Prologue
Almost all of us have been there. A series of events that happened in our youth that still trigger thoughts of frustration and anger. For me, its religion. Before I get started, I want you, the reader to know that this is not an attempt to bring anyone's personal beliefs down. This is just my personal story. It's taking me a lot of guts to share this with you, but I want to. I think it will be good for me, as well as possible help out any other person that shared similar experiences.
I. Childhood Innocence
I was born into a normal Catholic family. I went to a Catholic grade school, attended weekly Mass with my family, and loved my free time. Everyday was an adventure, whether it was playing Army Men in the backyard or building forts in the house. I was carefree and life was good. I never questioned my religion nor did I ever care about it. We had daily religion classes in elementary school, and they would teach us about Jesus and Heaven but it never mean't anything to me. I just found it boring and inapplicable to my life.
II. Boy Scouts and Punk
My junior high days consisted of my two biggest passions at that time; Boy Scouting and Punk music. I had joined Scouts in First Grade and loved every minute of it. Boy Scouting was a great root foundation for me. I was learning the three core values: citizenship, character, and personal fitness; as well as making friendships and going on outdoor adventure trips. At that very same time I was really into Punk. I know what you're thinking, and I'm going to stop you right there. Punk was not an attempt to rebel against my parents nor authority. At that point in time, I loved the artistic value of it. I loved the raw aggression, real life feelings of other people I could relate to, and the style. Starting at the age of 11, I started buying Punk CDs, playing the genre on the drums, and rocking out to the music in my bedroom.
III. Why?
By the time seventh grade came around, fighting with my parents every Sunday was relentless. At the age of 13 I didn't believe or disbelieve in any god nor did I care about religion as a whole. I dreaded every Sunday and told my parents I didn't want to go (though I never told them I didn't believe or disbelieve). Every Sunday the car ride was the worst. Yelling and screaming by both my parents and I was the norm, and then all of a sudden right when we got out of the car and entered the church, my parents acted as if nothing was wrong. But literally 5 minutes before, I was shedding tears.
Growing up is tough for everyone. Whenever I needed alone time due to xyz, I rocked out in my bedroom or watched movies. I love the escapism and was always able to relate it to something in my life. I remember very vividly when my parents would go through my CDs and they would look up the lyrics. If there was a single cuss word in the album, my Dad threw away that album. I remember feeling very angry. Those albums meant a lot to me, and had helped me through some rough times. My parents would also use a Catholic Bishop movie review site to see if the the PG-13 movie I was going to see was appropriate. Most of the movies I wanted to see had substance to it. It was about real life stuff and relateble characters. Most of the time, the Catholic Bishops deemed those films inappropriate for Catholic audiences, so my parents didn't let me go see them.
IV. Depression
In eighth grade I was severely depressed. I was graduating from the grade school and my parents were forcing me to go to a Catholic all boys high school. Religion had no meaning in my life, and yet it was going to dictate where I was going to spend the next 4 years of my life. I wanted so badly to go to our towns public high school. My parents had this mentality that public schools are for "other people". They told me that as long as I lived under their roof I was going to a Catholic school. I cried, pleaded, and begged that it wasn't for me. They didn't understand that Catholic schools are for preppy kids, and not Punk kids like myself. They didn't understand that kids like me would get made fun of and beat up. They still didn't care. I was going regardless.
I was contemplating suicide. I didn't see any other out. I called a good friend of mine and told him. Like any concerned friend, he told his mom, and his mom called my school. The next day, I got pulled out of school and my parents picked me up. Much to my surprise, my parents were angry at me. They kept saying I was sick and I wasn't thinking right. I cried and said "Why can't you just let me be me!? I'm not a Catholic Preppy boy. Why are you forcing me to go somewhere I don't belong!?" Their bull shit response remained the same that as long as I'm living under their roof, I go to a Catholic school. Period. My parents treated the situation extremely cold hearted. I wasn't treated like a son who needed help. They left me to fend for myself, depression and all.
V. I Told You So!
I was the only Punk in my school. I wore studded belts and bracelets with my uniform, had swoopy bangs or spikey Punk hair. It's expected to get made fun of when you choose to express yourself differently than your peers. Well sophomore year it finally happened, I got beat up by a prep. I came home with a huge bruise on my neck, and told my parents that I don't care what you say anymore. I'll hitchhike to the public school if I have to, but I'm not stepping into the Catholic school for as long as I live. They reluctantly said okay....It only took me getting my ass kicked for them to budge...
VI. Sleeping in Church Parking Lots
At the age of 18, I had graduated high school and started community college. I went to Hardcore shows on a monthly basis. I loved it. Any bullshit that was in my life was gone. Ironically, I felt peace when I was in the mosh pit. I was part of a community that cared for each other and literally picked each other up when we fell down. It was a brotherhood that was really only understood if you were a part of it.
I was working part time at the local pizza place. I opened the store on Sunday mornings. My parents knew that I didn't believe in a god nor cared about religion. They didn't accept it nor me. Every Sunday was a screaming battle at 7:00 in the morning. They would force me to go to early morning Mass. My Dad would stand at my bed and scream at me until I got out of bed. They would would scream until they saw me leave the driveway. Every Sunday morning I would park my truck in the church parking lot and sleep in my truck. I refused to go inside that place. I had no reason to. This happened until the age of 21 when I left to go to a college university.
VII. Present & Epilogue
I'm about to graduate from college, and my views about religion are still the same. I'm an Apatheist, which basically means I don't care about religion or a god. I've always been an Apatheist ever since I was a child. I find my inner strength in my music, and always have. When I come home from college, my parents occasionally give me a hard time about not going to church with them. I know that I'm a good dude with good values. I don't need to worry about debates on whether a god exists or not, because I just don't care. I don't need to go to a confession to ask for forgiveness because I rather just go ask forgiveness from the person that I might have hurt. I don't need to stress out about heaven or hell. I just don't care. I'm going to keep trying my best. The best son, best boyfriend, best friend, best student, and best Horror lovin Punk rocker I can be.
-Johnny Fright
