father jimmy, kid priest

Growing up Roman Catholic I found the confessional booth to be the most anxiety inducing part of mass. Having to list my little kid transgressions out loud in a dark box to a priest’s silhouette in the box next door was always spooky and weird. The priest would tell you to repeat a few prayers and magically you’re sins lifted from your body like champagne bubbles. They call it absolution. I never quite believed it.

There was a Lithuanian church in Elizabeth, New Jersey where the priest was a nasty old fuck and I once had to confess my sins to him. Usually I’d run down the list of God crimes and get the impression that the priest was barely listening. But this time when I confessed to shoplifting, this ass-holy man decides to cross-examine me. Did I return the shoplifted article? Holy shit! He’s asking me a question. Whatever it was I stole, I’m sure I was still enjoying it at home. So I lied. I said yes, I returned it. I lied to the priest in the confessional box. Completely negating the whole process. He gave me a few prayers and I scooted out. Lesson learned: only confess to the small things.

Anyway, this week’s comic strip is my little kid’s version of absolution. What do you think? Father Jimmy, Kid Priest. Should I pitch this to Nickelodeon?





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