Sunday, September 30th 2007
Communion
We were raised Catholic but that did not seem to last long. We did the Sunday School thing and I remember being totally consumed with fear in and out of Sunday School. I was afraid to touch the walls or do anything without permission for fear of going to hell; from an early age the nuns and priests took great strides to make it painfully clear that all us children knew about hell and what a terrible place it was. We were all promised that if we did not obey our parents or them for that matter that that hot, terrible and frightening place down under would be our home for all eternity. I get sick thinking of how many children had been abused and were forced to keep it secret under the threat of hell. Had they known that what they were experiencing was in fact hell itself in its most terrible form, perhaps they would have the chance and strength to speak up and rid them selves of the evil dressed in contradiction, lies and white collars.
My Father never went with us. As we got dressed and complained he sat silently in the kitchen or on the sofa. I do not remember whether or not we asked why or even if we got an answer but later I learned the my Father had been married before and had gotten divorced; it was a very bad thing to do in the church those days. I doubt that my Father had chosen not to go based on religious respect and saw it more as a perfect excuse.
;)
Before I could really grasp the religion and form my own opinion about it, we seemed to have stopped going. But not before I received communion. It was a real whoop-de-doo in my school as it was in any Catholic school.
There was lots of preparation; classes, rehearsals and lots of drilling home the idea that this was a great spiritual gift and we should be happy and grateful. There was of course the underlying threat of eternal damnation that was always lingering behind the chalice, before the prayer, after rehearsals and all throughout that year at St. Pius X in Bedford, Ohio.
I do not think I was nervous as much as I was excited. A large portion of my family had showed up in suits and fancy dresses to the church. There was going to be a great party at my house after the ceremony and I was stoked to hear that money would be given to me in lieu of presents; it was later that day I learned it would be put into an account far from my reach.
I do not remember much about the party, the ceremony or how much money I got. But man do I remember that suit and how much I liked it.
wow! I wonder how long it took before you converted yourself to casual wearstyle…
…yeah, I remember my communion along with those feelings of guiltiness, having it done during the very days of my first orgasms, and the glamour of showing off dressed up right on the stage (I mean the altar…)…
The only big thing that I’ve been taught about hell then, was that it was a communist thing where any temptation would have bend our innocent spirit… all kinds of sexual perversions allowed… only much later I learned that communism was not the great fun the priests had promised me!
It’s so funny and, not to mention, so you that all you really remember is the suit!!
Aww, powder blue is definitely your color. What are you hiding behind your back though? My parents used to bribe us into going to church by buying us donuts afterwards. Receiving Holy Communion was like the appetizer–that delicious, crunchy Crouton of Christ (If you’ve never seen Dane Cook’s bit about church, You Tube that shit). I remember queening out and singing “Be Not Afraid” during mass like I was auditioning for Star Search. Still, it’s frightening to think how the clergy uses that “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” bullshit to indoctrinate children into a world of intolerance and ignorance. I finally got to see the documentary “Jesus Camp”. Kids speaking in tongues–now that’s some twisted shit! Fortunately, I was lucky enough to get kicked out of Catholic school after just half a year. Rock-n-roll man.
I cannot remember if I was hiding anything behind my back.
Had I stayed at St. Pius X beyond the 5th grade I can only imagine what kind of “hell” I would have caused; that would have been so much fun for sure.
I’m sure you would have broken many a Catholic school girl’s heart.
“Crunchy crouton of Christ!” had me rushing for my “Dane Cook: Vicious Circle” DVD! Thanks PlanetTelex1980!
Our family is catholic also, and thank God my mom was too lazy to practice. The most we had to suffer was bible school during the summer we lived with our grandparents.
As the poet/author/artist Jim Carroll says of catholicism, “I always love a ritual.”
“Little Johnny, how you’ve grown! Aren’t you happy that your soul got its free pass to Heaven now? Oh and by the way, Greed is a sin so forget about that money for a few years, okay? Come give Aunt Laeticia a big kiss. Mmmwah!”
Believe it or not, Rita, Jim Carroll was my own Christ figure for a while when I was 13. (Well, he and Joe Dallessandro and Hiram Keller and Richard Sohl and a few others…) I didn’t really know his work but I still thought he was Patti Smith with a dick.
Oh, Mr. Frog … you and I always seem to come full circle. And long humm … on Joe Dallessandro.
Long humm… indeed on Little Joe. One of most treasured memories is a 3-D showing of Flesh For Frankenstein. You haven’t lived till you’ve seen a lizard run over Mr Dallessandro’s ass in 3D. (Although some argue it should have been a frog.)
A few years ago I attended parts of a Warhol/Morrissey film festival. Right before Flesh or Heat started, the very proper MC announced with a big smile that first we would be treated to an extract from his own personal collection: the infamous black&white “blue” movie Joe was rumored to have done in his youth. I can vouch it’s not a rumor. The image was grainy but the tattoo was there, and no one in the very art-house and intellectual crowd seemed to mind having to watch Little Joe giving it away.
All I can say to this dear friend, is it was better you than me. I think my granmother’s big regret was that I was never baptised. And everytime she did manage to drag me to church I had something snippy to say to the priest.
No wonder I grew up pagan.