I was laying on my bed watching Batman on the little portable I bought myself that summer when I heard a car drive up. I stretched and pulled the curtains back a little. It was still light outside. It was my momma and Mr. Tucker pulling up beside that little beat-up Corvair of his. No way in hell he's gonna use that just to take my momma on a honeymoon. I could already tell that about him. Just as well I guess. There's this nut named Ralph Nader that says people are always getting killed in them things, though what he knows about it I couldn't say.
The Riddler had a new riddle for Batman--what's always coming but never arrives? I didn't know, but Batman and Robin had it figured out in no time flat. Tomorrow. I heard the trunk lid slam shut and then after a few seconds the front door opening. "Woody?" Momma called out.
"In the bedroom," I yelled. I got up and headed towards the den, but Momma was at my bedroom door before I could move five feet. We gave each other a big hug.
"Hey, honey," she said. "You doing alright?"
"Sure," I said. One thing I got to say for Mr. Tucker, he talked her into letting me stay at home on my own while they were gone.
"What you watching?" she asked.
"Batman."
"Oh," she said. "What's that?"
I figured she wouldn't understand, so all I said was, "Just some new show I turned on. He's a hero. Him and Robin help the police catch criminals."
"Well isn't that nice," she said, and looked at the TV again.
Then Mr. Tucker came to the door, lugging a big suitcase in one hand, some shirts on hangers in the other. He put down the suitcase in the hallway and held out his hand. "Son," he said.
I didn't like the sound of that, but I guess he didn't mean anything personal by it, so I shook. He's about four or five inches taller'n me and his hand is big, too, and strong. I squeezed as hard as I could in return but felt like I had about as much effect as I would trying to stop a bulldozer. And he said, "There's some more stuff in the car, Woody."
"OK, I'll go out and get it at the commercial."
"You will?" And then he let go a my hand and dozed right on in the room. "Something important on?" he said.
The Batmobile screeched to a halt in front of City Hall.
"Just a show I'm watching."
Batman and Robin jumped out of the car and headed for the steps into City Hall. Suddenly Batman stopped. "Wait, Robin--did you put a coin in the parking meter?"
"This is something that has got to stop, son."
"Huh?"
Mom looked puzzled too.
"But Batman, no officer is going to put a ticket on the Batmobile."
"That there TV has got to go."
"True enough, Robin, but you miss my point." Batman held up his forefinger. It is our duty as citizens of Gotham City to obey the same laws we protect."
"But I paid for it with my own money."
"Holy Civic Duty, Batman--you're right again."
"Money! What does money have to do with it?" And he pointed at Batman and Robin. "Television is full of trash. There ain't no place in a Christian household for trash like that."
Momma reached out and put her hand on his arm. "Nelson, he's a good boy. There's no call to lose your temper--"
"We are not talking about my temper, we are talking about this boy and the right way to raise him." His voice got louder the more he said, and it seemed like he drew himself up and looked taller. He combs his hair straight back. That makes his forehead real broad and high, like his brain needs extra room in his head. Like it might bust out if he didn't let off some steam ever now and then. I couldn't take my eyes off it. The steam kept coming out: "Sara; Woody--I think what we all need to do, right now, this very minute, is pray to the Lord to lead Woody away from this temptation, to steer him down another path than the one he's heading for." He took two long-legged steps and turned off the TV. Then he came back to us and took both of us by the hand. And sank to his knees, right in the middle of the floor. He pulled down slow but hard on my hand. It was hard to resist, even with him using only one hand, but I knew not even he could hold me with one hand, and I started to pull back. Then I glanced at Momma, but she looked, well, she looked like I felt. I figured maybe I'd better go along for now and we'd talk about it later. So we both got down on our knees with him. And then he closed his eyes and started in. And I never heard the like of it inside a church or out. About TV. And reading the Bible, and going to church. About the trouble in the world today. About communism. About our boys in Vietnam and how the Lord was with them all. And how I'd do the right thing and not wait to be drafted, no, Lord, but get up and get out of my momma's house and do the Christian thing and the American thing and volunteer for the Marines just like his real son had. And how him and my momma'd be praying for me slopping around in them swamps and jungles and getting shot at and eating rations out of tin cans and killing slanteyed slopeheads and sleeping with rats and lice and knowing I was doing the right thing, Lord this we pray, and feeling good in my heart about that. And how I'd come back a man instead of a boy and know something to do with my life instead a lay on a bed, Lord, watching a television show with a man with horns on his head. In Jesus' name, Amen.
That was the summer after high school when I was working second shift at the glass factory. Usually Momma and Mr. Tucker was in bed by the time I got in, so I'd always have Mitchell drop me off at the end of the driveway so I could come in quietlike, close to midnight. Sometimes we'd sit in the car a few minutes and talk. Sometimes about the war, but mainly about the draft. Neither of us knew much about the war to talk about, even though it was more in the news every day. The draft was closer. We knew guys that'd been drafted, but we didn't know any that'd gone over yet. The more I talked and thought about it--well, old Tucker was right about volunteering even though he didn't mean me no good by it. So we'd sit and have a cigarette or two and talk over the same stuff every night.
Some nights, though, I'd just go on into the house instead of talking. Momma left one lamp on for me, but other than that the whole place was dark. I usually didn't watch TV in the den (Mitchell had mine--Mr. Tucker thought I'd sold it). All I'd do was sit for awhile. I could never get used to the thought of him in there sleeping with my momma, so I tried to black that picture out of my mind. I'd sit there awake in the dark while it got closer and try to figure out what I was going to do--tomorrow.
Fiction: Holier
Than Thou | Main Map
Theory: Origins of this episode
Initial release: October 19, 1995
Last update: June 28, 1996