SATURDAY MEMORY
January 11, 2025

It was the night my sister was to be baptized in the Mormon Church. My sis (13 years old), my brother (3 years old), me (16 years old), and my parents had arrived early, so the church was still closed. When the bishop arrived, he told us he could not find the keys to the church and was hoping there was a way in. He and I walked around the building and found a partially open window. I boosted him up and he managed to get through.

I heard a splash. He had fallen into the baptismal pool.

Dripping wet, he opened the door, and we filed in as well as others who were arriving. Everyone assembled in the baptismal room. There were several young girls to be baptized, and after a while, they appeared, wearing simple white gowns. At the bishop’s invitation they entered the pool, and he proceeded to baptize them, one by one, by immersion. I’m not sure anyone noticed, but I clearly did. The wet gowns became at least a bit transparent. I did not mind this at all. The bishop laid his hands on each girl's head and confirmed the presence of the holy spirit in his announcement.

But this is not what stands out in my memory.

My brother at the time had an imaginary friend that was a bird. Everyone in the family was used to dealing with my brother and his imaginary bird. But no one was prepared for what my brother loudly shouted out in the midst of the solemn baptismal ceremony:

“Where’s my fuckin’ bird?