White Noise and Love Will Be My Only Drug

The party's almost over-it's nearly time to call it a day. It turns out God doesn't care how many beads you collected or whether you danced with Pam Anderson or yelled helau at the top of your lungs. Today is Shrove Tuesday so enjoy those pancakes, my pretty, while you can, because it gets pretty grim around here starting tomorrow.

I still think IHOP missed the cross-promotional tie-in of the Millenia, even if so doing would have resulted in its stockholders spending eternity in a lake of fire. Besides, who doesn't like melted butter or dreamed of  hearing "I'm Beezeleboul and I'll be your syrup steward." Break out those camera phones, and smile!

As a child, I hated Ash Wednesday-all the mummery of it. The burning of the palm from Palm Sunday to create the ashes the priest places on your forehead in the sign of the cross with his thumb and forefinger, 'remember man that thou art dust and unto dust thou shall return.' Thanks, Father. You have a nice day now, too.

As I became an adult (got older; maturation was never really a result) it was interesting to see who among us were Catholic (I suspect the Episcopalians do Ash Wednesday as well and don't forget the C of  E congregants) just based on the number of foreheads with ashes at work and beyond. All I can ever think of when marveling at those foreheads is Dr. Seuss and his star-bellied and plain-bellied sneetches.

Actually, what I really remember is Gary J from beyond where we lived on Bloomfield Avenue, down Appleman near Castleton. We were all kids playing ball out in the street near his house on Ash Wednesday and he was (I think) just about the only kid with a clean forehead. I knew, instinctively this meant he wasn't a Catholic.

In street baseball, you only need two outfielders (unless we ever got to play on the Turnpike up at Exit Ten where it's six lanes wide; that would be sweet!). Standing out there alongside of me he had (too many) questions about those ashes and our foreheads and I certainly didn't have answers-what was I the Pope?

Gary didn't understand the significance, the timing or the whole idea behind Lent and its importance to all the kids he hung out with after school (but never saw during school; Gary wasn't the sharpest spoon in the drawer). No more than ten myself, I reassured him as best I could and told him to not worry about any of it because it wasn't all that important.

And besides, since he wasn't a Catholic, he was going to Hell. Not that I'd want to see that shocked and scared look on his face again, but I wish I knew how to find the certainty and reassurance I felt then now. It doesn't need to last forever, just 40 days.
-bill kenny