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but Kevin Smith and his writers had the perfect Idea. "The Idea is to have faith, No one denomination has nailed it yet." To me, being a Pratitioner of Witchcraft is faith, my own style. I was raised "lapsed" Roman Catholic, meaning Mother was raised in a VERY Catholic way, I went to church with Gran, and I stopped one day to talk to the Priest. He knew my ENTIRE family (the Italian Side, the Scots were Protestant/Catholic split about down the middle.)My cousin was the Church's Organist, My Great Aunt and Great Uncle were Church Elders, She was highly active in the Church Auxiliary. My Gran didn't miss a Sunday, You get the Idea. Well, I was 12. I was having Issue with my Father's Death, (suicide.) I was having a hard time with a lot of things and I sought guidance from the man that the Diocese had placed to take care of our Small Country Very Italian Church. I sat down with him explaining that I hadn't been baptised, since Mother didn't make that happen, but I needed good sound guidance and needed to talk to him. He consented and started judging me from the fact that I wasn't baptised. I told him of my Father, and his death, explaining to him every detail I knew, explaining that he had sought treatment for the Nightmare that was Vietnam that kept haunting him. I explained his death. I simply asked him one simple Question, Not knowing the Answer, not knowing any answer, I wanted to know that my Dad's Soul was somewhere that he was being taken care of. (if you have read any of my other posts, You know my Dad is the Closest thing to a Guardian Angel that I have.) He looked at me and asked why I was asking HIM such a question. I replied that It was a matter that I was really struggling with, he simply responded with "Your Father is in hell with the rest of the Sinners and it is the place you will end up since you aren't purified by Baptism". I guess I sat there for a few minutes, just staring at this man blankly while he explained that anyone who takes their own life commits the biggest sin of all, and that they all should burn in hell where they all deserve to be. He also told me that while it wasn't too late for me, that I needed to be confirmed, baptised, Etc, to make myself "fit" enough for Heaven. Now, My Gran was standing in the Church Vestibule, waiting on me. She loved my Dad, He was a Good Catch for My Mother, Gran knew that, and she knew what I wanted to talk to Father "BillyBob" about. she said the strangest feeling came over her, that I was in desparate emotional Distress, She said it felt Like I slapped her to get her attention... She couldn't hear the coversation, she did say she could tell I was crying, but I did that when anyone spoke about my Dad. Well, I finally had enough of what this fool was telling me about My Dad not only being in Hell, but DESERVING to be there. I stood up, and I looked at him as eloquently as a young Teenager can and I said "I will not Believe that, and I will not Believe you." He started to assure me that I was following down the same path, and I told him that I didn't care "if I was in hell with my Dad, I would rather stay there than with the Judgemental idiots in Heaven", and for Emphasis I flipped the man off... My Gran came to get me, asking him what he had told me to make me so upset, I had started to break out in hives I was so distraught. She knew me, she knew I was a hard ass even back then, and he really had to go out of his way to make me have this reaction. He told her what he said and she looked like someone had smacked her again. She reported him. She decided that she had to take me to my country Doctor, and He gave me something to "calm me down." and told Gran to keep an eye on me. He told her that I would benefit from either Calamine or an Oatmeal Bath if I was still so "shocky" when I woke up. He told her that he had given me a half of a 2.5 mg Valium, and asked her what all happened, since I was one of those kids that could Smile through anything. He SAW me wreck my bike one time, and break my thumb, he was shocked because I barely Cried. He took care of me since my Birth, he KNEW this had to be something Monumental to have me in the shape I was in. He also reported "father Billybob". My Great Uncle, who was in the 101rst Screaming Eagles Airborne Division in WW2 came down and asked Gran what was going on. Gran told him, and he promptly went down to see "father Billybob". Oddly, Father Billybob was moved from our church within two weeks. He cited Personal Reasons behind this swift departure.(more than likely fear of "god" Placed into him by my VERY pissed off Uncle Herman, who rather looked and Sounded like John Wayne and a Young Robert DiNero combined, Big guy, tattoo on his forearm of that Screaming Eagle.... imposing man, but a huge teddy bear till you pissed him off.) That was the End of being a Catholic for Me. Now the church changed a lot after that, The new Father was Father Paul. He grew close to my family, and he was told of what happened with Father BillyBob. Father Paul expressed a lot of regret over the incident. He came to all of our Family Functions, and talked to me on a regular basis. He told everyone in My family that he thought I was a bit wild, but closer to being a Truly Beautiful Human than anyone he knew. I pull no Punches, I tell things the way they are, He still talks of the day I walked over to him at a Family Reunion and asked him how much in Royalties the Beatles were giving him, cause he was obviously the Missing Beatle with his new hairdo, after he asked me what I thought of it. He never tried to talk me into going to Church, he said he knew that it was jaded for me, and that he wasn't there to make me mental. He knows How I feel about things, he knows that I have Faith albeit my own. That is enough for him. Now, Seven years after the Father Billybob incident, He called my House to ask that I come to Midnight mass for Christmas. It was to be in honor of my Family, Uncle Herman had passed on by this time, so it would be for My Great GrandParents and for Uncle Herman. I told him yes, As long as he added one name to that list, and he said to hang on, he was getting the list of names that he would be reading. He came back and Started to read all the names, in Italian, until the Very Last one, he said the last one in English, Because it was never meant to be said in Italian. He read my Dad's Name, in all it's Scots Glory. I nearly fell over, and was silent. He told me that reading my Dad's name wasn't officially for the Church since he wasn't Catholic, but it was to make an old wrong right. He also knew it would Burn my Mother's ass, which it did. But there I sat in midnight mass between my Gran and My Boyfriend and smiled. I still talk to Father Paul, who Still is Head of that small church. He still calls me Wild thing, and I still say he looks like the Missing Beatle. He knows I am a Witch, and he accepts it, knowing that the family doesn't really know and wouldn't accept it if they did. He has kept tabs on me and both kids, and in phone conversations has blessed both of them in his own way. He's Father Paul, the Missing Beatle, what can I say? I know this is hugely long and rambling, But in Short I can understand why you feel the way you do and the way you felt. Find faith in yourself, find it anyway you can!
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