Do your kids a favor- teach them to behave like civilized people- at least in public!
When I was growing up in the dark ages of the 1970s-early 1980s, acting out in public was a sure fire way to get yourself beaten into the next county by the next nearest adult. If you were unfortunate enough to be beaten out in public by a non-parental adult, when one’s parents did find out, (and they always did) you were beaten again- to make sure you were beaten good enough. Now people are afraid to even say anything to someone else’s miscreant child, fearing the wrath and possible litigation by the parents. That sucks. There are a good number of kids I see out in public that could use a good old fashioned hiney-warming. I’d do it… if I thought the parents would have the good sense to back me up. I guess they would rather announce to the world that their children are being raised by wolves than to administer a bit of well placed correction.
There was no sparing the rod (or spoiling this child) in my family. Believe that.
Mom (being the good Catholic mother she aspired to be) would beat the daylights out of you for messing up the Catholic Calisthenics during Mass. Even if you were a toddler (sorry, NO nursery) you did not sit when the rest of the congregation kneeled, nor did you stand when the rest of the congregation sat. You did not have a coloring book, crayons or Cheerios. You sang every word to every hymn, and you did not fail to respond with the correct responses as printed in the Missal.
The word “Missal”- for those who were fortunate enough to have been raised in a Protestant tradition-isn’t a typo. I am a bit of a spelling Nazi after all. “Missal” is sort of the Catholic how-to guide to Mass, and is never to be used as a “missile,” as in a projectile to throw at an annoying sibling. Even though my sisters did.
Siblings fight. So why do people have multiple children? Especially if one of them just ends up being a punching bag?
As an adult I can appreciate liturgical worship- and I do- but it was baffling to me as a kid.
Sunday morning Mass sort of went like this:
Dad drops us off at church. Dad did not do Mass. Ever. He would be back in about an hour or two. Church wasn’t Dad’s cup of tea, especially in a church where, as he would say, “the preacher wears a dress.”
Follow Mom up the steps and (unless you wanted dragged out by the hair and back handed within an inch of your life) don’t forget to bless yourself with holy water and genuflect (another foreign word for Protestants- kneel before you walk down the aisle to find a seat because you’re approaching the altar) before sitting in whatever seat she thinks you should sit in. Mom liked to park us in the second or third pew from the very front- where the priest can be sure to give you the stink eye any time the word “hell” is mentioned. Hope and pray that (as usual) I didn’t get sandwiched between both sisters and therefore was open to assault from both sides.
Find the Missal. Follow the instructions to the letter even while being poked, prodded, pinched and wet willie’d from both sides.
Spend a few minutes wondering why Jesus chooses to live in the funky gold box where the communion wafers were stored- when He’s not out and about looking for sins and finding reasons why you should go to hell, that is.
Sing the closing hymn and hope Mom didn’t decide to chit-chat with every single one of her old bitty friends on the way out, although it was inevitable that she would.
It’s a wonder – or should I say a gift of the Spirit- that I can set foot in church at all. But that is a very long story.
I do appreciate the aesthetic of Gothic architecture, especially if we don’t try to jack it up by doing a “70s update” on a 19th century (or earlier) building. The church I went to as a kid was one of those beautiful Gothic style churches- until someone decided the interior needed a cheesy 70s update that included green astroturf carpet, everything painted white and green (acck!) and just plain hokey furniture. Either you want to go modern or have the Gothic aesthetic, but the two styles don’t mix. It’s church, not steampunk (which is half ways tolerable, ’cause steampunk is cool) and definitely not the set of “The Price is Right,” which is what that hideous “renovation” reminded me of.
Just substitute green for red, and that was pretty much how tacky it looked.
Church would have been a bit more interesting with Bob Barker. At least when I was a little kid. Grandma loved “The Price is Right.” That was back when Bob Barker still dyed his hair.
I need a road trip but don’t really have anywhere I want to go or, should I say, can afford to go and have time to go. I still want to go to the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia and I’m going to have to figure out the logistics. I have to go to my nephew’s graduation in NC next month, but that’s more of a “have to” than a recreational pursuit. Not to mention Dad scares the living hell out of me with his need for speed while driving in the mountains. I’ve never been comfortable with mountain driving- especially considering we will probably be in their Dodge minivan. It will probably be my luck it will be rainy and windy too while he’s going 90MPH down a 6% grade.
The last time I let Dad drive on a road trip, I closed my eyes and put the Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated” on repeat. That helped.
I really, really need some quality ivory tower time, as in several days of being completely away from dealing with other humans. The bad thing is that’s not going to happen.