This weekend marked the second anniversary of my mother’s passing. All my brothers and sisters were out of town so I decided to accompany my father to church. A feat not exactly in my usual bag of tricks. I shaved, showered and put on big boy pants, in plenty of time. I inquired as to which mass he planned on attending (noon). At 1153 am I was on the front porch waiting. At 1154 am he pulled out of the garage, looked right at me and when last seen would easily make the noon mass. Guess I was too subtle.

I was able to find him prior to the start of Mass. He informed me that I was in luck the Arch Bishop was participating in Mass today. I thought to myself, there goes the twenty-five cent pew rent, they’ll probably want at least a half buck. Things pretty much went along as normal, the Arch Bishop was the best dressed and when he spoke he had little flourishes of showmanship his supporting cast lack. How do you get to the Vatican; practice, practice, practice. Apparently, revolutionary theology doesn’t hurt either.

Things started going South when the fat girl showed up:

It turns out the fat girl was a deaf-mute and she was here to deliver a sermon, message, or whatever; turned out to be ten minutes of silence. American Sign language does not play well to those not versed in it, who’da thunk??

Hey, but they’re on a roll, why stop. The fat girl is rolled off the altar to the musical accompaniment of a children’s choir. The sound of the fat girl’s arm fat flapping in time to her signing efforts projected better than the choir.

Fire the choir. Go and find about a ton and a half of black girls, a drummer, guitarist, piano player and an upright bass player. Now that’s spiritual.

They don’t have to sound like the Staples Singers but if they did, the beer and bar-b-que jam sessions immediately following Noon mass would probably eliminate the special assessment collections. Might even get Willie Nelson to show up for mass. Staples Singers First LP