Childhood and the church

The time has come for a change from speaking about mental health, anxiety and that sort of thing. I feel the time has come to write a little about the past. The past affects us in different ways but one thing is for certain, it is the reason why we are in the positions we are in now.

Or at least that is the theory and what they love to tell you at school and in other places as well.

So when I was a youngster, I was being raised as a good Catholic boy, by a good catholic mother who amongst other things had some fantasy (shall we call it?) that one day I would be a missionary somewhere in Africa.  Its another story and can wait for another day.

So my mum thought it would be a good idea to have me turned into an altar boy, that is to serve the priest at mass. Unhappily I was never the most attentive of Father’s acolytes, I fiddled with the medal I had to wear around my neck. (you were “given” it on your saint’s day) I never quite managed to ring the bell the correct number of times, twice instead of thrice, that is when I was not trying to dismantle the thing.

Where I was useless at serving God, I was good in other ways. Mum thought it a good idea that I could help Father by putting out the vestments  for the week day mass, it was quite simple nip over the road, put the glad rags out and back again. However there was the question of the altar wine, which it has to be said was pretty good stuff, it was sweet made my feet tingle and it was nice. And I could say that the Devil tempted me.

 

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