Tuesday, December 30, 2008

The Douchely Priest

I made a book of my mom's paintings for my dad for Christmas. He thought about it for awhile, and decided that my mom would have loved to have been published, and because of that, we should offer the book to her friends and family. I used a publisher who prints books on demand, and while not horrifically expensive, it's a premium service, and, so, the books cost a bit more than a similarly sized book in a store. But the results are professional, and personal, all at once. This isn't a sales pitch, but feel free to check out the link to the publisher's site, on the right, if you'd like to see more of my mother's paintings, or if you're interested in getting a copy of the book.

Earlier in the week, I sent out an invitation to the "book release" to many family friends, including a bunch of people who were invited to her memorial, back in July. I even reach out to several of my mother's so-called friends who came up with incredibly lame excuses to not attend her memorial. I figured that enough time had passed that I had no right to be irritated anymore. I'm not sure what I was thinking.

One lame-ass, no-show wrote back to me yesterday simply saying, "How is your baby growing?" While I appreciate an interest in my incredibly glorious son, I hate when someone ignores my question. I didn't mention my kid in my invitation; I mentioned my mother's book.

You may recall I lost my mind in early July at the volume of douchery my sisters and I encountered from some of my mother's so-called friends, at their reasons for not attending my mother's memorial. Specifically, you may recall I went off on the priest friend for suggesting we hold the event on a different day to accommodate his schedule. I even went as far as to intimate he was on crack, and I wrapped up the diatribe by calling him Fr. Massengill. Yeah, yeah, I know it's "wrong" to suggest that a "man of God" is on crack, and probably even a mortal sin to call him Fr. Massengill, but I have no regrets. Even with a bit of time and distance between then and now, and the lack of pregnancy hormones coursing through my present-day veins, I still feel the same way. The guy is a douche, priest or not.

Yesterday, I received this message from him:

Hi Chrissy, thanks for the e mail. I am sorry I was out of the country during your moms memorial. I will take a look at the book ad after I close this note to you. I am wondering about a pencil drawing your mom made of my hiking boots. She said at one point that she was going to give it to me. I think it was just before you moved out of Howell. I no longer recall what happen, I think she just liked it so much she decided to keep it. We then lost track of each other. I have some interest in that drawing if it is still around. I actually still have and use the boots. If I can acquire the drawing somehow let me know. Take care. Fr.MASSENGILL

Note: that is his text, verbatim, save for the very last word — his name — which I changed to protect his identity. Sort of. The creative use of punctuation, and the sense that the note was written by one who acquired a bit of English as an adult, are all his own. Also, I want to note that I didn't alter his words (other than his name) at all to show, too, that he's a cheap bastard, or not much of a hiker, or both. I remember when my mom made that drawing: I was a junior in high school, which would have been 1985-1986. What sort of guy who likes to hike, AND gets free room and board courtesy of his parishioners, wouldn't buy a new pair of stinking hiking boots after all those years?

I had a crazy day yesterday, but had enough time to forward the note to my father and sisters. My dad said he'd look for the drawing of the boots when he got home, but I kinda wished he hadn't bothered: my mother was very generous with her art, especially if she used you, or a pair of your shoes, as inspiration. Also, once she discovered watercolors, she was very eager to get rid of her pencil drawings; she was SO over them. I'm not sure why: her pencil drawings rocked. Anyway, the fact that she withheld the drawing of the hiking boots from Fr. Massengill says that he probably pissed her off after she finished the drawing, but before she picked it up from the dude who used to frame her artwork.

My father wrote to me when he got home:

It appears the good father is SOL. I could not find the picture. Maybe Mommy threw it away when she figured out he was a Dick Head.

Dad
I don't often have the joy of reading cuss words from my pop, but oddly, I've seen him capitalize "Dick Head" at least one other time; it's the name he gave to his Macintosh hard drive several years ago. Anyway, I like it capitalized, like a proper name, like Fr. Massengill. One of the biggest reasons we offered the book is to save us the trouble of rooting through our closets for specific paintings or drawings. My mom was VERY prolific, and right now, so soon after her death, and not long after having a baby, and right after the holidays, we just haven't had a chance to get everything cataloged. Maybe someday. I'm pretty sure one of us has the drawing; in fact, I think I do, though I spent as much time as I could today, looking for it, but I wish I hadn't, because I couldn't find it, and that made me feel like a shitty daughter. I'll find it though, and soon. I'm just not sure I want the douchely priest to have it, not at any cost.

Maybe I'll change my mind in the coming months, but I suppose that's as about as likely as Fr. Massengill ceasing to be a douche.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Chrissy, Forget about the drawing. If you come across it later, then decide what you want to do with it. You know some people do just keep hiking boots for about 34 years. After all they are almost broken in. pbaman