This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Editor's note • After spending a week together on a Disney Cruise, Robert Kirby's family bundled him into a life raft and pushed him out to sea. This is a reprint of an earlier column.
From fourth grade through high school, I spent a portion of every summer vacation trudging back to school. I called it "bummer school" and it was death.
Enrolling me in summer school was the Old Man's idea. He insisted that my grade point average could use the boost, but I think he really just wanted me locked down somewhere.
And I was a miserable student.
The meager extra credit I got for summer school is the only reason I managed to graduate. With a short attention span, hyperdrive imagination, and a pathological distrust of anyone claiming to be in charge, I'm lucky not to be wearing an ankle monitor right now.
Fortunately, my father never heard of summer Sunday school. He would have signed me up for that as well. I get the sweats just thinking about it. If there's a place my psych profile is less suited for than school, it can only be church.
Mormons don't have Bible camp or summer Sunday school. We get enough church during our three hours every Sunday. Throw in Scout camp, girls' camp, home teaching, ward service projects, and the occasional handcart trek and we're lucky to hang onto our jobs.
I did an hour of summer Sunday school when I was 14. There was this girl I liked. She talked me into going to her church's summer Bible camp.
The word "camp" implied a rustic setting, which was just fine with me. Even in a church camp, woods are so much easier to sneak off into for the purposes of being bad.
Unfortunately, camp turned out to be entirely figurative. Pamela's Bible camp was held at her church. It was made up mostly of study classes, but also some panel discussions, object lessons and, occasionally, punch and cookies.
I can't remember what faith Pamela practiced, only that it baptized by pouring water on people's heads. It became an issue as soon as the "camp" leader found out there was a Mormon in the mix.
In class, the "camp" leader singled me out and said baptism was entirely symbolic, that only a small amount of water was necessary for the washing away of sin.
Even at such a young age, I knew my gospel ordinances. I said that while I wouldn't know about babies, full immersion worked best on cats. Sprinkling only made them mad.
Apparently the rules governing smartasses are different at Bible school than they are at regular school. It was the only time I ever got sent home from any form of summer education.
I probably ought to do better when it comes to behaving at church. If life is indeed a form of education, there's probably a summer school for it. That would certainly explain hell.
Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley