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Question Number Six (?)
Posted on 2006.03.11 at 20:33Current Mood:
nostalgic
Current Music: Theme from Out of Africa
Describe the place where you grew up.
I grew up in Back Bay of Boston on commonwealth avenue. It's the center of the city, running parallel to the famous Newbury street and in the shadow of the Prudential building. The Charles river was in walking distance, as was the Fens, Fenway Park and the Public Gardens. We used to go to the park every Sunday after church, and my father would take me and my brothers to baseball games in the spring.
The large apartment was situated between Gloucester St. and Hereford St. and we were lucky enough to have a statue on the grounds in front of our yard. I vaguely remember knocking out one of my teeth when my face collided with it in a rough game with my brother Robby. We had an ugly brown carpet in most of the rooms except for the kitchen, which had an even uglier yellow tiling. There was a vague smell of allspice and lilacs, as my father and mother used both scents respectively. It was always dark in the house, and at night my father would tell us stories as he smoked his pipe provided we eat all our dinner. He'd always add in something extra at the end to make us laugh. (For example, he would tell the true part, like how he got in trouble for playing ding-dong-ditch, and end it with an extraordinary fallicy, like how he beat up the guy who snitched on him.)
My mother is very religious, and had hung relics all over the house, whether it be a miniature of the virgin or very creepy pictures of the crucifixion. She had them littered all about the place, including the bathroom, which often sported some sort of religiously shaped soap, for she not only believed in spiritual but also physical Catholic Cleansing.
Every week, we would walk down to Trinity Church, which wasn't Catholic, but Episcopalian. My father had some issues with the local Catholic Church that I never found out about. Trinity was very big and it has such long echoes that I was always tempted to start singing just to hear it come back to me. I was always afraid I would do something wrong and be sent away. My first communion I disliked wine so much, I coughed and spit it on the Bishop. It was awful. I still wonder if you can go to hell for regurgitating the blood of Christ on a holy cassock.
My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and it's looked the same for over forty years. My mother doesn't like change, so I assume it's going to stay that way for another forty. Apparently I'm supposed to get it in the will, but I have a feeling it's just a clever way of making sure Julie ends up a housewife, even in death. They know I could never stand to sell it.
I grew up in Back Bay of Boston on commonwealth avenue. It's the center of the city, running parallel to the famous Newbury street and in the shadow of the Prudential building. The Charles river was in walking distance, as was the Fens, Fenway Park and the Public Gardens. We used to go to the park every Sunday after church, and my father would take me and my brothers to baseball games in the spring.
The large apartment was situated between Gloucester St. and Hereford St. and we were lucky enough to have a statue on the grounds in front of our yard. I vaguely remember knocking out one of my teeth when my face collided with it in a rough game with my brother Robby. We had an ugly brown carpet in most of the rooms except for the kitchen, which had an even uglier yellow tiling. There was a vague smell of allspice and lilacs, as my father and mother used both scents respectively. It was always dark in the house, and at night my father would tell us stories as he smoked his pipe provided we eat all our dinner. He'd always add in something extra at the end to make us laugh. (For example, he would tell the true part, like how he got in trouble for playing ding-dong-ditch, and end it with an extraordinary fallicy, like how he beat up the guy who snitched on him.)
My mother is very religious, and had hung relics all over the house, whether it be a miniature of the virgin or very creepy pictures of the crucifixion. She had them littered all about the place, including the bathroom, which often sported some sort of religiously shaped soap, for she not only believed in spiritual but also physical Catholic Cleansing.
Every week, we would walk down to Trinity Church, which wasn't Catholic, but Episcopalian. My father had some issues with the local Catholic Church that I never found out about. Trinity was very big and it has such long echoes that I was always tempted to start singing just to hear it come back to me. I was always afraid I would do something wrong and be sent away. My first communion I disliked wine so much, I coughed and spit it on the Bishop. It was awful. I still wonder if you can go to hell for regurgitating the blood of Christ on a holy cassock.
My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and it's looked the same for over forty years. My mother doesn't like change, so I assume it's going to stay that way for another forty. Apparently I'm supposed to get it in the will, but I have a feeling it's just a clever way of making sure Julie ends up a housewife, even in death. They know I could never stand to sell it.
mellow
exanimate