Jehovah’s Witnesses

       We were taking it easy, putting off my return to the August heat outdoors where I was doing some dental work on the Farmhand hay fork (that would be repairing teeth I broke off the previous afternoon) visiting after our lunch, when Jeri said, “Oh there’s someone at the door.  They’re dressed like. . . .“

       Maybe like they were motoring in an old ragtop with the top down.  He was a young fellow wearing what we used to call an Ivy League hat, short billed where the top front of the hat snaps to the front of the short bill.

        I went to the screen door and didn’t offer to open it.  Actually, I was ready to grab the door handle should the lad try to open it.  He wasn’t going to get in.

      He asked my name.  I gave him my first name.  Sure enough, he whipped out his Bible and asked to share a little scripture with me.  I was ok with that, particularly because his  chosen verse was from Ecclesiastes.

     It was a short text.  His homily was equally brief, something about how we should attempt to make our world a better place and work on improving ourselves.  Couldn’t argue with that.  Sometimes they feel the need to read a whole chapter to you and engage you in a conversation about religion. 

      Then he asked to share a tract with me.  I cracked the screen door wide enough to accept the paper.  I was fully prepared to hand it back if he asked for a donation.  He didn’t.  He wished me a good day and I returned the wish for him and his companion, a young black fellow who apparently was along only to observe.

      They passed back through the hedge and got into new-looking small red car of some kind, definitely not an old ragtop.  A quick glance at the paper and it became part of the pile in the corner destined for the recycle bin.

      The young guys were but young in deed, not knowing how to get their feet in the door or keep me engaged.  This time the encounter was brief and tolerable, without the need for rudeness to dispatch the unwanted visitors.

      Some years ago, the Goodwife had a good friend who also happened to be a Jehovah’s Witness.  They really got along well together, but of course the subject of religion came up.  Jan had her read a book about world religions and what was wrong with them.

      “Jan,” the Goodwife said, “this book is so biased and so full of misinformation that I really thought about destroying it.”  This from a book-lover and a champion of freedom of speech.

   Their friendship was a Kansas friendship, but Jan did a lot of proselyting in other areas, other states, including the area around the farm.  She personally knew the folks calling on us at the farm. 

      Before they agreed to stay off the subject of religion, the Goodwife expressed her discontent with dealing with the Jehovah’s Witnesses who called on us at the farm.  Jan informed her that she could request that we be put on the “do not call on” list, and they would honor it.  The Goodwife asked Jan to take care of that, and she did.  For years we had no Jehovah’s Witnesses callers, no pamphlets jammed into the screen door during our absence.

     We must have fallen off the do-not-call list.  I thought to myself that I should have requested those young fellows to put me back on.  I’ll probably get another chance to make that request.

       Once upon a time, Josh and I were helping Tisha with installing new kitchen cabinets.  There were a couple of problems with the new cabinets.  One cabinet had obviously been stabbed by a forklift or something as the sidewall was caved in and cracked. Another was poorly constructed, not square. 

      Josh and I were on the floor doing something when the doorbell rang.  Tisha had gone somewhere and wasn’t home.  Josh rose up enough to see a guy standing at the front door wearing a necktie and carrying a handful of papers and a notebook.

     “Jehovah’s Witness,” was all he said.  He got back down and we went right on working.  We failed to respond to the second doorbell chime.

      Not too long after the second chime, the door opened and the guy had the chutzpah to walk into the house and into the kitchen where we were down on the floor working.

      “I saw you guys working so I knew somebody had to be home,” he said.  Well yes, and we saw you, too, but we really didn’t want you in here, neither of us said, though that is what we thought.      

      “Tisha called and said there was a problem with some of the cabinets,” he said.  “I need to take a look at them.”

      I’m not sure of the exact order of events following that statement, whether Josh and I looked at each other and burst out laughing, or whether we contained ourselves with the help of our embarrassment and Tisha later informed the cabinet salesman of his mistaken identity, I don’t remember, but in the end, we all got a good laugh out of it, even the salesman.

     A handful of papers and a necktie are probably not the best accoutrements when you ring our doorbell.