Bill was up and moving about before me this morning, despite my kicking him in the shins and hitting him once in the face while sleeping. It wasn’t intentional, that’s for sure. He told me about it as we crossed each other’s paths this morning. He understood that I didn’t mean it. He even made me coffee this morning, which was sweet. The gesture, not the coffee.
Bill split as I puttered about. He had a job today, acting as a stand in on the Denis Leary show, Rescue Me. I’m sure it’s a good show, but I can’t stand that Denis Leary. I’m leery about Leary. He reminds me of those bad Fallon kids who lived on Avenue F in Lodi. You didn’t want to get into trouble with those Fallon kids. They were bullies. They lived next door to the Harrops who were from the same church as my family so we sort of knew them.
The Harrops were related to the Neidhardts who my family had some close ties for a time, when my family was more active in parish affairs. My father was a member of the Holy Name Society. An Opus Dei type organization for suburban dads who wanted to associate with other milquetoast dads. I think it was also a group for men that either couldn’t get into, or aspired to join the Knights of Columbus. A group that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
My disdain, to put it way too politely, is because of the United States Knights of Columbus efforts to prevent same sex marriage in Canada, sending money and activists from the States to Canada trying to get Canadian citizen to write Parliament and argue against Marriage Equality. Catholic schools are being shut down because they don’t have enough money to keep them open and the good old Knight of Columbus raise funds to send to Canada to instill bigotry and prejudice. It didn’t work. Same sex marriage became law in Canada and the world didn’t end, Canada didn’t fall apart and the Knight of Columbus had what might have been egg whites on its collective faggot face.
So where was I? Yeah, my father was in the Holy Name game, my mother was in the Rosary Society. A group of Mary devotees, hence the name Rosary Society. Their big thing was the Wednesday night Novenas. Hot stuff, doing the decades. I didn’t realize until years later, between my agnosticism and atheism that we had to say the Hail Mary for each bead and perhaps a few Glory Be’s. I was too wrapped up in religious fervor and very happy to be out of the house away from my father to notice. This was exotic for me even though it was a church I had gone to since I was born. The exotica was from being there on a Wednesday night. Wild stuff. Also got me out of homework.
My family eventually got tired of going to St. Francis parish. It was on the other side of town and Sacred Heart was closer. The next town but only about two miles away. It also had a giant Jesus in a glass elevator. Very cool. But we didn’t know anyone there, not like at St. Francis. After I graduated from grammar school my family stopped going to St. Francis altogether.