a confession

When I was little I didn’t care much for Sundays.
Nothing much on Sunday mornings cartoon-wise, aside from Davey and Goliath… which was a little too preachy and lacked the slapstick, pie-in-the-face humor this kid required of her animated entertainment.
It  also meant that I had to get dressed up and go to church.
I was a fidgety kid who was constantly feeding my nerves and touching everything, so sitting still in a hard wooden pew listening to a man who looked he could be God’s Uncle Bob was torture.


I never paid much attention to Father as he said Mass.
My wild imagination wandered elsewhere.
Hats, hairstyles, the way Mr. Davis kept blessing himself 
and the way Mrs. Mangiotti’s feet looked like hams stuffed into her strappy shoes.
But mostly, I got lost in the details of the stained glass windows.
Each beautifully colored window honored a saint, and at first glance it looked like a truly marvelous, gold crowned, red robed kinda life.  But looking closer, each saint was either in some state of unimaginable torture, getting rained on by tongues of fire or had their hands raised heavenward with looks of agony on their faces as if to say, “Why me, God?”


“In honor of our Lord, Jesus Christ” was written in very fancy Gothic lettering above each window. That kind of lettering always reminded me of Halloween and the opening credits to Dark Shadows…and by the way so did organ music. I also thought there was some sort of connection between Dracula and that guy on my Grandma’s television, Bishop Fulton Sheen.


 I remember expressing my displeasure with the way our Lord, Jesus Christ was treating the saints, as depicted on the stained glass windows, to my Grandma one day and without missing a beat she said:


” Sweetheart, you gotta go through hell to get to heaven”.


Rene ~ 2010


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17 thoughts on “a confession

  1. I'm surprised you were notfarmed out to the pious volunteerswho manned the Children's Churchrooms, where games and play areturned into religious lesson, so thatwhen you were "allowed" to emergein the big girl sanctuary, yourindoctrination would have beencomplete, and your active mind wouldhave been quieted after inundationof doctrine, mandates, and pricklyplatitudes. Your story grabbed allof us, and the free thinkers clapwith both hands.

  2. I listened to the pastor. His first language wasn't English and he had a funny way of mixing up his nouns and verbs. One time, for instance, he meant to say: the person in the back with the his hand raised, but instead said: the person with his hand up his butt. Every sermon was hilarious. The funniest thing was that he didn't even know.

  3. "and the way Mrs. Mangiotti's feet looked like hams stuffed into her strappy shoes."–Ha, Rene, you could be describing some ladies in my family here. LOl.What a great description. i used to look at the stain glass too and aside from the one of Christ surrounded my angels, i woudl often think I am so unworthy and jsut thought there is no way I could have deon those things but then again, if God calls you adn you know it;s God, maybe so. I had to laugh at your Dracula image. LOL.

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