“Mirthright,” Ensign, Feb. 1981, 41
As our daughter reached her third birthday a few years ago, we had several discussions with her about entering junior Sunday School and being with children her own age. It was very hard for her to understand that her four-year-old friends needed to be with their class and she needed to be with the three-year-olds.
One evening as we were sitting in sacrament meeting, our baby started to fuss. As I was gathering up our things, I instructed Leah to go into the foyer. She told me that she couldn’t. As I moved the three of us into the foyer, she began to cry. “But mommy,” she said, “I can’t go into the foyer! I’m only three-years!”
San Diego, California
While visiting with my nonmember neighbor friend one day I mentioned that a member of my ward was moving in next door. I said, “I’ve never lived that close to a Mormon before.” She replied, “It isn’t so bad, Dolly. I’ve lived close to one for years.”
San Ramon, California
Our stake president, who inspects central heating installations for the British government, recently visited the United States to attend a general conference.
He arrived in Seattle with just one hour to spare before boarding the flight to Salt Lake City. But as he entered the airport he saw before him a crowd waiting to clear customs. The customs official was inspecting each passport carefully, opening every item of luggage and hand baggage. Our stake president was naturally worried that he would miss his plane and have to stay over until the next day.
But when it was his turn, the official merely glanced at his passport and said, “Welcome to the United States, sir; are you with Scotland Yard? Just go straight through.”
It was not until he was safely aboard the flight to Salt Lake that he realized what had happened. Glancing at his passport, he saw that under the section marked “Profession,” printed in large block letters, was the word “INSPECTOR.”
A. Peter W. Scholes
It was either a good sign of cultural acceptance or a sure indication of the summer heat. As I passed the Targeteer class planning for our Pioneer Day parade, I heard the unmistakably harrassed voice of the teacher saying to a Lamanite boy in the class, “No, Hilton, you cannot be an Indian!”