by Traci Dolan-Priestley
“The Fruit of a Christian” is from a collection in-process tentatively titled Mountain Voodoo.
My inability to keep my mouth shut started early on in my life, and most often it happened in church. My grandparents were higher ups at Tinney’s Branch Freewill Baptist Church (Amen). That there is an oxymoron, because they ain’t nothing freewillin’ about being a Baptist. I spent a lot of time sitting up straight and following along in my “Precious Child and Holy Hymns of the Baptist, and All Others Shall Rot in Hell, Especially Catholics” book which was guaranteed to force feed Christian ideologies as surely as squeezing my nose together would make me open my mouth.
Trouble was, I didn’t exactly agree with all the things my holy hymnal said. I wasn’t really sure what was wrong with Catholics, other than they were allowed to drink wine (but so had Jesus), but my Mamaw called them a bunch of drunks and made my Papaw stop drinking his Pabst Blue Ribbon. I’m still not sure if the greater sin was drinking beer, or drinking Pabst. God will have to figure that out for me.