Good God.
So, when we went out for my mom's birthday the other night, we started talking about my memories of what I thought was CCD on Staten Island.
CCD in Westchester kind of sucked. When I was younger, it was after school once a week, and it was basically another hour of school, only with crucifixes. When I was older, it was later at night-so it was basically another hour of school, only it was smack in the middle of the evening so you couldn't really be productive before or afterwards. My only consolation was that it ended in eighth grade, which is something I have over Jesse, who had to go until eleventh.
This program in Staten Island was awesome, though. It wasn't like school at all. Granted, I was in pre-K, so even school wasn't very much like school. But we sang songs-and not churchy songs, songs with a beat! (My sister and I can still remember one of them. Well, the first verse at least. We start off strong: "You got to have love! Joy! Peace! Patience! And kindness! For these are the fruits of God's spirit." Then we fall apart for verse two: "You got to have…um, something, something. Generosity! And self-control! For these are the fruits of God's spirit.") There was a play, and my sister was the lead. She was the little flower who wouldn't grow, and all of the other flowers decided to share their dew with her so they could. (Awww.) And we did art projects. I made a magnet that said "Thank you God for my sister." That's why this whole thing came up in conversation-my sister still reminds me of that magnet every time she does something nasty to me.
Well, I found out at dinner that all of those memories weren't from CCD at all. They were from camp. Bible camp. Not only that, it was a PROTESTANT Bible camp. My mom sent us to a Protestant Bible camp! We were incredulous. "It was cheap," she said. Fair enough.
This revelation is now an epiphany. My one summer at Protestant Bible camp was awesome. Going to church is…not.
I think this means I should become a Protestant.
CCD in Westchester kind of sucked. When I was younger, it was after school once a week, and it was basically another hour of school, only with crucifixes. When I was older, it was later at night-so it was basically another hour of school, only it was smack in the middle of the evening so you couldn't really be productive before or afterwards. My only consolation was that it ended in eighth grade, which is something I have over Jesse, who had to go until eleventh.
This program in Staten Island was awesome, though. It wasn't like school at all. Granted, I was in pre-K, so even school wasn't very much like school. But we sang songs-and not churchy songs, songs with a beat! (My sister and I can still remember one of them. Well, the first verse at least. We start off strong: "You got to have love! Joy! Peace! Patience! And kindness! For these are the fruits of God's spirit." Then we fall apart for verse two: "You got to have…um, something, something. Generosity! And self-control! For these are the fruits of God's spirit.") There was a play, and my sister was the lead. She was the little flower who wouldn't grow, and all of the other flowers decided to share their dew with her so they could. (Awww.) And we did art projects. I made a magnet that said "Thank you God for my sister." That's why this whole thing came up in conversation-my sister still reminds me of that magnet every time she does something nasty to me.
Well, I found out at dinner that all of those memories weren't from CCD at all. They were from camp. Bible camp. Not only that, it was a PROTESTANT Bible camp. My mom sent us to a Protestant Bible camp! We were incredulous. "It was cheap," she said. Fair enough.
This revelation is now an epiphany. My one summer at Protestant Bible camp was awesome. Going to church is…not.
I think this means I should become a Protestant.