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.

This is one of those stories that sounds so much better coming from my mom. When reminded of this story, she rolls her head back and says with great enthusiasm, “You were so rotten that morning, I could have…” made me a pancake mom? She was so not looking to make me breakfast.

Those of you from my generation will remember the birth and success of Star Wars and the Pound Puppy craze. Well that year I wanted nothing more than the Ewok Village play set. I remember going to Randall Park Mall in Cleveland and having to wait in the line with the other kids and their parents for the chance to request that number one toy that would make my year. The line and the surrounding area were coated with too much glitter and cotton webbing. I remember smelling the combination of Sanka, Enjoli and popcorn.

I don’t know if I told that sad, fat alcoholic that had the cotton webbing on his face that I really wanted the Ewok Village. I must have. Either way you look at it, the stupid drunk got the orders mixed up and he gave that god damned village to my brother. I remember being quite shocked that it was Carmen’s name that was written on the tag that stuck to the “Ho- Ho- Ho” wrapped box that contained my coveted Ewok Village. After witnessing the travesty and cursing the obese red nosed liar I unwrapped the rest of my gifts with great discontent.

I’m sure that Carmen let me play with his prize that morning and I’m sure that some time soon thereafter I dismembered the Ewoks and set the village ablaze in retaliation. I was sort of wicked like that way back when. I am so different now. I would have sold the village and its inhabitants on Ebay.

Maybe you haven’t noticed, but things have been just a little dry here on Hazzard Ahead lately. I don’t know, I guess summer has taken a toll on me. The pace of life has slowed down a bit and I haven’t had any interest in the party thing or divulging my mysterious inner workings for the world at large to consume. Can you blame me? It’s been over 100 degrees most days and hiding out at work or in the dark confines of my pristine sanctuary there hasn’t been much writing fodder. So I’ve decided that I need your help in making my blog a more desirable destination. That’s right – I want my readers to take an interest and prime my writing pump. Now there’s a usage of the word “pump” you didn’t expect to find here!

This is my idea: I want you readers to tell me exactly what you’d like me to spout off about. People that know me realize I’m a soft-spoken guy, but I have my opinions and I’m ready to share them. Boy Wonder and I are going to collaborate on this project and respond to the best ideas put forth by my fans. Take a minute and leave a comment about what thoughts you’d like me to express. We’ll choose our favorite and go to town for your reading delight. Otherwise you might just have to settle for a mediocre recount of a lame night out on the town in the possibly distant future. Do you really want that to happen? I didn’t think so…