The Burns family is the first Black family I met in the ward. Albert Burns Junior was cool! He had swagger, as is the contemporary way to address it. I have never been one for slang, but he, Albert Junior was cool like Dexter. His cool was different though. His cool stemmed from the fact that he grew up in the church with both parents. I wanted that; so, I watched him. I became a micro-Moroni! I thought he was royalty because I knew that he was sealed to his parents, he grew up in the church, and he was BLACK! Albert was a year behind me I think. I watched him interact with his parents and live life like normal people.
I hungered to be in that position because Albert was from an allBlack family, the Burns family. Now, my international friends may mistake my statement about the Burns as being fans of the All Blacks, a rugby team. To clarify, I mean that every member of the family is an African American. I lie to you not, I watched the Burns like a Hawk! The Burns also had relatives who were members of the church and daughters. I often pictured myself marrying one of them in the temple. With my attempts to date one of the relatives rebuffed, I soldiered on; but that is another story all together. I also do not mention any names out of respect to those women.
I came from a broken home and was the only active member of my immediate family. Those are red flags. That, and the fact that I stared at their families all the time I was at church. I loved the family and I still think about them Brother Burns, Senior, was in the Bishopric. I needed to see him in that position. I needed to see a dark brown man like me in a position of leadership. I had so many issues entering the church that God set it up the way I needed so that I could start the healing process and be a tool in His hands to shepherd my own family later and other people who may have problems adapting to the new environment.
Brother Burns and Sister Burns let me know that it was perfectly fine for me to be Black culturally and to be a member of the church. It did not catch on in the beginning because there were many more White saints with whom I associated and from whom I learned. The Burns’ example came to my remembrance when I started my own family. Brother Burns ordained me to the priesthood. I made him into my father using subterfuge! Rodney Burns was the other royal son. He made my life miserable at church just because he could. He called me names and was disruptive in class—he behaved just like one of my own kids behave now! How is that fair?
I just knew Rodney was going to become a drug dealer or a gangster just because of what rumors I heard about him. He was a Burns though, royalty in my mind! I never saw him doing anything bad, but he hinted at it all so often. He called me “Boyz2Men” when I sang a song at church for testimony meeting that I wrote specifically as my testimony. I took that as a compliment though I found out later that it was not appropriate to sing your testimony at the sacrament meeting. As a new member, I did not know church etiquette yet. Rodney reveled in my ignorance. Rodney saved my heart one time that changed my view of him in every way.
I knew by the Spirit that he had a good heart following this experience I share hereafter. The Tifton Ward had a youth basketball team. I, along with Rodney and a few of his friends, who were not members of the church, played on the team at the Douglas Stake building (that stake no longer exists). I did not play basketball well. Being Black and not being able to play basketball was a sin in Nashville! At church, lacking that skill was just an inconvenience for the team. The rules stipulated that no more than two nonchurch members could be on the court at a time I think. This meant the poor players like me had to get out there often to play.
It was all fun and games until we started losing and I started missing simple shots. I think by the end of that inter stake activity profanity rang thoroughly in my ears. I had tears flowing behind my eyes supportive words were so stingy. I write behind my eyes because there was no way I would cry in front of that group! I do not remember who all went to the stake tournament with us, but I remember Rodney and his friends. I remember Buck Golden being the coach. I remember complaining to him about the boys’ language and him telling me to be patient. I wanted to complain about their supposed disdain for me, but it hurt too much.
I felt hurt that Rodney, my fellow-saint did not come to my aid against those boys. I was socially awkward anyway, so it was easy to gang up on me. Like his brother Albert, Rodney was a cool guy. He was just mean sometimes for the fun of it, or at least thought so. After we finished the tournament in Douglas, Buck took us back to Tifton so that the Tifton people could go home from our building. As we waited, I became the subject of conversation again with these basketball jocks. I walked away to another part of the ward grounds to get away from their teasing, but to no avail. Their voices carried across the grounds!
I thought the trees and shrubbery would calm my aching heart. They only echoed what the boys said. “Why he so stuck up,” one said. “It’s like he don’t want to be around us or something, like he better,” another said. It was true that my behavior appeared to be that of an arrogant person, though I did not understand that at the time. I did not talk to the boys or stay near them because they cursed. They did not know that though. See, it is common for Black kids where I lived to make fun of each other as a way of social interaction. It is easy to use humor to break the ice so that there is no awkwardness in any gathering.
I had made a covenant not to talk about people in that manner anymore so | had to adapt an entire new behavioral social structure from which to work, which, as I mentioned, my adopted Utah culture. They did not know that either. The boys knew nothing at all because Rodney did not tell them. Moreover, why should have he? They went to play ball and be themselves. I refused to give into my temptation to join in the fray. That left me open to attacks that I should have known were invitations from them to me. I was hurt and could not hide it. I tried to conceal my face, but Rodney saw! I saw him see also!
I knew that it would be over for me emotionally, which is why I left across the church grounds. I could hear everything though as I mentioned. “What’s up with your boy,” is the last question I heard one boy ask Rodney before he answered. I waited for the usual insult and put down, but Rodney disappointed me. “N’all man; it’s not like that,” Rodney said. “He is tryin’ to be a Christian. He don’t use cuss words and stuff and act like that. He cool though. He actually believe, you know. He just tryin’ to be a Christian. ” Never at any time had I heard Rodney say anything kind about my behavior or me!
I was shocked. Also, there was no way! should have heard his response to them being so far away from them, but God opened my ears because He knew I needed to hear my supposed antagonist share his view of me to his comrades. I felt warm inside and never thought an ill word about Rodney again. He still teased me for the short time afterwards we attended the same ward, but there was no guile left in me towards him. All of his friends responded with, “Oh, okay,” or something to that effect after Rodney stood up for me in his humble way. I affectionately became preacher boy.
