I was raised Catholic. At some point, Catholic theology became irrelevant to me and my life.

Later, I got into born-again-ism. That was okay for a time. Then it wasn’t. Something about Brother (Jack) Hyles not liking blacks riding on his First Baptist Church buses.

Mary and I were 23 with a son who wasn’t quite two when I realized that moving nearly half-way across the country to follow God had been a mistake. Jack Hyles was a phony. That was part of Mark’s history, too.

I wrote a bit about my Catholic experience in a previous book of essays. The essay was called “The Altar Boy.” My family of origin didn’t really like it. What I wrote was true, though. And I really don’t give a damn what people who’ve abandoned me time-and-time again think. I didn’t then, I don’t now.

Last night, Mary and I began what will be a new chapter in our lives of grief and loss without Mark. Periodically, we’re going to get out of the house and do something a bit different during the week. Like going to see a movie.

At the movies: Pope Francis

The Eveningstar Cinema, a place where we’ve both been seeing films since it opened in 1979 has undergone a makeover. New seats, carpeting, and a digital marquee out front (not the old climb-a-ladder-to-post-a-film-announcement signage that’s been there forever) make it seem a bit more 2018 (or at least less pre-Reagan). I’m pleased that Barry’s still in the movie business. All of us film buffs are better for it, even if his demographic seems to be getting older all the time. Continue reading →