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I was raised Catholic. Our priest was Father Tom; he was a diehard St. Louis Cardinal Fan who used to drive us all to Busch Stadium for a game and by the seventh inning have one of the older kids picked out to drive back because he'd had about three too many.

Once a bunch of us kids were watching movies; he'd vetoed Reservoir Dogs, but someone snuck in a Steven King movie while his back was turned in and he let it slide. Later the lead tells the priest in the film, "See Father, the devil just blew up your church!", and the priest replies, "It wasn't the devil, it was tnose g*ddamn Baptists!", and Father Tom just laughed, and laughed and laughed.

When I was older, we were sitting around the porch shooting the bull and somebody asked him how he could stand to be celibate. He spoke for a bit, quite eloquently, about his faith and his calling and all that. Then he grinned and said, "Now, let's be clear, that just 'cause you're on a diet doesn't mean you can't read the menu..."

He got moved to another parish not long after I left for college (to a place two hours closer to the ballpark), and I heard he passed away a few years ago.

Religion and I parted ways over the years, didn't help that all those scandals broke out around that time. I'd probably burst into flames if I stepped into a church nowadays; but I still have a fond recollection of Father Tom.

Mr. Wattles the pony has nothing to do with Father Tom, aside from the collar. I just like telling the menu story.

Charcoal on bristol, colors in Paint Tool Sai.

Description
I was raised Catholic. Our priest was Father Tom; he was a diehard St. Louis Cardinal Fan who used to drive us all to Busch Stadium for a game and by the seventh inning have one of the older kids picked out to drive back because he'd had about three too many.

Once a bunch of us kids were watching movies; he'd vetoed Reservoir Dogs, but someone snuck in a Steven King movie while his back was turned in and he let it slide. Later the lead tells the priest in the film, "See Father, the devil just blew up your church!", and the priest replies, "It wasn't the devil, it was tnose g*ddamn Baptists!", and Father Tom just laughed, and laughed and laughed.

When I was older, we were sitting around the porch shooting the bull and somebody asked him how he could stand to be celibate. He spoke for a bit, quite eloquently, about his faith and his calling and all that. Then he grinned and said, "Now, let's be clear, that just 'cause you're on a diet doesn't mean you can't read the menu..."

He got moved to another parish not long after I left for college (to a place two hours closer to the ballpark), and I heard he passed away a few years ago.

Religion and I parted ways over the years, didn't help that all those scandals broke out around that time. I'd probably burst into flames if I stepped into a church nowadays; but I still have a fond recollection of Father Tom.

Mr. Wattles the pony has nothing to do with Father Tom, aside from the collar. I just like telling the menu story.

Charcoal on bristol, colors in Paint Tool Sai.