I Really Hope God Has a Sense of Humor
For those of us who grew up in the sixties and seventies, and from an Italian household, our parents thought it was their duty to send us all to Catholic school to be taught by the nuns.
Gee, thanks.
From that, all of us in our sixties, are paying for the summer homes of our therapists.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure some of us received a great education and went on to lead normal, happy lives…
...or did we?
So, let me share the story that sealed my fate, and the reason I am okay with that because, well, it was just so damn funny.
In the late sixties, I was in fourth grade. You know, those precious, formative years.
We were invited to go see a play in a theater in Newark, New Jersey. It was called The Robe, the story of Christ’s crucifixion on the cross, and his resurrection.
Uplifting, and traumatizing, at the same time.
Obviously, just what every fourth-grader wants to see.
We were directed, not asked, to be in front of the church at seven o’clock Saturday morning. Not very convenient for a household with one car, a father who worked all day, and a mother that didn’t drive.
My father dropped me off before work, in front of the church. Just a little side bar to show how times have changed.
As I said, my father dropped me off in front of the church at seven o’clock in the morning. Church was in the center of town, not another soul around within eyesight. Then, my dad just did what all dads did at that time...
...he drove away.
If that happened today, I would be visiting my father in his orange jumpsuit, and we’d talk through the glass in the jailhouse.
By eight o’clock, all my mates were there with me. We horsed around in our best suits, and made the girls scream as we pulled their hair.
You know, we did the things that all boys did.
Little did we know at the time, all the nuns of the parish were in church, attending full high mass.
Those of you that do not know what a high mass is, let me explain. It is hours of standing, sitting, kneeling, singing, much like a low impact workout at Planet Fitness.
When mass was over, the doors of the church swung open, and an Armada of nuns filed out of the church, like a military Boot Camp. Scared the living shit out of all of us.
I peed a little in my pants.
As I remember, it was a cold blistery day, and all the puddles were frozen in front of the church and on the sidewalk.
Leading this pack of nuns, and always first out of the church, was the high commander, Sister Marcella.
Let me give you a brief description of the leader of the pack: She was a towering four-foot-eight-inches tall, and about the same size wide. Below her nose, she sported a very well trimmed mustache to match her uni-brow.
Sister Marcella came to the end of the church landing, and she looked over as if we were her subjects. As she stepped off the last step, her foot hit a frozen puddle on the sidewalk, and immediately went ass over tea kettle.
Her habit wrapped around her head, her feet shot straight up into the air, which revealed her utility belt underneath her habit.
For those of you not familiar with the term, the utility belt was worn underneath a nuns habit. It was there to carry rosary beads, or lunch, maybe handcuffs, possibly a bull whip, and pretty sure our commander carried a gun.
After she stepped on the frozen puddle, she executed a gold medal worthy Olympic flip.
The Russian judge gave her a 9.8.
Sister Marcella landed on her back, with her legs pointed straight up to the sky.
And here’s why I’m going to hell.
When we all finally caught our breath, and try to focus on the events that just happened, I saw something that I never thought, or wanted, to see.
That’s right, I saw a nun’s vagina.
Being in the fourth grade, I’m not sure what it was at that time in my life. However, it was nothing like I have ever seen before, or since.
I am not sure because I blacked out from laughing so hard. I must have been the only one that laughed because before I knew it, sister Marcella had me by the ear and neck. She screamed at me in Latin, something about the Almighty and the vengeful hand of God.
So, because of my outbreak of laughter, I had the pleasure of sitting with sister Marcella on the bus. All day, both ways, to and from, the theater. I stared forward, and never made direct eye contact with anyone.
Much like when you go visit a Silverback Gorilla at the zoo.
So yes, I’m going to hell, but it brings me comfort. Once again, I will be with all my friends.
And, knowing my luck, Sister Marcella will be there, at the gates of Hell, to greet me.
Growing up in the shadow of my Sicilian grandma in her 5x8 kitchen in Garwood, NJ has brought me to my passion for cooking. She taught me that recipes are for amateurs; a real cook does by eye and taste. My hobby of gardening has led its way into my many dishes as well, whether it be fresh herbs, heirloom tomatoes or a variety of peppers, whatever the garden yields and the season brings.
My lifetime careers have always brought me to working with my hands, whether laying brick, building million dollar homes or repairing broken fences, my hands have been my support system in raising my 2 children, Ethan & Leah with my wife Doreen always by my side.
Now that I am semi-retired, I will be able to enjoy some of my other hobbies - fly-fishing, playing golf, live music and of course spending Monday nights with my core group of friends enjoying Monday Night Football and Trivia Night.
Guest Blogger Thom Agliata
