Must've Been The Devil

From the time I began first grade until the time I finished eighth grade, I was forced to go to Catholic School. As you can probably tell by the adjective "forced", I was not happy about it. I hated everything that you could possibly hate about it: the plaid uniforms, the mean nuns and most of all, the daily trips to church.

When I say daily, I'm not exaggerating. Every day, after spending hours reading out of religion books, mind you, we were forced to go to church and either pray the rosary or sing. Typically, I would prefer the latter, unless the song choice decision making was in the hands of the Catholic Church faculty. Then, I had to reconsider. Although repeating the same prayer fifty times in a row (sick, isn't it?) was no fun, neither was belting out religious tunes about the Savior and the Virgin Mary. No thanks.

Once a year, we would have an annual "Spring Fling" concert, where every grade in the school would stand on a stage in the front of the church and sing for all the parents. And every year, I dreaded these damn spring concerts. Not only were all the song choices awful, but it didn't help that our music teacher sang along with us. Normally that wouldn't be a bad thing, unless you heard this woman sing. I think she honestly thought that she had a good voice, but in reality, she sounded like a dying cat. I don't know what kind of sensible person would have hired her to be a music teacher.

I remember when I was in the 5th grade, the concert theme that year was "The Beatles". I don't think I even knew who the Beatles were at that point, but I figured it had to be better than religious music. Everyday we practiced the lyrics of "Ticket to Ride" and "Hey Jude". I can't figure out if I hate hearing those songs now because I really don't like the sound of the song, or if it's because I can still hear the high pitched screech from my old music teacher in the back of my head. Either way, I still can't listen to them.

My mother refused to let me skip the concert. No matter how much I begged and pleaded, she was not having it.

"Please?" I begged. "Please let me stay home. You know I hate these concerts!"

My mother shook her head. "You're going."

So, of course I did what any angry kid would do. I threw on a dress and pouted the whole ride to the church.

The kicker was when we got up to the stage to sing. Instead of singing along to the Beatles, I talked to the girl standing next to me the whole time. We laughed and joked about how ridiculous the entire concert was. I watched my mother's reaction in the audience. I think as every minute passed, her face turned a deeper shade of red. She was furious with me.

Needless to say, I wasn't forced to go to any more spring flings after that.

I know, I know, embarrassing my mom wasn't the nicest thing to do. But hey, I was a punk.

Come to think of it, I still am.

And I still hate the Beatles.