Growing Up Amish - Ira Wagler [20]
But under the surface, a lot of the common folk seethed and simmered quietly. Especially the youth, who watched helplessly as their few remaining rights and privileges slipped away, replaced with ever more-demanding rules and restrictions.
I was a gangly, knock-kneed kid then, just entering my adolescent years. And even though I wasn’t directly involved, I heard the murmurings of dissent, the stories swirling around me: The preachers did this, and they said that. How awful and unfair was that?
Did you hear? Now Elmo wants to outlaw volleyball. He doesn’t think boys and girls should play together because it might lead them to have lustful thoughts. Or some similar lunacy. It never stopped. And before I even had a chance to form my own opinions, any natural respect for the preachers and their edicts that I might have had was duly crushed.
My relationship with Dad wasn’t much better.
My brothers and I hung together, in silent revolt against his rather strident admonitions. That’s pretty much how he communicated with us. Not by discussion but by dictates.
And so he lost us, one by one, as we entered our teenage years.
Always frantically busy, always overwhelmed with his writing duties at Pathway, I don’t know if he even noticed.
Of course, every once in a while one of us would do something wrong, and he would catch wind of it. Then he would launch into one of his long, angry lectures, and we would simply hunker down and take it, knowing that the storm would eventually pass.
And it always did. Within hours, he would be back at Pathway, absorbed in the details of his daily work. And we would return to our state of quiet rebellion. In retrospect, it was doomed to fail—his relationship with his sons. There was no way he could win.
Not after we were old enough.
Not after we could stand up to him.
Not after we could leave.
9
After Maggie and Jesse left, it was a great relief to my father when, at age nineteen, my brother Stephen decided to join the Amish church.
It’s a huge deal, the decision to become a member and begin “following church,” because among other things, it means that the chances of that person leaving are greatly diminished. All Amish parents pray that their children will make that choice. Unfortunately many Amish youth make the choice not of their own volition but to fulfill the expectations of those around them.
Joining the church takes about four months. On a Sunday morning, after the singing starts, the preachers get up and walk solemnly to a separate conference room, or Obrote. After the preachers leave the room, those who are taking instructions for baptism rise and follow them to the conference. There, the preachers admonish and instruct the applicants. After half an hour or so, the applicants return to the congregation. The preachers confer among themselves for another fifteen minutes or so, then rejoin the congregation.
During the time it takes to join, applicants must not only be on their best behavior but also be prepared to walk the gauntlet and take gratuitous swipes from anyone and everyone. To smile and accept even the most shallow yet stinging criticisms. Attitude is everything, and even the slightest sign of resentment might be enough to delay or even deny baptism and membership. Everyone scrutinizes the applicants closely, looking for the tiniest faults, and when admonished, the applicants must submit humbly. Promise to do better. And then walk the line even more flawlessly.
The pressure can become unbearable—especially if applicants are known for having engaged in rowdy behavior in the past. Then they are watched all the more closely—and admonished all the more incessantly.
Poor Stephen chafed under these conditions. He was constantly being rebuked: His hairstyle and sideburns were too worldly. His beard was too thin, too trimmed. And so forth, on and on.
Slowly, silently,