♪♪ ♪♪ -After Sunday school, our group of guys would always go down to the grocery store.
I would get an Upper 10 drink and a po' boy.
Well, I remember once, I decided to take it back to church.
And I started unraveling the po' boy, and, you know, at that time, it had cellophane paper, and it makes the loudest noise.
And my mother looked from the choir stand -- that look that will take the wet out of water.
And I pretended I didn't see her.
My father was in the pulpit, and I had not noticed that he had stopped preaching.
The next thing I know, he had come and he had had me by my collar and took me right outside the church.
And we didn't have air-conditioning.
The windows was open, so you know everybody heard me screaming and hollering out there.
'Course, he went back and started preaching.
But that taught me that I was being disrespectful not only towards my father, but towards others -- those who wanted to listen, those who wanted to learn.
I gained a lot of food for growth, because it was our privilege to have been taught by some outstanding people, like Miss Rosa Parks, who was my Sunday school teacher.
We always called her Miss Rosalie.
Why we called her Miss Rosalie, I'll never know.
But this is before the boycott.
This is before the civil rights movement.
This was just Miss Rosalie, and she called me Little Farrell.
Later on, I was principal at Lanier High School, and it so happened at the time that Mrs.
Parks was coming back to commemorate the bus boycott.
Well, I really wanted her to come to my school.
So I talked with her on the phone.
She said, "Farrell, that's you?"
I say, "Yes, ma'am, Miss Rosalie."
"You're a principal?"
I said, "Yes, ma'am."
"Of a school?"
I said, "Yes, ma'am."
She said, "Lord, I'm so happy 'cause I ain't think you was gonna be nothing."
You know, it's strange to get called out by the mother of civil rights, but, at any rate, she agreed to come to my school and I still have a picture on my desk now of us.
That was a highlight of my life -- to walk with her into that auditorium of Sidney Lanier High School, which was a traditional white school.
And I, the principal, walk in with Rosa Parks on my arm.
I went outside at one point, because I had tears in my eyes as I reflected upon this lady and the significance of what she was doing.
These are the people that nurtured me.
These are the people who saw me when I was still Little Farrell, and now I'm their pastor.
And to walk into the pulpit and to stand behind the desk where my daddy stood... it's an awesome feeling.
So, I'm just humbled.
♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪ -After Sunday school, our group of guys would always go down to the grocery store.
I would get an Upper 10 drink and a po' boy.
Well, I remember once, I decided to take it back to church.
And I started unraveling the po' boy, and, you know, at that time, it had cellophane paper, and it makes the loudest noise.
And my mother looked from the choir stand -- that look that will take the wet out of water.
And I pretended I didn't see her.
My father was in the pulpit, and I had not noticed that he had stopped preaching.
The next thing I know, he had come and he had had me by my collar and took me right outside the church.
And we didn't have air-conditioning.
The windows was open, so you know everybody heard me screaming and hollering out there.
'Course, he went back and started preaching.
But that taught me that I was being disrespectful not only towards my father, but towards others -- those who wanted to listen, those who wanted to learn.
I gained a lot of food for growth, because it was our privilege to have been taught by some outstanding people, like Miss Rosa Parks, who was my Sunday school teacher.
We always called her Miss Rosalie.
Why we called her Miss Rosalie, I'll never know.
But this is before the boycott.
This is before the civil rights movement.
This was just Miss Rosalie, and she called me Little Farrell.
Later on, I was principal at Lanier High School, and it so happened at the time that Mrs.
Parks was coming back to commemorate the bus boycott.
Well, I really wanted her to come to my school.
So I talked with her on the phone.
She said, "Farrell, that's you?"
I say, "Yes, ma'am, Miss Rosalie."
"You're a principal?"
I said, "Yes, ma'am."
"Of a school?"
I said, "Yes, ma'am."
She said, "Lord, I'm so happy 'cause I ain't think you was gonna be nothing."
You know, it's strange to get called out by the mother of civil rights, but, at any rate, she agreed to come to my school and I still have a picture on my desk now of us.
That was a highlight of my life -- to walk with her into that auditorium of Sidney Lanier High School, which was a traditional white school.
And I, the principal, walk in with Rosa Parks on my arm.
I went outside at one point, because I had tears in my eyes as I reflected upon this lady and the significance of what she was doing.
These are the people that nurtured me.
These are the people who saw me when I was still Little Farrell, and now I'm their pastor.
And to walk into the pulpit and to stand behind the desk where my daddy stood... it's an awesome feeling.
So, I'm just humbled.
♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪
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