8:32 p.m. - Saturday, Jul. 05, 2003
God Offers Ms Leslie a Treat

God gave me a Popsicle yesterday. Well, He didn�t� give it to me in person, but he gave it to a nice young man with hard-scrubbed acne and a halo of wild hair. God gave him a card good for one free Popsicle from the back of a white Dodge Ram pickup truck and told him to give it to me. I thought the white pickup was a nice touch on God�s part. The significance of it being a Ram wasn�t lost on me either.

I had arrived early behind the Northpark Mall in Jackson Mississippi. Next to Las Vegas, that was one of the last places I would have expected to cross paths with God. It was a long time ago, and things are a lot nicer now, I�m sure, but there are still many people my age living in Jackson who remember some of the most heinous acts committed against one another there. I think it�s going to take a few more years for them to live it down. I drove there for the fourth of July, not to expose myself to any heinous acts, but instead to see the annual balloon glow and fireworks display sponsored by the suburb of Ridgeland, the mall, and the local country music radio station.

I had never heard of a balloon glow before. I assumed it must involve brightly colored hot-air balloons drifting skyward just at dusk, the lights and shadows of their powerful propane burners creating a beautiful light show and photo op for the fourth of July. It never occurred tome to wonder where the balloons planned to be when the fireworks began. On impulse, I drove three hours from Gulfport with visions of that peaceful and festive scene populating my thoughts. In between, I imagined myself buying a ride on one of the balloons if rides were being offered. That�s what impelled me to arrive two hours early, only to find a small parade field surrounded by food hawker booths and a smattering of early-comers sitting under the trees across the street. That was my first indication that the surly bonds of earth were going to hold tight this time. The field was obviously too small to serve as a launching area and besides, there wasn�t a balloon anywhere to be seen. At best, there would be some balloons inflated, but none launched.

No matter. I was there. The main thing was that I had gotten myself out of the apartment and into life for the day. I set up my folding camp chair under a tree, next to another lady who had so much time on her hands that she too could come two hours early for a balloon show.

One of the really great things about the south is that the whole region is just a small town. People here still talk to each other fearlessly. It�s truly wonderful if you�ve lived here all your life. It�s still nice, but somewhat harder if you�re an outsider and especially if you�re a Yankee. I get the feeling sometimes that it takes a southerner more effort to tolerate a Yankee than to chat with a transsexual. But maybe that�s just me. Anyway, we spent the time in friendly conversation and crosstitching until the first balloon arrived in the back of a Chevy van. As we watched the men pull the basket out of the truck and begin assembling the framework for the gas burner and colored fabric, people began streaming to the scene from all directions. A huge Old Glory was erected on a rented crane over the temporary stage that was set up. A country band did loud and obnoxious microphone checks on all the instruments. In spite of the thunderstorms that skirted within yards of us, the optimists of Jackson Mississippi began throwing down blankets and chairs. Some of them even set up picnic tables with food and cold beer. Three teenage girls, dressed in painted T-shirts ran among the crowd, trying to give away a Dixie Chicks Album. There were no takers.

That was when the young man came with my card for a free Popsicle from God. The card had been printed by a local Baptist church. I wasn�t especially surprised to learn that God had chosen the Baptists to do his manual labor at this event. They are among the hardest workers for God I know. Apparently they were experienced in the Popsicle giving game too, for the card expressly said that the Popsicle really WAS FREE! It then went on to add that God loves me. I was touched, to say the least.

I decided against claiming my holy Popsicle though. The last time I mixed with the Baptists, I ended up sitting at a table with several of the brothers behind me, laying their sweaty hands on top of my head. They prayed for me to receive the holy spirit, but apparently the holy spirit was out of the office that day. The longer they prayed, the harder they pushed on my head, until It was practically forced down against the tabletop. When it finally became clear that the holy spirit wanted no part of me, they stopped, blamed me for the whole charade, and moved on to the next eager beaver spirit receiver. My experience with the Baptists left me with a sore neck and a bad taste.

Just as touching as the Popsicle from God (& the Baptists), was the little American Flag that a local politician gave me. I forgot his name already. He wants to be the new constable up there. He came to me in person, asking no questions and nothing in return., and handed me an actual flag. Talk about your unconditional love, eh? If I was registered to vote in Jackson, I guess I�d have to make a special trip to vote for him.

Well, it wasn�t long before the thunderstorms that had been scooting by finally homed in on our little balloon glow and fireworks show. Once the rain started, it never did show any sign of letting up. The band bravely stayed onstage, risking electical shock and lightening long enough to unplug their soggy guitars and sprint with them to their U-Haul Truck. The crane operator was even braver as he lowered Old Glory out of lightening range.

All the people who had trickled in, rushed out. The parking lot was pandemonium for thirty minutes. Then it was deserted. Only the disk jockey in his garish radio van was left, doing remote broadcasts over the radio, promising that the rain would absolutely stop in fifteen minutes and then every one could come back. Fat Chance.

I was only a little bit disappointed. I had driven three hours each way for the Popsicle card and the delivery of a little flag. But I still met MY goal. I left the house on the Fourth of July and got out with the people. Balloons and fireworks would have only been gravy.

Of course, when I arrived back in Gulfport at ten thirty, I met a miles-long traffic jam about three miles from my house. It wasn�t until I turned onto the road that runs along the beach that I realized that the biggest fireworks display in the state takes place right outside my front door. Everyone in town comes to the beach to light fireworks and to watch the lavish shows put on by the local casinos. The smoke from it all was still drifting across my parking lot.

Can you believe I�ve lived here for three years and never realized that?

�

�

previous - next