess that one wasn’t in the Mormon manual.

The man pauses and asks, “Well, are you religious?”

Not really, Mark tells him.

“Do you want to spend eternity with your family?” the man asks and Mark offers a long pause. Clearly, the Mormon is surprised by this unexpected reaction.

 “I don’t know. That’s a long time. I’d have to think about that,” Mark tells the man who then leaves. I guess we unloving heathens are not worth the man’s time. Leave it to my husband to frighten away the Mormons.

When I was a child, there was a woman who would show up at our door with her trainees who were getting their feet wet trying to convert others during their missions. She liked our house because my mom and sister (I would, too, but I enjoyed listening to the discussions) would engage in lively religious debates and I think they were shocked as shit to hear my family quoting scripture. If they could pass the Jew test at our house, I guess others were an easy audience in comparison.

Wasn’t the world supposed to end today? Or wasn’t that in December, according to the Mayan calendar? My son’s birthday is in December after the said date and he says we should celebrate his birthday with a big bash prior to the world ending. Maybe a cruise? That’s my boy.

The past week, we’ve had a few odd visitors at our door. First, there were the two women who asked if anyone in our home was Haitian French. Nope.

“Do you speak French?” one of the women asked. No. “Do you know anyone on your block who is Haitian French” or speak the language? Nope.

They thought we might be French based on our last name. They must have had a list because it isn’t displayed on anything out front—again, paranoid Californian. “Nope. Just Scottish.”

Then, after dark one night when Mark wasn’t home, this guy knocked on our door asking if our trailer was for sale. Nope, I spoke to him through the door. Why would someone come around that late to ask if we’re selling something? Can you say, Land Shark?


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