Posted by: johnhourihan | June 14, 2012

The GOP is going to get thrown out of church


I remember thinking at the time, “Ma will kill me if I get thrown out of church again.{“
There are times you detest a certain outcome so much that you would endure things much more detrimental to yourself and to everyone else around you just to avoid that one thing.
This is why I almost understand a political party that can‘t go back on a decision it made, even if it destroys the country to carry it out..
It reminds me of something I felt at 10 years old.
Living in the barrio heat of South Phoenix in the 1950s there was little to do on Sundays; other than during baseball season. So Posie, Bonnie, DeDe and myself would go to church.
Any church; and Saturdays too.
You see, weekends were for making a few bucks, and religion was part of that.
Some religions would pay a quarter for each new person you brought in, so one of us would go into places like “The Reverend Keester’s Church of Life and Mental Reservations” one week, and “Our Lady of Perpetual Motion” the next.
A week later, we would bring the others, collect our 75 cents, stay a half-hour or so, then go on to the next religion.
Then, one of the preachers walked to the house on a Monday and told my mother I had been thrown out of his church and wasn’t welcome back.
Ma calmly told me she would probably kill me if I ever got thrown out of church again.
A few Sundays later, Posie brought us to a new church.
The minister met us at the door and when we pretty much held out our hands for the reverse tithe, he put us off.
“After the service,” he said abruptly, and walked back into the dark, hot room full of benches.
Inside, there were only seven or eight old drunks, and one Mexican family who looked lost and unsure.
While his sermon droned on about how “there must be a hell because scientists have proven the center of the earth is molten lava,” I noticed there was a stack of cases of Dr. Pepper next to the soda machine.
I elbowed DeDe and pointed at it with my nose.
Bonnie had found something more interesting.
In the corner was a row of candles, and at the end was a tin box.
The preacher rambled on, and pretty soon he was even belittling those “who would come to services just for money.”
I told the others, “He’s gonna stiff us.”
I got up, walked across the room and leaned against the soda machine.
Posie and Bonnie scooched down the bench to the end near the candles, and DeDe, who was 13 and quite built, sat in the middle where the minister could see her very plainly.
When we were certain he was pretty much fixed on Deana’s shorts, I filled my pockets and belt with bottles of soda, while Bonnie emptied the tin box.
Looking like a donkey caught between two equally accessible carrots, the preacher stood. still, his mouth open in a weird smile as we all turned and bolted for the door.
There, filling the door, was the biggest man I had ever seen, in a white shirt the size of a tent. And he wasn’t budging.
All I could think of was, “Ma is going to kill me if I get thrown out of church again.”
I ignored the real danger of arrest or worse.
He didn’t know my name yet and I wasn’t about to let him find out.
We raced into the back hall searching for a whiff of outside air or a glint of sunlight to follow.
To the right was a bathroom.
The preacher and the other guy started down the hall after us followed by the congregation.
We pushed open the door and rushed into the men’s room.
There was an open window but it was small and high above one of the stalls.
“Ma’s going to kill me,” I heard myself say. I stepped on the toilet, up onto the roll holder, to the top of the partition — I reached across to a hanging pipe and swung out the window.
Outside, I grabbed Bonnie’s feet and pulled him out, then Posie then DeDe.
Somehow we had done it.
The preacher never did get a chance to say, “Ah thank ah’ll call yoah parents.” But in the back of the building were some junk cars and a bad looking dog, which we now had to outrun to the fence, the street and safety.
We had stolen money from a donation box, made off with six sodas, didn’t fall from the window, eight feet to the cement floor, and as we sprinted away trying to make it to the fence before the pit bull tore us up,  all I could think of was, “It’s a good thing, because Ma would have killed me if I got thrown out of church again.”
Thinking of that day, I understand the single-mindedness of the Republican Party bull-headedly adhering to a course of action that includes making everyone believe that every decision of the presidents’ is a foolish one, that the president is evil and the country is a joke just so they can get votes in the upcoming election.
I almost understand why they consistently vote against getting anything done so at election time they can say, “Nothing has been done. We need a new president.”
I  understand. I don’t agree with them. I think that in order to make the president look bad they are running the risk of destroying the country.
But then, again, my understanding comes from things I thought when I was 10 years old.

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