186. SEX IN A SIMPLE SWIPE
Sometimes, with one swipe,
you can undo things. I think
maybe that's the best lesson
to have come from computer
learning. Imagine today's
10 year olds operating with
that concept. Boy! If had
even a smidgen of that
idea, growing up, I wonder
how different things
would have been. As
it was, my feelings went
the opposite way - you
were definitely 'stuck'
with your last decision
and had to stay with it to
the finish. Patience being
a virtue? Fortitude being
a grace? Maybe that's
why people back then
were so glum. No one
ever 'changed' their bad
situations.
-
When I left the seminary,
(it was basically a joint and a
combination-decision. They
preferred I, perhaps, went
home for Thanksgiving to
visit the folks and 'think hard
about your vocation,' as they
put it. They made it clear that
their preference would be
for me not to return - they
could see the obvious, as
much as I could. My interests
and activities had veered sharply
from the supposed 'direction'
they should have been going.
Of course, as a sixteen-year
old bubbling and churning
adolescent boy I don't know
why they would have thought
I'd be anything but. They were
used to the passive and pious
sorts who repeated prayers
endlessly, closed their eyes to
pray, and mouthed endless
shibboleths to enter a faded
grace-lad of wonder and awe,
about some purported mysteries
of sanctification from 2,000
years ago. Problem was, that
wasn't it at all. Their dictates -
(one of my old Little Rascals
jokes went something like this -
Spanky and Alfalfa and Buckwheat,
in a classroom, have to spell
and use a word given in a
sentence. The first two do
fine. Buckwheat's word is
'dictate.' He spells it OK,
and then, for the sentence,
he turns to Darla, in the
back of the room and
says, 'Darla', how my
dictate?' Always an
ice-breaker, no?) - were
from 300 hundred years
after, with all those church
councils and stuff, when
the 'church' made up all
this doctrine and rules
and all to found their
ecclesiastical blackmail
and bureaucracy, to rule
it all over people. I didn't
want to rule over anyone.
And I couldn't much take
their blowhard pretensions
either. So, they sent me
home, with their Wisconsin
version of 'adios' - which
is actually a Spanish phrase
of departure meaning -
a dios - or 'to God', as in
a dios vais, 'you're going
to God.' Pretty cool, those
priests and brothers. They
always used the word 'vocation'
about being a priest. It could
never be just some idea of
your own you had, they had
to say you 'had a vocation,' or
were 'called by God'; and were
bound to answer your calling';
always the heavy stuff. Gibberish
to all that. It was more like
'vacation' to me than it was
ever 'vocation,' and I'd
never been 'chosen especially'
for anything, except maybe
in blind man's bluff.
-
When my father finally
did arrive, I was awaiting
him out front with a
suitcase or two and
some boxes. I remember
two things, maybe three:
it was cold; it was dark;
and I was utterly alone.
(When I say it was cold,' I
mean some 1960's cold, the
kind you don't feel anymore :
black and white cold, no
TV and stuff cold; you were
in the dark, doubtful and dire.
Like people, walking the streets
blind). And I'd never
even told anyone I was
leaving; just couldn't
bear it to myself to have
to be seeing all those
old chums and
buddies again to
say good-bye. It
would have been
good, but real sad
too. I don't know
where any but a
few of them ever
did end up. We
threw it all into
the car and he
proceeded the drive.
Not much was said -
we never talked much,
he was always half-angry
at me, and I wasn't
very forthcoming to
him ever. He never
liked the whole idea
of seminary and priests
stuff anyway. 'Sissy'
he called it. I couldn't
really just tell him that
half of all this had been
just to get away from that
home environment that had
been like a constant,
circling headache. The
next thing I know, on
the NJ Turnpike, he
starts rattling off to me,
now that I was 'out of
there and free to be a
kid' what not to do to
or with girls. Yeah, you
got that right. It kind of
turned out, anyway, to be
a lesson in what TO do,
because he begins
explaining to me any
number of things I'd
not thought of. They
were softies. They'd fall
for lines I didn't mean, so
don't say them, you give
it once to them and they
won't leave you alone,
etc., etc. Jesus K Rist, I
had to think, I'm just
out of the God-slammer
and this guy's already got
me in the sack with some
teen-age floozie. Penance?
Say ten Hail Mary's and
take a cold shower, buddy.
We made it home, and -
really - until the time I
picked him up from jail
in Toms River, having
bailed him out with my
house in hock - towards
the end of his life, I don't
think we ever really talked
so 'heart to heart' again.
Both times were on toll
roads too. Go figure. The
ride home from the jail in
Toms River, that was on a
full-moon night, and all
he kept doing then was
telling me how we'd 'given
up on the moon, abandoned
it, and now the Russians
were going to take it.' (He
meant Commies, but called
them Russians, meaning
Soviets). Anyway, he
was glad I was out of
there; he'd never much
liked the place - those
close-quartered boys all
together, living with
single men, all of whom
he considered perverted
anyway. I don't know,
you could argue this
stuff all day. It's not like
we showered with them,
although we did have to
do that all together as
boys, equally distressing
to me. Last thing I ever
cared to see was some
strapping religious guy's
personal scaffolding.
But, whatever. I used
to think about visiting
a nun's school, figuring
they had to do the same
thing. And barging through
their shower rooms saying
'Close your eyes, girls,
I'm coming through.
Well, hell, it was
funny then.
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