I was raised Catholic, but never really bought into it. My parents, on the other hand, were pretty devout.
One summer they sent me, along with all the other Catholic kids in the area, to a big sleep-over/rally at the diocese of the region. I was about 13 at the time. I remember we got there a bit late, and the 'fun' (cough cough) was already in full swing. Everybody was singing songs and such, clapping away. I sat down next to this gomer who was completely into the singing and clapping. Big fuckin' smile on his ol' face. He looks over at me.
"Why aren't you clapping?" he asked me.
I replied "Well, I hurt my wrist the other day playing basketball."
His smile fades, and becomes an icy death stare "You know, most people sprain their ankles playing basketball, not their wrists...."
I start slapping the back of my arm.
Later that night, we had a dance. They had one rule... "We like to see Blue, we like seeing Pink, we do not like seeing Purple" This was how they explained that they didn't want the boys and the girls dancing to close to each other, you know, in case they got pregnant (I am not making this shit up). I had met this girl there, and we hit it off really well, so we started dancing. WE REALLY weren't all that close to each other, but every once and a while they would come by and shove a ruler between us. They literally had a goddamn stick that they shoved in between kids that were too close for their comfort.
Next morning, I skip the hymns and the singing and the breakfast, and headed out to the back where these young prep cooks were having a smoke. I bummed a smoke off of them, at sat down on a stool.
"So, are with this religion thing that's going on?" they asked.
"Not anymore".
My parents were completely baffled that a weekend with a whole slew of Catholics turned me into a heathen that took up smoking cigarettes. I told them they should be lucky it's not heroin.
One summer they sent me, along with all the other Catholic kids in the area, to a big sleep-over/rally at the diocese of the region. I was about 13 at the time. I remember we got there a bit late, and the 'fun' (cough cough) was already in full swing. Everybody was singing songs and such, clapping away. I sat down next to this gomer who was completely into the singing and clapping. Big fuckin' smile on his ol' face. He looks over at me.
"Why aren't you clapping?" he asked me.
I replied "Well, I hurt my wrist the other day playing basketball."
His smile fades, and becomes an icy death stare "You know, most people sprain their ankles playing basketball, not their wrists...."
I start slapping the back of my arm.
Later that night, we had a dance. They had one rule... "We like to see Blue, we like seeing Pink, we do not like seeing Purple" This was how they explained that they didn't want the boys and the girls dancing to close to each other, you know, in case they got pregnant (I am not making this shit up). I had met this girl there, and we hit it off really well, so we started dancing. WE REALLY weren't all that close to each other, but every once and a while they would come by and shove a ruler between us. They literally had a goddamn stick that they shoved in between kids that were too close for their comfort.
Next morning, I skip the hymns and the singing and the breakfast, and headed out to the back where these young prep cooks were having a smoke. I bummed a smoke off of them, at sat down on a stool.
"So, are with this religion thing that's going on?" they asked.
"Not anymore".
My parents were completely baffled that a weekend with a whole slew of Catholics turned me into a heathen that took up smoking cigarettes. I told them they should be lucky it's not heroin.