Non-automated Biography

The hymn was about to begin. Bobby nudges me and nods his head towards the pew in front and too the left. We both chuckle.
God would much rather have some instruments when he starts singing, we both think.
A Great and Mighty Fortress Is Our God soon is boomed across the small sanctuary.
The hand-waver is leading with all the gusto of a ten year old on Christmas.
We try and build a fortress in our ears, block out the old man’s deep off key bass, then think of the sheet forts we will make later that night for our rubber-band war.

Bobby nearly lost an eye once during one of those wars. And he cried for about an hour. It was swollen shut the next day.
“All’s fair in love and war,” I told him as he lay there holding his eye and tasting the tears.
I had a cocky smile because I knew I had won, which seldom happens.
He hit me square in the jaw.
“All’s fair in love and war,” he whined.
And I spent the next hour crying with him.

When I looked back over at the old man singing, there in the sanctuary, there were tears in his eyes, too.
Really, I don’t think it had much to do with how bad he sang.
I decided, every now and again, old men just get hit in the jaw too.