Rebel Son to Unholy Father (Part one)

(As the sun peeked through the small crack in the blinds of the otherwise dark room, my eyes fluttered open slowly and I stretched out my stiff limbs with a soft groan. I reach my arm out to the bedside table to lift my watch for the time before my legs swing over the edge of the bed and plant on the floor, the rest of my body reluctant to follow but eventually does. My head rolls side to side making a cracking sound as I stand up and walk toward the bathroom for a morning piss.)

It’s too fuckin’ early for this shit.

(My strong Irish lilt spoke gruffly, releasing a sigh. I was never a morning person, even before my Ma had passed on, I would always procrastinate getting up for school. Da would be up at the wee hours of early morn’ preparing his sermons for the church. I had grown up in Ireland. Castleknock was a smallish town not far from Dublin that was home to a little over 10,000 people. My Da wasn’t always a priest. He was a little rebellious in his younger years then evened out when he met my mother. They fell in love the moment he saw her through a shop window where she worked as a dress maker. Long story short, they eventually married after a long courtship, I was born in 1976 and my Da decided he wanted to devote himself more to the church so he could be a better man for his family shortly after my mother had miscarried what would have been my younger brother. My Ma was always a ray of sunshine while my Da was more of a disciplinarian. I could practically hear her singing old Irish Hymns while Da would read his bible. She got sick when I was still a wee boy and passed on before I had even reached puberty.)

Oi.. It’s Thursday.  Wonderful.

(Thursdays were the days our church opened up for the local support groups and each group scheduled a different room for their meeting. Lucky me, I got to be the one to speak at each of them and give some bullshit motivational speech about the Lord guiding them and blah, blah, blah. I’m sure you are wondering how a man like me with such little faith could end up as a priest. Well I will tell you. As you already know, my father was one. He tried to bring me up with a strong faith and discipline but I was a free spirit. I could not be tamed. I still can’t be tamed, but I digress. My father fell ill and in attempt to get closer to him, a family friend made arrangements for me to do the training. That friend is still the only reason I am still working for the church. I assume it was both of our way of keeping Da close since he had passed on and it acted as penance for all of my misguided deeds and blatant disregard for the rules in general, so to speak.  It was a roof over my head and gave me a purpose in life at least..I guess.)

Jesus H. Christ..I’m gonna be late!

(Hurriedly I hop in the shower to wake myself and clean up before the day truly began.)