My earliest memories are of living in southern Ontario on the border, I was very aware that we were "Yankee's" and tolerated, though not unwelcome. Not with everyone however, kids didn't care. We attended and were members of a Roman Catholic church in Port Lampton. I remember being fascinated with the paintings on the roof as a young child (the building is apparently long gone according to google earth, I haven't been back in PL since 1968). One of my earliest memories of 'going to church' is of breaking ice in the puddles with my new shoes on and being chastised. A few years on we lived in Kirkland Lake and I was an alter boy (no issues with priests personally for me of them stepping out of their role or among any I remember talking with) full disclosure: I was quite shocked when the parish priest knocked back a couple of beers in KL with my dad in our home a few years later (he eventually went on to marry my teacher who was a nun, all good I guess). One of the fellows I was on alter service with was electrocuted at a closed mine site (Ricky Belek), I don't remember all the details, grade 4 or early grade 5. We also lived on an old mine site so it struck close to home, I remember my folks laying the law down with us wandering kids... I remember bits of the funeral, mostly that I was looking around wondering what was true, was he in the box or? You could say I was a faithful Catholic, at least until I was around 14-15 years old. My rebellious nature started to take over and it seemed I was living a lie. Telling my folks I was a faithful Catholic while knowing in my heart that i didn't care for any of it became the rule for quite sometime, not proud of that. God doesn't honour lying. Later after we moved to FF I joined the military. js
No comments:
Post a Comment