“I put a lot of fire in my punches.”
Today is perfect. The weather is a delight. The morning is cool at 73°. The bright sun is framed by the darkest blue sky, a navy blue sky. The air has an every now and then breeze. It is Sunday quiet.
When I noticed the dogs hadn’t come in for their morning naps, especially Henry, I went and checked. Both dogs were too busy cleaning out and eating the trash which had been in Jack’s room. Cat food cans, left over cat food, cat treat packages and even dog treat packages were in the yard almost hidden by a tree. Both dogs were at the trash. Henry has gone over to the dark side.
When I was a kid, I dutifully went to church every Sunday. Sometimes I wore my bathing suit under my dress as we were leaving for the beach right after church. Other times I sat outside on the steps when the early masses were especially popular, and the pews were filled. I figured I was at church so the steps counted for attendance.
I didn’t want to move to the cape, but my parents sweetened the deal by saying I’d have a room of my own. What they didn’t tell me was it would be the pseudo-guest room, and I’d get the couch. Mostly my aunt and uncle, Aunt Barbara and Uncle Lorrie, with their brat of a child were the guests. They lived in East Boston so she she always brought down Italian cookies and a cream cake. The pastries were most welcome. Their son was not. He was younger than I, but that was no never mind. He would keep at me with his mouth. I’d tell him to stop, and he wouldn’t. I forgot how I got him to stop and why they he didn’t come down again, but my mother reminded me why. She told me I had reached the end of my patience and punched him in the face. My aunt chastised me, but my mother told her I had tried again and again to get him to stop. He deserved the punch. My mother had my back.
Three times in my life I have punched someone. Each time I first tried reasoning and asked several times for the person to stop. When that didn’t work, my fist seemed to take on a life of its own. One punch was all I needed. The first time was when I was in the fifth grade. The second time was at Fenway Park and the third time was my cousin. They all earned my wrath.
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August 28, 2022 at 11:42 am
The sky is partly cloudy and a cool 85° this morning. The predicted high temperature is 97°. Much cooler than the 100° plus days we had in June and July.
I can’t remember ever punching someone in the face. I was a small, non athletic, and nonviolent kid who learned early on to run like hell if I got into a verbal confrontation with anyone. 🙂
My paternal grandparents were very strict observers of the 618 commandments in the Hebrew Bible. While my maternal grandparents were very reformed. My paternal grandfather would attend daily services at his synagogue in the morning and in the evening without fail and they kept the sabbath and a kosher kitchen very strictly. I never saw my maternal grandfather ever go to a synagogue, even on the holidays. However, my grandmother kept a kosher kitchen.
My father was reformed and assimilated in every way except for two. He attended services on the High Holidays of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur every year. Supposedly, he promised his father that small bit of observance. And, he required that I have a Bar Mitzvah. He sent me to Hebrew school in the afternoons for a couple of years before my thirteenth birthday. During that time, the Rabbi required that I attend Saturday morning services. My father would drop me off and pick me up. He obviously set a crappy example. 🙂
August 28, 2022 at 5:16 pm
Hi Bob,
Today the temperature got a bit higher, but we kept the nice breeze. It has been the prettiest day.
I was 10, 17 and 20 when the incidents happened. I tried to avoid the physical response, but my warnings about stopping went unheeded. The Fenway Park one surprised me and the guy I hit. His friends said it was his fault, and he did apologize and offer me popcorn.
My father’s parents were churchgoers, but not very nice people so their going to church was a bit hypocritical. I think my mother’s father went to mass every Sunday, but I don’t know about my grandmother. My father was an usher at mass so he always went. My mother didn’t especially when my sisters were young.
Like your father’s two time attendance, many Catholics went to mass only on Christmas and Easter.
I had First Communion and Confirmation as I was going to Catholic school. All my siblings did as well.
I stopped attending church when I was in college.