During my childhood, my family was very Catholic. We prayed before meals, attended Catholic school, ate fish on Fridays, constantly feared eternal damnation, and I served mass. The majority of the other bucks from my class did as well.
At that point in my life, I had never worked so hard for something I didn't want. Don't get me wrong, I did not like school or tests , but I at least wanted to pass my tests. I wanted out of my school as quickly as possible. So, for me, this was different. I didn't want to be an Alter Boy.
But my parents did want me to serve mass, so I did.
Several times a week, we met with Father Bulger. Written and oral tests ( ha ha...don't even) We memorized every prayer, creed, and beatitude.
After a few months, we had a very stoic ceremony to celebrate our achievement.. Father Bulger went old school and spoke some Latin. My mom cried because she was so proud. This confused me. She said I had become a soldier for God that day. That really confused me. This all kicked over a lantern of skepticism that had been flickering inside me.
Lent was the worst time of the year. I served three times a week and also attended class mass, all school mass, and Sunday with the family. At first, I tuned out everything during church. Just day dreamed about hitting home runs, or kicking Mike Billing's ass for stealing my lunch. That not only got monotonous, but it led to me screwing up on the alter. I would ring the bells at inappropriate times, sit when I should of stood..a comedy of errors. I didn't like embarrassing myself on stage, so I started to listen to everything the priest said.
I was pretty shocked and more than a little disappointed. There was just so much ridiculous bull shit. There was violence and revenge. I couldn't believe how the heroes of parables could get away with doing things outlawed, judged immoral in Kansas. I was a little pissed. Here I was, damn near wearing a dress on a stage, losing countless hours of Nintendo...and for what? So I could be a prop for story telling so unrealistic I would get an F in my creative writing class if I told them?
One evening, myself and the other alter boys were putting on our gear in the Sacristy. ( That's like a Green Room/Locker Room for the Priest and the alter boys just before mass ) I had begun to share some of my feelings about the outfits we had to wear, and how ridiculous some of the stories from the Old Testament were. I was slowly winning over some of the guys. I was retelling the story of Jobe circa 1984. In my version, Jobe was my Dad. God took his job away and made my sister a prostitute. God put my brother in a wheel chair. God made Walter Mondale president. God made George Brett gay.
I was on a role and loving the attention. Also in the Sacristy was the incense. The incense was connected to a chain that our priest would swing back and forth. I was spinning it as fast as I could on the side of my right hip. "Smell me now Jesus! Smell me now!" Hard but nervous laughs from all of the guys followed. Also in the Sacristy, the body and blood of one Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I jammed a fist full of hosts into my pie hole. "Jesus, why do ya taste like cawdboard?! This isth nooo tasty savior!" . More laughs, but getting quieter. I grabbed the wine bottle and started to gulp away. As I wiped my mouth off with my frilly white sleeve, I said, "Oh Jesus, your blood is so much better than your body! Why does your blood taste so....."
There he was. Father Bulger's blacks eyes glared into my soul and melted it. I really thought I was going to die. I started crying before I could get down from the chair I had just performed on.
"The rest of you leave", he growled to the other alter boys. I remember trembling and thinking my Dad was going to show up any second. I turned and only gave him my back and ass, then he began absolutely whipping them. He even used the knotted end of a rope. ( it was some ornate red tassel detail, but it really hurt so when I tell this story it's the end of knotted rope)
The beatdown was probably only a minute or two, but it was pretty bad. It left several marks, and in his furry, he hit my neck and head. I could tell he was scared after he stopped hitting me. This made me less scared. He looked worried and guilty, and poked his head out in the hall. I remember trying to be as quiet as possible and did a pretty good job.... making myself cough so I could calm down and stop bawling. He looked sad. He hit a knee and looked right at me. He told me what I had done was very sinful and wrong. He told me it was so bad that it could ruin me at school. He told me how hurt my parents would be. He told me if I never did anything like that again, and didn't tell anyone about any of what had happened, I could then confess at Reconciliation and that would be the end of it.
We shook on it. We actually shook hands on it. In a strange way, he and I both felt exactly the same fear at exactly the same time. It's an empathy I never saw from him before, or after that afternoon.
I still don't know who got the better end of the deal, but it definitely left a mark.
