tiltjlp
PN co-founder
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2003
- Messages
- 3,403
- Reaction score
- 145
- Points
- 65
- Favorite Pinball Machine
- Flying Trapeze 1934
Although I grew up in the Cincinnati, Ohio neighborhood of Fairmount during the early and mid 50's, I was very much a small town boy. My world consisted of the six block area surrounding our three-story house, which stood on a high hill, complete with it's wonderfully huge porch. Our neighborhood was a mix of ethnic and religious persuasions. German-Irish and Catholic were our claims to fame.
Attending a different school than our non-Catholic friends set us apart. We handled the mysteries caused by different beliefs with friendly teasing. Our friends envied us the extra days we got off for religious holidays. It just so happens that a common religious observance had a part in my running away from home when I was eight years old. It was a stunt I never tried again.
On Good Friday, many Catholics attend church from noon till 3 PM. My school teacher mother expected my older brother and I to both be there. When she arrived at St. Leo's, she joined us in our pew. Seeing that I was still wearing dirty play clothes, she told me, in no uncertain terms, to go home and change into my Sunday best. Her stern tone and harsh gaze were enough to let me know that I was in serious trouble. It mattered little that I was in the house of the Lord, since in her eyes I had disgraced our family.
Not wanting to face her anger and rage again, I decided the only option I had was to run away from home. Remembering it now, I doubt if I put much thought into my escape plan. I did fix a sack of fried egg sandwiches, and took along several Double Cola's, so I wouldn't go hungry or thirsty during my daring adventure.
I made the rounds of my non-Catholic friends houses, looking for a place to hide from the vengeance I knew would be my mothers'. Several friends turned me away, afraid their mother's would catch on to my scheme. Finally, my friend across the street hid me under his enclosed porch. I kept an eye on my surroundings, safe from discovery by the hinged lattice-work wooden skirt that edged his house.
Since I hadn't made plans beyond lunch and a place to hide, I was soon hungry again, and started to worry about the dark. As I laid there wondering what to do next, I remembered I was missing mom's Friday night salmon croquettes.
Bracing myself for my mother's German temper, I walked across the street and into our house. Mom was very much the taskmaster, but that night she was compassionate. After three helpings of supper she doled out my punishment. I was grounded for a month, lost my allowance for a month, and had extra chores to do for the entire summer.
While I still didn't understand why I had to get dressed up for church, I made sure I always passed muster after that day I had ran away from home. I doubted if God cared what I wore, but since my mother did care, I decided that it was best to stay on her good side.
Attending a different school than our non-Catholic friends set us apart. We handled the mysteries caused by different beliefs with friendly teasing. Our friends envied us the extra days we got off for religious holidays. It just so happens that a common religious observance had a part in my running away from home when I was eight years old. It was a stunt I never tried again.
On Good Friday, many Catholics attend church from noon till 3 PM. My school teacher mother expected my older brother and I to both be there. When she arrived at St. Leo's, she joined us in our pew. Seeing that I was still wearing dirty play clothes, she told me, in no uncertain terms, to go home and change into my Sunday best. Her stern tone and harsh gaze were enough to let me know that I was in serious trouble. It mattered little that I was in the house of the Lord, since in her eyes I had disgraced our family.
Not wanting to face her anger and rage again, I decided the only option I had was to run away from home. Remembering it now, I doubt if I put much thought into my escape plan. I did fix a sack of fried egg sandwiches, and took along several Double Cola's, so I wouldn't go hungry or thirsty during my daring adventure.
I made the rounds of my non-Catholic friends houses, looking for a place to hide from the vengeance I knew would be my mothers'. Several friends turned me away, afraid their mother's would catch on to my scheme. Finally, my friend across the street hid me under his enclosed porch. I kept an eye on my surroundings, safe from discovery by the hinged lattice-work wooden skirt that edged his house.
Since I hadn't made plans beyond lunch and a place to hide, I was soon hungry again, and started to worry about the dark. As I laid there wondering what to do next, I remembered I was missing mom's Friday night salmon croquettes.
Bracing myself for my mother's German temper, I walked across the street and into our house. Mom was very much the taskmaster, but that night she was compassionate. After three helpings of supper she doled out my punishment. I was grounded for a month, lost my allowance for a month, and had extra chores to do for the entire summer.
While I still didn't understand why I had to get dressed up for church, I made sure I always passed muster after that day I had ran away from home. I doubted if God cared what I wore, but since my mother did care, I decided that it was best to stay on her good side.
