You will realize by now that my evil ways opened me to possession by Demons! Oh, horrors! Oh, the shame! Or maybe I just picked up one toad, too many. (Toad frogs carry demons which can possess little girls who play with them.)
Some day my prince will come. . .
There were degrees of possessions. You could be just a ‘leetle bit’ possessed. This was when the Devil had just one little toe in the door and you were being tempted by the desires of the flesh. You hadn’t acted on those desires, you just thought about them a lot. As you might expect, the men of our group had quite a bit of trouble with that one. The women, not so much, I think.
The remedy for this degree of possession was mortifying of the flesh. For males, said mortification consisted of fasting, marathon prayers, bible reading and confession sessions. For women and girl children, all of the above plus beatings with a razor strop were the usual treatment.
( note: A razor strop is a flexible strip of leather used to straighten and polish the blade of a straight razor. The strop may be a hanging strop or a hand-held paddle. Stropping is primarily done with straight razors used for shaving as these are the thinnest blades in everyday use, and require stropping at each use, due to the thinness of the blade.)
Then there is second degree demon possession. ( Hey, this is kinda like the degrees of Witchcraft, lol.) In the second degree possession, you have given into temptation and sinned against Grandfather and against God. This is a bit harder to cure.
Males: fasting, marathon prayers, bible reading and confession sessions. Plus public confession in meeting.
Females: fasting, marathon prayers, bible reading and confession sessions plus beatings with a razor strop. Plus private confession sessions with Grandfather, in which, every tiny detail of every sinful lewd and lascivious thought and action must be confessed and discussed and analyzed .
Then there was the third degree of possession. Full blown, demon-steps-into-your-body-pea-soup-puking-conversations-with-Ole-Satan-my-name-is-legion demon possession. (Whew, I’m out of breath!)
For this one, they pull out the Big Guns. This is considered a bit too serious for the home grown preachers. This one requires, (put Trumpet fanfare, Heavenly chorus in background, Jesus in sky, bending benevolently toward him here,) Reverend PJ ShamCrock!
Guess Which degree in Demon Possession I held? (Giggle)
Jeepers, Road Trip!
All the way to Memphis, Tenn, the current home of Brother ShamCrock’s tent revival. By this time, fasting, marathon prayers, bible reading and confession sessions were ordinary daily routine. So were the beatings, with the razor strop or what ever else was handy. They were something to be endured. If you were female, you could pretty much count on being beaten at least several times a week. The first and second degrees of possession “treatments” varied from daily life only in their increased intensity.
Let me explain something about my Grandfather. He liked his females fat. Not chubby, not plump, but so fat that you could roll them around on the floor like a ball(his words). No bony women for him. Unfortunately, my grandmother became ill with diabetes before she was 50. She lost all the flab that he found so appealing and they never slept in the same bed again.
According to his peculiar moral code, other mens’ wives and children were off limits, simply because they were the property of their husbands and fathers. Luckily, he “owned” enough fat females to satisfy his urges, like my poor sick mother, who had been a slim, pretty woman until the operations, then she packed on enough poundage to be pleasing.
I got fat, too. After that, he didn’t bother my mother, so much. My sisters, both older than me, were painfully thin, not his type at all. So I was his little woman. And he hated me for it. I was his temptation, his downfall. He was sinless, he was so close to God, he couldn’t sin, no matter what he did, but he considered giving in to a temptation a weakness.(this is the man who once fasted until his guts grew together, and he had to have surgery to put them right.) I was the cause of his weakness, I was the instrument of the devil and therefore, more evil than all the other women and girls, combined.
This is the reason I was singled out for extra punishments, the excuse for the almost daily beatings by the time I was eight or nine. So you’d have to wonder, what could be worse than all the above.
You haven’t meet Rev. ShamCrock, yet.
Believe it or not, his real name differs from the name I’ve given him by only one letter. He is a real life stereotype of the fire and brimstone spitting Holy Roller Bible Belt tent preacher, complete with silvered temples and southern drawl. His bright blue eyes look deceptively kind. Don’t be fooled. His sermons are filled with hate. Hate for anyone who doesn’t follow his path to “The One True God.” Hate for Gays, for the Jews, for Muslims, for women who don’t know their place. I could continue, the list goes on and on, but you get the idea.
To be Continued when I feel better. Too sick to write anymore tonight.
There oughta be a law!