The Marines

A long time ago, in rural Michigan my family and I were members of a small mission church which met in the building of a small winery. My wife taught the pre-school and Kindergarten class and the children were seated on the cases.

We frequently had family visitors, the grown children of the older Parishioners with their children. One of the younger families visiting was a service family with the Marines. The three children were all redheads 9, 7, and 5 and were mirror images of their father.

On Palm Sunday the class was taught about the Crucifixion and my wife showed the story in a large book sparing nothing of the cruel details of the sad story.

The class sat aghast until the five year old, redheaded boy, tears streaming down his face and hands clenched at his sides stood up in rage and shouted, "Where the heck were the Marines?"