As a child, there were a few things that could frighten the pants off me.
Moths, crickets, the sight of my brother with a lizard or a bug in his hands...
Not much has changed.
Except for one fear.
I look back at this one and hope against hope that it will come to pass so that I will have an opportunity to speak my truth.
And perhaps some obscenities also.
Now, I've only ever divulged this carefully guarded information to one person before today.
And how he has managed to listen to almost every scrap of my nonsense all these years without flinching is beyond me. But he has, Jeebus love him. He's a brave soul.
I'm not too sure how this started, but I suspect that watching The Sound of Music, The Flying Nun, The Trouble with Angels and/or The Nun's story with Audrey Hepburn may have all contributed to the problem.
Call it a hunch.
Where were the censors on all on that?
By the time I was 8 years old, I lived with the constant apprehension that despite my early inclination towards atheism, or maybe due to it, that I would be caught alone and off guard, hear the voice of God calling me and then have to become a nun.
Noooo! No no no no no no no. NO!
I cannot tell you what misery and terror this fear caused me.
And rightly so.
I would have made a far better moth and lizard catcher than a nun. *shudder*
Nevertheless, I waited for God himself to give me the worst possible vocational guidance in living history.
Anyway, should this God person still wish to communicate with me, I would now be very glad to organise a sit down.
Indeed, I have several bones to pick with him. He'll need to clear his schedule through October at least.
And I don't mean 2008 either.
He's so going to get it.
Reality television? Rupert Murdoch?
Seriously.
But what am I saying?
He knows better than to turn up to something like that.
He's the world's worst no-show.
Besides, the sort of person who thought it was OK to create moths, crickets and Brendan Nelson, plus allowing clubs like the Roosters to exist and prosper, would probably not be interested in asking someone like me to join him anymore.
If he had anything to say to me at all, I now suspect it would be closer to this, "Siiiim! Look what I've done to South Sydney.... hahahaha, sucko and get that up ya!"
And so now you see why, all those years ago, an 8 year old girl took such pains to dodge that bullet.
Smart.
Still, should you not wish to stand near me during an electrical storm I'll understand. ;O)
5 comments:
I find God only slightly less annoying than Indian call centres.
It's too late for you to be a nun anyway. Haven't you already given your gash up for cash?
You mean like, Burning Ring of Fire?
Poor God...
Anyway that being said, let me tell you about my mother's obsession with me becoming a nun. I admit I brought only the tiniest bit of this on myself by asking for "The Bible Game" one Christmas and taking it and only it with me when I ran away that night. (I only stood outside next to the side door in the dark, waiting for some family member to miss me and come looking for me. But in Cleveland, standing outside in December at night waiting for someone from my family to come looking for me for any kind reason is considered a suicide attempt.)
I received nun stuff fair too often and was encouraged to actually converse with nuns. But the worst and completely unforgivable incident was when my mother bought me 3 pairs of nun shoes. You know what I mean, the ugliest, plainest and most comfortable shoes created. I refused to wear them. She took away all my other shoes and I went barefoot. Eventually, I won this little war but it's been a sore subject with me ever since. Could you tell?
I just wish that now I would receive the call from the Big Guy. After 8 years of W, it would be nice to hang up on the misguided divinity.
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