My stories are not in chronological order. I write them as they come to me - sparked from a memory, a new event, an item, or a dream.
My father was not born into the Catholic Religion. His stepmother, Virgil who married his father when he was in high school converted him. It wasn't a huge conversion. He was Episcopalian, so not a huge jump. But, boy oh boy did he jump w
ith great enthusiasm. He embraced every ritual, every tradition, every practice, and every piece of dogma that propped up his already inflated sense of masculinity and misogyny.
His stepmother loved the church. She lived a very spiritual, God-centered life. The only thing I ever heard her say that wasn't exactly kind ~ but it was kind of funny was when we weren't eating quickly enough for her - she would say, "If you don't start eating that food I made, I'm gonna give it to you in an enema." I never thought about testing the statement, I just ate my food. :0)
Bruce, my dad, is and was the most chauvinistic man, as well as the most bigoted man I've ever known. His expectations for me never included college. He thought I'd make a good stewardess or possibly a Playboy Bunny. Then in his next breath meant to guide me through the perils of deciding my future, he would tell me how fat I was.
I left home at sixteen, then got married at seventeen. I sure showed him. Right? :0)
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