St Rose of Lima Church

I’d never thought to review St. Rose of Lima before, but thanks to Christina S. for reminding me of it; she brought back a lot of wonderful memories.
I started school here. In Kindergarten, I was given a failing grade for not being able to properly tie a shoe, even though I could read at a high school level while everyone else was still shitting their pants and playing with fingerpaint. It was also in this class that I got my first and only beat down for dropping the «N» bomb; the kid was hitting on my girl — what can I say? When I arrived on graduation morning, having been successfully instructed on the finer points of tying a bow by a better teacher at the last minute, I was told that it was too late, and that my grade would stand. Failed for Shoe Tying, branded a Kindergarten loser. Destined to wander the cold streets alone, forever. «Here’s a syringe and a bundle of junk to get you started, kid; now go suck some dicks for money.» Nice. I think I was being recruited for Altar Boy.
In First Grade, I was paraded before the class and used as an example; Sister Eugenia proceeded to tell the class how I was actually an unbaptized heathen, and that I was going directly to Hell because I had been raised Lutheran. That was very fulfilling, and not at all humiliating; despite what they might say, I really didn’t mind getting rocks thrown at me during recess. I like to think of it as having been a character building exercise. Then, around Easter, we were made to perform a Passion Play (yeah, that’s what I said, bitches: 1^st Grade Passion Play), where I was tasked with playing a Roman Centurion whose sole responsibility was to flog Jesus as he bore his cross en route to his death. I was given this role because my family had made a conscious decision to reject Catholicism and therefore, the Lord, and so I was no better than a Jew. I was actually told this in English words at age six, which really reinforced my love for God and all of humanity. As a bonus, I did get to give Jeezy the vinegar soaked sponge on a spear to quench his thirst. In addition to all of that, I received another failing grade because my cursive handwriting wasn’t quite up to snuff. Catholic School was the mothafuckin’ bomb. My Mother finally started believing my stories, and ultimately pulled me out of that childhood wonderland.
I have nothing but real thanks for St. Rose of Lima. Without them, I might not have become an atheist by age 7. The thought of possibly having wasted my life worshipping Invisible Santa Claus in the sky makes me physically ill. Are there scars? Yes, but they’ve faded, and I both bear and bare them with pride. Also, I met and defiled some really cute chicks as a Luther League interloper at their CYO dances when I was sixteen, so that very much made up for the insults and injuries.
I’ve also been to several funerals here for family and friends — lots of frankincense and high pitched, off-​key psalm singing by men who may or may not favor ten year-​old boys. Highly recommended.

A great church and community. I was on vacation here and loved the Sunday morning mass. If only I wasn’t sick prior to going.