BORN TO PRIVILEGE

I am “holding rope” at a Texas wedding. It’s as near to heaven as a ten year old can get in the 1930’s. We live out in the country and the reception for any wedding we attend is held at the far home of the bride. Farm houses are situated down a lane in a tree shaded area of the farm. When there’s a wedding small boys stretch a rope across the entrance lane, blocking the passage of the Model A and Model T Fords. Occupants of the cars will throw pennies, maybe even a nickel occasionally or at the very most a dime, to the boys holding the rope. Then the rope is lowered and the car proceeds to the farm house at the end of the lane.

To be a part of the gang (boys only, of course) holding the rope is a position of rare privilege. The “tips” collected are distributed among the boys holding the rope. So it’s just good business to not have too many boys involved. The closest relative to the bride is the general manager. He chooses his partners with care and is careful to limit the number of partners.

I am always chosen to be part of this special group. It has nothing to do with my ability to “hold rope” or my ability to get a nickel rather than a penny from a guest. I am selected on the basis of birth right. My father is Teacher Oscar Kieschnick! He’s the principal/teacher of Zion Lutheran School. He’s the organist for every wedding at Zion Lutheran Church. He has taught grades 4 to 8 since 1920 and is the TEACHER for every bride and groom traveling from church to rural wedding reception. And I’m his oldest son. So I get to hold rope. I may get as much as 16¢ to 18¢ per wedding, enough for 3 ice cream cones at the annual church-school picnic.

I really do consider myself born to privilege. My family gets invited out for Sunday dinner. My father sings and tells stories at wedding receptions. My father is secretary of the congregation. My father’s opinion counts in community decisions. My mother’s father is the founder of the town and local Lutheran Church. My uncles are the bankers, the store owners, the cotton gin operators.

Later when I am sent away to a boarding prep school to prepare for a teaching ministry in the church, I feel special. At weddings there may be the custom of passing the bride’s shoe around to the guests who place change into the shoe. The bride selects me as the recipient of this gift because I’m off studying to be a Worker in the Church and I’m the son of Teacher and Mrs. Oscar H. Kieschnick.

Years later my perspective may change. I may understand that my father was indeed respected, but often it was deemed that since he had respect he really didn’t need that much salary. Others will make the judgment that I was sent off to be a “church worker” because I wasn’t competent or strong enough to be a farmer. Relatives may have viewed me as “poor relations”. But none of that mattered when I was a kid. I was born to privilege. I still feel it.

A sense of worth, of specialness, of worthiness instilled in a child builds a base that lasts a lifetime.