Mom insisted that we celebrate Christmas in the Catholic fashion,
getting to the gifts only after we'd attended midnight mass. Dad,
knowing that all the bars and liquor stores would be closed on Christmas,
had stocked up in advance. He'd popped open the first Budweiser before
breakfast, and by the time midnight mass rolled around, he was having
trouble standing up.
I suggested that maybe this once, Mom should let Dad off the hook about
going to mass, but she said stopping by God's house for a quick hello
was especially important at times like this, so Dad staggered and lurched
into the church with us. During the sermon, the priest discussed the
miracle of Immaculate Conception and the Virgin Birth.
"Virgin, my ass!" Dad shouted. "Mary was a sweet Jewish broad who got
herself knocked up!"
The service came to a dead halt. Everyone was staring. The choir had
swiveled around in unison and were gaping openmouthed. Even the
priest was speechless.
Dad had a satisfied grin on his face. "And Jesus H. Christ is the world's
best-loved bastard!"
The ushers grimly escorted us to the street. On the way home, Dad put
his arm around my shoulder for support. "Baby girl, if your boyfriend
ever gets into your panties and you find yourself in a family way, swear
that it was Immaculate Conception and start mouthing off about
miracles," he said. "Then just pass around the collection plate come
Sunday."
I didn't like Dad when he talked like that, and I tried to move away from
him, but he just held me tighter.
Back at home, we tried to calm Dad down. Mom gave him one of his