A Child's Memories Of General Conference

          As a kid, I always dreaded General Conference weekends.  The prospect of two long days spent sitting in a darkened chapel, listening to the televised speeches of a bunch of old guys was not my idea of a good time.  But my parents impressed on my family the very serious nature of these talks and so we went.  

          My childhood was during the era of Ezra Taft Benson.  I was raised to believe that he was a modern-prophet whose words came straight from God; I associated his name with a sense of wonderment and awe.  He died when I was nine; the day of his passing was a very sad event in our household.

          I liked General Conferences for one reason --- the breaks in-between sessions.  Since a lot of the members lived too far away to go home during the break, there was always a potluck lunch, with a wide array of dishes.  Treats were few and far between in my house; I had five older brothers and a sister to fight off in order to get any of the good food.  My mother was also too exhausted to cook very much; at the time she was working part-time, going to school full-time, and trying to raise a huge family.  General Conference was a time when I could scarf down good food to my heart’s content without having to fight off my big brothers.  

          The break between sessions also represented a time when I could play with other children.  I lived in a very isolated area; there weren’t many children around for me to play with.  Before I started school, church was the one of the few opportunities to see other children my age.  Normal church was too structured for play but the long break between sessions represented a time when we could tear through the church like the hellions that we were.  We explored the empty baptismal font, daring each other to cross the barrier between the women’s side and the men’s side.  We acted out stories on the stage of the cultural hall, pretending that we were famous actresses.  When I got a little older and a little more rebellious, we would even skip sessions and explore the empty church on our own.  

          By the time I reached my teenage years, a shift had started.  Members started watching General Conference at home on their televisions.  The potlucks started getting smaller.  My family still attended General Conference at church.  We had no choice in the matter; we didn’t have cable TV.  Attendance was still moderate, mostly for the feeling of community.  During the break, I would visit a friend who lived within walking distance of church.  

          Nowadays, my parents will head to my brother’s house for General Conference; my parents still don’t have cable TV.  My mother tells me that the church is empty during Conference weekend and the potlucks have ended.