Boys in the ‘Thood

You know, for the first 12 years of my life I had no idea that there was a Saturday night session of general conference. Ignorance is bliss, my friends. So when I finally arrived of priesthood age for conference weekend, I went about my Saturday just like any other. I called my friends, we went downtown to the mall, got a burger, I bought a novelty pen shaped like a car and we ended up at my house jumping on the tramp. Right around five o’clock, just when things were beginning to get fun, Dad walks out on the porch and says, “Brit, you better send your friends home. We have to get ready and go to priesthood soon.” Whaaaaat? This was a Saturday! There’s no priesthood or church on Saturdays, unless it’s a primary program practice, and I left that all behind when I turned 12 and graduated. I knew there were Saturday general sessions, but those were just for my mom to listen to in the car while parked in the lot overlooking my soccer game. After I expressed these concerns with some pointless protesting to voice my disapproval, I came inside and changed my clothes. We then piled in the car; my dad, older brothers and I, and we headed to the stake center.

After the opening prayer and about five minutes into the session, I thought to myself, “Man, this is boring. If I ever have to sit through this again, it’ll be too soon.” Six months later, I was thinking the same thing in that darkened chapel. The good news is that if you make it through the session, Papa Bear always rewards you with a trip to the Burger Barn, or other such purveyor of greasy goodness nearest you. And so this love/hate relationship with Saturday night on conference weekend continued for years to come. It’s an interesting tradition that forces priesthood holding men to bond, be it through the simple act of being together or by grabbing a greasy burger and a frosty shake after the session ends. Either way, it certainly brings its share of memorable moments.

Through the years, I can’t say I’ve always enjoyed priesthood session itself. I always was annoyed that it had to be at 6pm on Saturday night, that it was only broadcast at the stake center and not on TV at home like the other four sessions (in Utah anyway), and we had to dress up in a shirt and tie to boot. Don’t the brethren know I have a social agenda to keep? Also, why can’t I watch the session at home in my sweats with one hand in a bowl of popcorn and a tasty beverage in the other? I can’t tell you how many times I rhetorically asked this question while my backside ached from sitting on a hard folding chair at the far end of a dank, dark stake center gym.

Through many years of observation, I also came to notice that the first half of priesthood is much more boring than the second. The first half has Elder This of the Seventy and Elder That of the second quorum and they always seem to want to narrowcast their talks. “This is for the Aaronic Priesthood holders,” etc. Usually I end up tuning out ‘cause they’re talking about missions and the evils of pornography, you know, same old stuff. Once the First Presidency arrives on the scene, however, things get much juicier, so to speak. Then the bright idea came to me, why don’t I show up just for the second half? Yeah! That way I could skip all the boring filler and just listen to the most important part! The beauty of it all is, when and if I start to get bored, the session will end! It’s a plan so crazy that it just might work. Of course, I’ve never had the courage to execute this perfect plan. Mostly because of peer pressure, which I guess, would be positive in this case. I always end up going with some of my brothers or good friends or roommates. This forces me to show up on time like a good Mormon boy should. Dangit.

 After sitting for two long hours on the hardest piece of steel that one could fashion into a chair, the closing hymn is sung. It is kind of amusing how many dudes leave at this point. I see it as the same crowd that leaves early during sporting events. “Wellp, I got MY money’s worth. Let’s beat traffic, son” Interestingly enough, I am not one of these people like you’re probably thinking. I enjoy a good, reverent closing hymn and find it quite humorous when the brother giving the closing prayer now and then thanks Heavenly Father for our modern prophet, Spencer W. Kimball. But once that final “Amen” has been uttered, I always throw a little party in my head and think “Yes! No more priesthood session for six months!” loosen my tie into a headband and do a little Cabbage Patch dance in the aisle.

After the church parking lot empties in about 30 seconds, it’s now reward time! Where are we, the Elders of Israel, going to clog our arteries tonight? The post-priesthood session mad dash to all the restaurants all along the Wasatch Front has got to be a legendary phenomenon to local restaurateurs in its own right. Where else do a gajillion men in white shirts and ties descend upon all the eating establishments in the land at precisely 8pm on Saturday night? I’m sure the restaurants appreciate it for the most part, as long as the tipping is sufficient. As for me and my kin, we usually end up at a previously mentioned burger joint and sometimes pizza if we’re feeling frisky.

As we sit around and catch up, talk about what was said during the session and feel the warm companionship of fellow priesthood holders, I am reminded why this session exists. In my belly-aching comments above, I touched on the fact that I’d rather sit at home and watch it in my living room. But by being asked to dress up, gather the boys and head down to the stake center, it creates a bonding experience. If I watched it at home, I’d fall asleep or barely pay attention to the messages given but that’s hardly the point. The point is that during these Saturday night priesthood sessions, I was with my family. I was with my Dad, brothers, or friends and we were enjoying each other’s company while taking in a great message, especially for us.

I think that the ritual of going out to eat afterwards could be almost as important as the session itself. It’s some real guy time. I remember once, when I was a teacher or a priest, my fam and I headed Hires Big H on 4^th South inSalt Lake City. I was with my Grandpa, Dad, and my brother. Hires is a drive-in burger joint so we chose a stall and ordered. Just then, someone drove up and parked in the stall next to us. Who was in that car, you wonder? It was none other than Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the quorum of the twelve, who happened to be good friends with my grandpa. He was also with his son and grandsons just stopping by to enjoy a good burger. “Well hello, Neal!” said Grandpa. “Hey there, Jim,” said Elder Maxwell just like old friends. So you, see? Even the general authorities partake in this post-priesthood ritual. Elder Maxwell spent no time beating around the bush at the tabernacle, but beelined straight to the nearest quality burger stand, with his family in tow.

So whether you love it or hate it, it’s become a tradition for me in my life. I might not completely enjoy myself while I’m living it, but always look back on it with fond memories. Though the people with whom I’ve attended priesthood session have changed over the years, I still feel it’s important to go. It’s always a great way to rally the boys and men in the family for a good message, and an even better way to bond over fast-food and a guys’ night out. There’s no other night like it; Saturday night of conference weekend, with the Boys in the ‘Thood.

-Briton