Monday Memories-Messing Up

I was raised in a Catholic household.  We went to Church EVERY Saturday night.  My parents liked Saturday night better so that we could sleep in on Sundays.  I don’t know if that’s really the case, I just know that we always went to the Saturday night Mass that was the same as Sunday morning.

We NEVER sat in the cry room.  NEVER!  We sat in the second to last row in the back on the left side (if you’re facing the alter) every single week until they had to build another church because the first one burned down and then we still sat towards the back, if just wasn’t the same place.

We also went to Catholic school as well.

The reason we NEVER sat in the cry room is simple: we didn’t need to.

I remember once asking my mom about sitting in there because I had a friend that sat there once but she said absolutely not!  We are at Church and you need to pay attention.

We did!  Every one of us.  Not making much noise. 

Let me just say that, even though this is my memory post, I will rant here for a second.  It drives me INSANE when I go to Church on Sunday and the children are climbing all over the pews, sitting on their knees, backs to the alter, coloring on their coloring books, EATING crackers and DRINKING juice boxes!  Even worse, I think, if that these children are taking communion!  ABSOLUTELY NOT NO WAY NO HOW!

That rant has a perfect place in this post.  I’ll tell you why.  I remember one time, I must have been somewhere between 3 and 5, I’m not sure which; but I remember it clearly.

I was messing around in the pew.  I was being that annoying child.  Both my parents had tried to quiet me.  I was having NONE of it.  Then, very quietly, my dad leaned down and whispered into my ear, “Do I need to take you outside?”

He said it in that “dad voice”.  You know the one.  I am SURE you have all heard it.  It’s that voice that makes you freeze in mid step, eyes open wide in fear, and you almost audibly GULP as a result of being spoken to in that voice.

Let me tell you know, my parents were not the physical kind.  We NEVER got spanked or even threatened with it.  Honestly, I’m sure he would have just taken me outside and given me a stern talking to.  I don’t know.  Why?  Because we never got that far. 

All it took was him leaning down and whispering in my ear.  Don’t know why I remember it; but I do know that I use it in the preschools all the time.  It works like a charm.  I have my dad to thank for that “voice”.  It makes me the great teacher that I am.

Did your dad ever have to talk to you in that voice?  Or how about “the look”?  Have you mastered those things as well?  Do kids climbing on pews and not paying attention to the service drive you as insane as me?