blunt reasoning
i grew up in a catholic church. it wasn't really the type to promote boy-touching or JESUS OR DIE mentality, but it did have its downsides. at certain points, i would hate my parents for bringing me there- even from as young as three. it had nothing to do with religion, i just hated the building and the wrinkly folk who inhabited it.
i sat awake one saturday night when i was around three years old, trying to come up with a way to get back at my parents for making me sit on those goddamn awful church pews and sit and stand and kneel and stand and sit... the next morning, i woke to a sunny disposition and a surefire way to get out of church. this vision came to me in a beautiful dream. a gorgeous flurry of cherubim and seraphim flew by me one by one- each with a stunning pitcher encrusted in jewels and diamonds and made of the finest metals. in the dream, i had my trusted plastic cup in my hand and drank from the waters of the angels. they told me to drink of the water, for it would give me life.
this was my idea. i would drink so much water that i would eventually get sick to my stomach and cry until my dad would do what he had always wanted to do... walk out of church. it was foolproof.
so, after my tenth glass or so, i felt my stomach start to make noise and i knew i was set. we went to church and the choir droned, the old people touched me and the seats were fuck off awful.
and then, faster than i had ever experienced any sort of bodily phenomenon, i knew that my bladder was going to explode. the feeling was the worst ever. i looked at that wooden jesus up on the wall and knew he hadn’t felt this type of pain before. i scream out in agony. i am three years old and my dick is about to explode from pressure buildup. what the hell else could i do? i grabbed my three-year old penis as hard as i could and TRIED not to let anyone know what was up. my dad is sitting next to me and starts to realize something is going on. my plan was fucked.
he says quietly:
“steven, why are you holding your penis?”
i scream at the near top of my lungs:
”i’m holding my PENIS because i have to go to the BATHROOM!” i explain.
this alone gets its fair share of stares and even wills the priest to stop what he’s saying and make some comment that neither i nor my parents remember. i thought my explanation was terse enough to get my point across. i had to go to the bathroom. this didn’t happen. my father, thinking that a trail of piss and tears of shame would NOT be the best way out, decides to wait until the congregation stood before we went to the men’s room. i didn’t have time for this. this was it. it was go time.
i turned to lie down on the thick upholstered pew face down and staring up at that goddamn crucifix and pissed what felt to be around half a gallon of urine into the dark red fabric. before my dad noticed, i realized things were about to get worse. anyone who has sat in a church pew knows 1) they’re uncomfortable as fuck and 2) the seats angle backwards.
there was now a steady stream of my own liquid waste running down the seat and into the seating area behind us. of course the old lady freaks out and this alerts my father, who jumps up and grabs me by the arm while apologizing to the octogenarian behind us in her newly-wet, dry clean only sunday’s best. while i’m being dragged away, i take one last look at the wooden jesus on the wall and i swear to god, he fucking winked at me.
we left right then and i don’t remember ever going back to that church.