My Uncle Chad baptized Vanna White.
Somebody had to do it.
This is one of the family truths that surfaced 30 years ago at the annual family reunion in North Myrtle Beach, S.C. (Imagine a human fruit salad.)
It’s been nearly 50 years now since Uncle Chad, then the preacher at First Baptist Church of North Myrtle Beach, baptized a pre-Wheel of Fortune teenaged Vanna White, one of my cousin Terri’s bestest buddies and now mulling retirement as her longtime partner Pat Sajak hung’em up last year. Vanna has been baptized since around 1976 and turning letters with grace and efficiency since 1982.
When someone casually mentioned at the beach during lunchtime that Uncle Chad has baptized her just down the road, I was eating dead chicken. Almost choked to death.
No reason why I thought it was funny. Uncle Chad didn’t and Vanna probably didn’t and still doesn’t, although she didn’t come to the reunion, so I didn’t ask her.
But Uncle Chad was there, and he said that, yes, he had baptized Vanna and that Vanna was a very nice girl. He did not answer me when I asked him if he’d baptized Pat Sajak or Bob Barker too. He pretended he didn’t hear me ask if he’d baptized at high tide or low tide.
And he didn’t think it was so funny when we suggested we have some T-shirts with “I Baptized Vanna White” printed on them, either. Or “I Baptized Vanna White — Five Minutes Ago.” Those would be sold wet, of course.
Or “I B ptiz d V nna Wh te.”
No, Uncle Chad didn’t laugh. He just grinned and shook his head and wondered how we could be from similar loins.
Although Uncle Chad insists there are no black sheep in the family, he admits some of us might be a touch dusty. This was evident when my cousin Sandy and I were accused — it hurts to write this — of cheating in the family three-man/woman golf scramble.
Our teammate and aunt, Judy, using a long iron from 150 yards over water to an elevated green, hit a duck. I’m saying she hit her golf ball and the ball hit a physical duck. I can’t describe the sound, but it was sort of like the one you made jumping on your grandmother’s feather bed.
The duck hit the water — another baptism — quickly came ashore and began waddling off and, to be honest, you couldn’t tell by the way he walked if he’d been drinking duck beer or if he’d just been hit by a golf ball or if he was just walking like a duck. But Sandy and I saw it, and heard it, and did all we could do: We gave ourselves a birdie and went on to the next hole.
But this is the weird part:
Aunt Judy has been a member of the family since Uncle Artie and she married a few years ago. Sandy and I have been members of the family since the womb. But when push came to shove, our blood kin automatically believed Aunt Judy when she said she’d hit a duck, which doesn’t happen every day, and even gave her the Shot of the Year trophy.
But they did not believe Sandy and me when we handed in our team’s total score, a 6-over-par 78, which was good enough to win. (There was some pretty ugly play going on out there, even without The Duck Shot.)
So before the reunion was over, Uncle Chad has already made a rule for future family reunion tournaments: prior to tee-off, re-baptisms will be in the water hazard closest to the No. 1 tee box, and Vanna White will keep score.
I don’t know whose feelings are hurt worse, mine or Sandy’s.
Or the duck’s.
Contact Teddy at teddy@latech.edu
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