From outside the box

I grew up in the catholic church. It's hard to think about any part of my childhood without relating it to the church in some way. My earliest memories were of Father Brown. He is the priest that baptized me. Father Brown was an old fashioned type preacher, a hell fire screamer and a pulpit pounder. He drilled into me at an early age that I was probably going to go to hell. I never wanted to go to hell, but everything I did was a mortal sin, so...you play you pay. Do the crime you do the....whatever, the point is, I always knew I was going to go to hell. I was taught that Jesus really did love me, but if I broke His laws, well, watch out!

Although my childhood was filled with guilt, fear, and shame, I still have to admit that I loved my church. I loved getting dressed up for mass on Sunday mornings. It was my only opportunity to wear a suit and tie. It didn't matter to me that my suit came from the Good Will, I just enjoyed being able to utilize my collection of tie pins and cuff links. My Dad would take me to Novena's on Friday evenings (maybe they were Thursday's?) Later in life, when I started writing music, I always credited the haunting melodies of the songs they sang at Novena as my deepest inspiration for my style of writing music. That and Ricky Nelson.

When I was twelve I became an alter boy. I remember watching the priest getting ready for mass as they put on robes and sashes and all these things that just draped over their arms and neck. They would kiss each piece as they put in on. I always felt sorry for them when it was hot, and the summers in San Bernardino were really hot. I never memorized the Latin I was supposed to know for mass, so I became an expert at mumbling in a way that kind of sounded like Latin. I was always surprised that the priest never called me on that. As an alter boy, I had access to the rectory where the communion hosts were stored in a small box. Now when you took holy communion, you weren't supposed to let the host touch your teeth, and that bugged me because I really wanted to just chew those things up. I used to consider stealing a few of them from the rectory just to see what it would be like to snack on them. At this point they were considered bread. After the priest blessed them at Mass then they were the blood and flesh of Christ. So I figured that if I could take a few while they were still bread, it would not be a big deal. But then again, it would just be another deal breaker for staying out of hell, so I never did it.

Most of the priests were alcoholics and chain smokers with very short tempers. Father Hatch was an old guy who was always shaking, he could barely get his cigarette to his mouth. I think the tremors were a result of his drinking. Father Kaiserhour was a German priest. His accent was so thick, you couldn't really understand his sermons, but when he cussed, you knew exactly what he was saying. He didn't cuss in church, but when one of us boys got in trouble at the catholic school....well, lets say we learned a lot of cool words from Father Kaiserhour.

There was a lot of sexual repression in the fifties. It's no joke when you hear about boys from that era getting a hold of a national geographic to look at the pictures of the naked pygmies. That literally was the only time we ever got to see what a real breast looked like. But for me, I always fantasized on the pictures of the half naked angels in the bible. They were usually female, and they always had these garments that were about to slip right off from their breast. Just another reason I knew I was going to go to hell.

Catholic school was another story. Sure, the schools were tough in a lot of ways but they made up for it by being institutions of cruel and unusual punishment. The nuns were skilled in the art of torture. They scared me more than the priest ever did. Once I had to kneel on a concrete floor from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon when school let out because I shot a nun with a rubber band. I must have crushed something because I have had knee problems ever since that day.

It's always amusing to me when I run into a practicing catholic and the subject of religion comes up. They always say the same thing...."You really should give the church another chance, they have changed completely." I hope they are saying that they have changed for the better! Either way, I always pass on the offer. As I have said before, I do not regret being raised catholic and I do have a lot of fond memories of the church, but you just can't put the toothpaste back into the tube once it's out. It is not my intention to insult any practicing catholic by writing about my memories. If I have, well, that's just an added bonus. We all must follow our hearts, and if your heart leads you into a catholic church, that's fine, but could you tell me one thing? Do they still use those fifties bibles with the cool pic's of the half naked angels? If so, do you know where I could get a copy?