For a year or so, I went to church with the Hendrix family every week, but then I just stopped going for some reason. I think it was because the priest kept on messing up the Jesus stories-talking about Jesus as if he were this boring arrogant person who didn't rock, which we all know is not the case. I didn't feel anything when I went to church, and I could read about Jesus at home and pray anywhere, so I just stopped going to Ma.s.s. I think I really let Ty's mom down, but religion and JC aren't for impressing people's moms. True.

I was going to try another church to see if they talked about Jesus any differently, but then I met Father Chee-and instantly, I knew that I had found my priest for life. Word. FC rocks, just like JC.

Inside Father Chee's church, there is a small room where you can hang your coat, which is where I park Donna's bike, and then there is the sanctuary. A big crucifix hangs front and center over a little altar and a simple podium. The walls are cinder blocks painted puke yellow, and there are no windows and no pews, but only long white lightbulbs in the ceiling-the kind that look like lightsabers-and rows of flesh-colored fold-up chairs, which are currently occupied by a dozen or so Korean women, all of whom jump up and start smiling just as soon as I walk into the church.

I don't want to brag, but I'm sorta like a rock star to these people.

The first thing that happens whenever I enter The Korean Catholic Church: Every single one of The KDFCs gives me a big old hug and then they speak their homework sentence in English. I give them a prompt at the end of each cla.s.s, which I copy down a dozen or so times because I don't have access to a photocopy machine. Father Chee usually explains the prompt in Korean, which is sorta like cheating, but it's also good because we want The KDFCs to do the a.s.signment so that their English will improve and they can start branching out into America and whatnot.

Last week they all failed to do the a.s.signment correctly.

I had asked them to state what they would most like to do in the world and to describe how doing it would make them feel, using one killer adjective. But all of these kind-hearted women-every single one-said what they would like to do for their husband or their children or their parents.

"I would like to buy a big house for my son or daughter."

"I would like to buy my husband an expensive car."

"I would like to send my nice parents to Hawaii."

So I failed them all and told The KDFCs that they had to use better adjectives and say what they wanted for themselves, because having dreams for yourself is totally American, and if they were going to live in America, they needed to think like American women.

So I say, "Na Yung, did you do your homework?"

"Yes, Amber," Na Yung says.

"And?"

Na Yung, who is old enough to be my mom, gets all nervous whenever she is speaking English around me, which is why I called on her first, so she can get it over with and relax.

"I would like see live handsome movie star in Hollywood-like delicious men I see in photo American magazine."

"Nice job," I tell Na Yung. "Very American! Good p.r.o.nunciation and delicious is truly a killer adjective! A-plus. How about you, Sun?"

"I dream to fly in beautiful fat rotund air balloon so hair will blow warmest behind my ear."

"That's d.a.m.n good, Sun. Rotund is very good. I'd like to fly in a beautiful fat rotund air balloon too. That would be truly killer."

As I listen to the dreams of all the Korean women present, Father Chee smiles at me so that I can see every one of his teeth. I can tell he really really digs me, in a non-s.e.xual good-guy priest sorta way. Maybe he wishes I were his daughter, because he's not allowed to make a daughter for himself. He would be a cool dad.

The KDFCs love it when I praise their English, and you can tell that they really dig expressing themselves in my cla.s.s too, which is pretty cool. I'm having a good time listening to their dreams, but then suddenly everyone has spoken and The Korean Divas for Christ are lining up in two rows by the altar-songbooks in hand-so eagerly, because they pretty much come for the soul singing. FC and I know that they like singing better than learning English, which is why we invented this awesome alternative cla.s.s in the first place.

"Shall we?" Father Chee says, offering his arm like a frickin' gentleman.

Just like always, he walks me arm-in-arm to the front of the church, as if he were about to give me away on my wedding day.

When I am in position, Father Chee bows to me once, and then takes his place at the old beat-up piano to my left, opening his songbook to the number we always start with.

"Okay, ladies," I say. "What do we need to work on this week?"

Back when I first started teaching, I let each one of The Korean Divas for Christ choose an English language name the way my Spanish teacher let us pick Spanish names back in Spanish I. (I went with Juanita.) After I started English the fun way, I had each one of The KDFCs take the name of a famous R & B singer.

Hye Min-who goes by Tina-raises her hand, so I nod in her direction. She says, "A selling the word."

"That's right, Tina. You need to sell the frickin' words. And how do we do that, ladies?"

Front-and-center Kyung Ah-aka Diana-raises her hand, and when I nod at her, she says, "Hips and the hands."

"It's all about the hips and hands. And?"

A back row exceptionally tall woman named Sueng Hee-we call her Beyonce-yells out "Shoulder dips!" without my calling on her, which sorta p.i.s.ses me off, because I find her outburst threatening to my authority, but I appreciate the unbridled enthusiasm, so I let it slide.

"Shoulder dips. And?"

The oldest KDFC, a wrinkly grandmother we know as Ella, waves at me, so I point at her.

"The souls clap," she says.

"The super-duper soul clap. That's right," I say, and then start clapping slowly, soulfully.

All of The KDFCs follow suit, because they are all frickin' pros.

So I add a shoulder dip and a step to the right-clap!

The KDFCs don't miss a beat and move with me.

Shoulder dip, and a step to the left-clap!

We repeat this for a few times, and then I yell, "Work those hips, ladies! Work what G.o.d gave you-meaning yo' apple-bottom booties!"

So we all let our booties snap with our heads.

Left-slide-clap!

Right-slide-clap!

