At work my detective partner is named Dave. I take Dave out in the field with me when I think I might get my ass shot off of someone’s porch when I knock. I realize that it might be nice to have a back-up at times or at least a witness to my demise.

Dave’s father is a retired minister. I would say that Dave is probably a little more religious than I. His office is next to mine and we have had some deep discussions at times. A few talks have been about religion or I should say my lack thereof.

With my current situation in mind Dave asked me one day if I ever prayed. I told Dave “No.” I have never in my life prayed for myself. Whether it was about cancer or anything else.

Now I guess I have to qualify that statement, because I think that there have been times in my youth that I have asked God to please make the bed stop spinning and if he could do that for me that I would never again do what I did last night. Also in my youth maybe I have said to God, “Please don’t let her be pregnant!” Maybe or maybe not, college was a good time. I do not think those wishes really qualify as prayer.

I have never asked God for a cure. I have never asked God to stop the pain. I have never asked God for strength. I have never asked God why. Why me? I have prayed for others, just not me. If someone wishes to pray for me I appreciate that very much. I appreciate everyone’s prayers, thoughts, and wishes. They keep me going.

Maybe I should ask God to kick our state legislators in the ass, and get them to increase funding for our schools so that some bright kid might one day discover a way to help people suffering from disease. Yes I might do that.

Some people when reading this will say, “Well Kevin if you prayed you would not be in the deep shit you are now.” Maybe they are right or maybe not. Maybe I will get the opportunity to meet God and when I do I am going to have one question for her: WTF!!

I do know how to pray. Hell I was born and raised Catholic. I went to Catholic grade school and I was an altar boy. I have been a recovering Catholic for about 40 years.

In Martinsburg Sister Mary Peter Damien was my teacher for 1st and 2nd grade. Both classes were in the same room. Sister Mary Black & Decker was the shop teacher. I know old joke, but I still laugh. You must remember that one of the reasons for this blog is to make me laugh, and laugh I will.

When older I would sometimes go to confession in Martinsburg, sometimes in Wellsville, other times in Mexico, MO. I had to try the different churches in order to learn which priest was the most lenient. You know, I needed to know how many Hail Mary’s I was going have to say if I had an affair with the lady next door. Hahaha.

Often I found myself in Mexico on a Saturday and my mother liked to go to confession at the church there. I did not like it there.

The church had more than one priest, and I learned quickly that if you told one of them that you had missed church one week that your penance was automatically going to be to say an entire Rosary. That was a lot praying. You would have thought that I did sleep with the neighbor’s wife. I thought that was a little harsh for missing mass.

The Church had two or three confessional booths. Cannot remember how many, but for this story we will say three. It was my task to try to figure out which confessional booth Rosary priest was hiding.

So I walk into the Church and I can hear Don Pardo yelling out, “Kevin do you want what is behind curtain #1, #2, or #3?” This was a big decision. I had no time for the Rosary. I had to find the right priest. Don would not let me phone a friend for help. I picked #2.

So I get in there and start, “Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was……”

Then I hear the priest. Ooooh noooo. It is Rosary priest. So that day I decided to add another lie to my lie list and not mention having missed mass since my last confession. I was told to say a couple of Our Fathers and Hail Mary’s and I was out of there in time to get with my friends for a Saturday night party. You know us Catholics.

At college I went to the Newman Center (the Catholic church on campus) a few times. I decided that it was not for me.

Religion never really was an issue until Christy and I were in serious discussions about our relationship future. She was Methodist and she told me that she would not become Catholic or be married in the Catholic Church. Hell I did not care where we got married. I just wanted to have sex.

It did matter a bunch to my Irish Catholic grandparents. So I was able to get Christy to go and meet with a priest. We enrolled in education classes with the knowledge that she was trying to keep peace in the family. We went to class every week with other couples.

The priest made it a point to make sure that everyone abstained from sex before we were married. No problem. Well it wasn’t for awhile. Also the priest would sometimes ask.

You see we were living in separate apartments, but our leases were up one month before the wedding. We found a place and moved in together. This is where we would live after the wedding. Did I mention that it was just a month before the wedding?

I was walking behind Christy one day and she bent over to grab a can of corn. I do not know what happened, but it happened. I could not control myself and we had sex right there. Hopefully the priest would not ask.

So we are back in class a few days later and the priest he asks if we have been abstaining from sex. I guess I could have lied and added that to my tally at confession, but I told him the truth.

I told him that she had bent over for a can of corn and I could not control myself and we had sex right there.

The priest told me that we were no longer welcome into the Catholic Church. I said, “Father that is okay, because we were no longer welcome in Kroger either.”

Hahahaha. Gotcha.

Okay. Okay. That was supposed to be part of an April Fools post but April Fools was on Easter this year. Did not think that was a good time for this post.

Anyway most of what you have read here is very true. Some is not. You figure it out.

I am not trying to challenge anyone’s religious beliefs. I guess I am still on that road trying to figure out my own. Hope I have not pissed off too many friends and family, but at this stage of my life I guess it does not matter.

By the way we were married in the Methodist Church. Seven years and one great granddaughter later my grandmother got over it.

Seriously I am not sure of the existence of Heaven or Hell. I figure that when I die that I will either go to sleep and never, never wake up or wake up in Heaven. I really am not in any hurry to find out, but my money is on the former.

I am spiritual, but do not consider myself church religious. I see God when I see a couple sitting on a park bench holding hands. I see God when people do unselfish things for their fellow man. I see God in the eyes of my Camden. I am in no hurry to leave.

Several years ago I stopped going to church. It did not feel right. No matter how many times good intending people ask I have no plans to ever return.

I do not want to have a church funeral. I would rather have a big party in which I am the host. Video recorded of course. I will welcome everyone there and say sorry I could not be there, but I am dead.

I will have a recording of myself asking questions for a game of Dead Man Trivia. You know trivia questions about me. Questions like who is the world’s greatest band? One of the kids better get that one. I want everyone to have a good time.

Maybe I will see you there. Maybe not.


“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.”  Henry David Thoreau