I was Christened fashionably late in a white lace gown from the sales rack at Bergners. I can not remember being baptised, but I imagine it was a grand affair. Much of my family was in tow; a crowd of stiff pressed black pants and strong cologne.
My dear Uncle, who was on the brink of his third divorce and fourth marriage, was named as my godfather. I wonder if the title of godmother was passed between girlfriends/wives and handed down like a worn Bible. I thank God that I never had to come under their care and be tucked away in the back of some book shelf.
My baptism brought a sense of normalcy to my birth which was wedlocked, adopted, and foreign. There had never been a Korean to hold my last name. But, there were generations of blonde or bald heads dunked by Lutheran pastors. And, in tradition, my bush of black hair had to be plunged too.
Briefly, in the baptismal font, a small German child reflected below me.
I imagine that we celebrated in good, middle-class, Midwestern fashion with a pot roast at home or pizza from a place that handcuts their own pepperoni. I could not eat solid food, but maybe one of my cock-eyed cousins slipped me a pomegranate seed to ensure my sanctity, fertility, and abundance (it was never too early to spit blasphemy on a girl).
Wedlocked, I was 0-1 with God. Perhaps, 613 seeds down the road, I could break even with Him.
Ashley Pearson is a writer, creative writing and biology double major at Knox College. She is Korean-American. Ashley has been published in The Global Youth Review, Ogma Magazine, and elsewhere. Her work is forthcoming in Qmunicate Magazine, Catch Magazine, and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter at @ashley___writes and on Instagram at @ashleynicolewrites.