Pimping and Praying
by Regis Boff
My family hated John F. Kennedy because he was Catholic. My father was Catholic, but I never knew that until I went through his one drawer and found his beads and Bible after he died. He never mentioned it.
My mother was Irish. She dragged me to our Methodist church in my wool suit every Sunday to sweat and itch. I believed in this God hard. He got credit for every lucky thing that happened to me. I never blamed Him for anything.
I knelt beside my bed every night next to my mother. I recited
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I shall die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”
Then I proceeded to remind him who to bless. “God bless Mummy and Daddy” followed by careful laundry list of family members, always including the family the dog and various pets. Our dogs clearly needed it as they did live day to day never lasting very long. The devil favored running them over with cars I guess. In hindsight, I think God might have gotten impatient with me for wasting his time on animals.
Praying, like Santa and the Easter Bunny, reluctantly lost their reality. Petitioning the Lord for shit lasted longer. God and I worked my teen years hard. I think I sought to pray away every pimple. I certainly tried to use God to pimp out the affections of any girl on whom I had a crush.
I never pray anymore. In fact, I think it is vaguely unseemly. I have too much.