When we are nice and warmed up, I yell, "Hit those keys, Chee!"

Father starts playing piano, and then The KDFCs are rocking "You Can't Hurry Love" by The Supremes. The way they sing sounds very staccato, because they are Korean and don't know English all that well, but they sell the song with the moves I gave them, and I have to say that I am proud of these chippies today, because they are sorta rocking my socks off.

Before we all got so d.a.m.n good at soul singing, Father had the church buy us twenty copies of The Supremes Complete Songbook and then-using Korean-English dictionaries-the Korean Divas for Christ and I translated all the songs, writing the Korean under the English, so that my students would know what the h.e.l.l they were singing. Then we worked on p.r.o.nunciation, and then finally, selling the songs onstage.

I didn't know that Father Chee could play piano when I thought up the singing-to-learn-English idea, but on the day that we were first going to start singing, the piano magically showed up in the church. When I asked him where the piano came from, Father Chee said that G.o.d had put it there. When I asked him who was going to play the piano, Chee said G.o.d would play through Father Chee's fingers. Maybe some corny hooey to you, but I like the way Chee keeps G.o.d magical, sorta like Santa Claus when you are a kid. More priests should take this approach, because there is a frickin' reason why Santa is more popular than Jesus nowadays.

I take The KDFCs through "I Hear a Symphony," "Stop! In the Name of Love," "Baby Love," "You Keep Me Hangin' On," and a few other cla.s.sics, before we make the power circle, which is when all the women put arms around each other's shoulders so that we are all linked up in a super-powerful woman circle, and then I yell some empowering hooey I made up a while back.

"What are we?" I yell.

"Strong!" The KDFCs yell back.

"Who are we?"

"The Korean Divas for Christ!"

"Who loves us?"

"JC!"

"Who wants us to be happy?"

"G.o.d!"

"Who rocks?"

"The Korean Divas for Christ!"

"Who are the best Korean soul singers in the world?"

"The Korean Divas for Christ!"

"h.e.l.l yeah?"

"h.e.l.l yeah!"

"h.e.l.l YEAH?"

"h.e.l.l YEAH!"

And then I break off and run around the inside of the power circle giving each Korean Diva a super high five, which is a two-handed slap above the head. The KDFCs go crazy for this sorta pumped-up ending. They like to hug me before I go, and since I really dig hugs, I go wild with the hugging too. Every KDFC gets a big old hug from me, which takes like ten frickin' minutes.

When it's time to go, it's usually dark, so-in his penguin suit-Father Chee jogs next to me and BBB as I ride my bike through the ghetto. He likes to make sure I get home okay. I smile at d.a.m.n near everyone in his neighborhood and do the "Hope you are having a great day!" trick, which makes Father Chee laugh and glow in a fatherly proud sorta way.

While I'm riding, I usually confess my sins.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," I say to Father Chee.

"Confess your sins and Jesus will forgive you," FC says.

"I kicked Lex Pinkston in the shin yesterday and slapped his face today. But he called me a disgusting single-syllable word for a woman-which I'm not even going to repeat-said he had s.e.x with my mother, and made Ricky say something s.e.xual to a cla.s.smate."

Still running, Father Chee nods wisely-like-a million frickin' times. "Jesus offered us an example. Turn the other cheek, He told us."

"That's why I'm confessing. Do you think I haven't read the Bible?"

"You are forgiven."

"No penance?" I ask.

"You've done it already. Teaching English to my church members."

"But I enjoy doing that."

"G.o.d wants us to be happy!" FC says, which makes me smile.

When we get pretty deep into my neighborhood, he says, "I'm going to return to the church now."

I stop riding my bike and we look at each other, smiling face-to-face, both knowing that we kicked b.u.t.t for G.o.d today-making The KDFCs happy and hopeful.

I pretend that Father Chee is my dad, and maybe he pretends I am his daughter.

"Can I get a hug, Chee," I say.

"Of course," he replies, and then he hugs me like any good father would.

"How 'bout some love for B3?"

Father Chee pats BBB's head, so lovingly, and I say, "You're a good man, Chee," just before I pedal away.

I look back, and-as always-Chee is there watching, making sure I get to Donna's okay, and that makes me smile and feel like there is so much good in the world.

CHAPTER 6.

When I arrive home, Ricky is still doing math problems at the kitchen table, so I feed Bobby Big Boy some wet canned stuff and start cooking Donna's dinner. I decide to go with rice, red peppers, and chicken. So I defrost the chicken in the microwave, chop up two red peppers, boil some rice, and dig out the wok.

After I cut up the chicken and the red peppers into thin strips, I put it all in a big old silver bowl and douse it in a load of soy sauce and sesame seeds.

Next, I get a shot of Jack Daniels from the liquor cabinet and dump that onto the chicken and red pepper.

"What the h.e.l.l," I say, and then pour some Jack onto the now-hot wok, which makes a sizzling noise and produces a good warm wheat smell.

I stir-fry it all up, and it smells pretty delectable.

Ricky is STILL doing math problems, and BBB is chillin' on the kitchen mat, looking up at me, watching my every move, because the dashing mutt's totally in love with me.

Donna comes home at exactly six thirty; she is one regimented woman.

"Like I've told you a million times before, you don't have to cook for us, Amber. But it sure smells good," she says as she tosses her keys into an old crystal ashtray that she keeps on a stand by the kitchen door, and sets down her bags and hangs up her overcoat.

She runs her hands through Ricky's hair and kisses him on the forehead, and I get a little jealous, I must admit, because my mom is so uncool compared to Ricky's.

"How's my boy?"