PG people in an R-rated world

On my nightstand is a little glass container of holy water that I won when I was in the third grade. When I walked into my CCD class in the basement of St. Joan of Arc Church that night and noticed the shoe box full of prizes, I was immediately drawn to the little bottle. I don’t remember the contest, only that it was one in which everybody won a prize (the best kind for the winning-impaired like me). I can still see my teacher holding the box above eye-level. I reached up, felt around, and pulled out the little bottle.

The container still holds the very same holy water it did back then. Granted, there’s a layer of gook on the floor of the bottle, the water not quite holy enough to excise 30-some years of bacteria. But then, neither am I holy enough to keep my body exactly free from the flaws of time and temptation. There’s my bad lower back, my fast-food heart, and that excess fat around the waist, which, when I told it to get-thee-behind-me, it did, and won’t go away no matter how much I get on the Stairmaster.

And there’s that ’ol spiritual bacteria, the bacteria that turns our world, as we age, from G-rated to R-rated.

Whereas we once saw the world in black and white — good guys and bad guys, Errol Flynn and Adolph Hitler — we learned slowly that there were many shades of gray. We learned that John Wayne spoke at times with a forked tongue, that the Indians weren’t necessarily the bad guys as he led us to believe. We learned that just because Daffy Duck can walk away from a rifle blast – albeit his beak facing the wrong way – the same couldn’t be said for us humans.

Our naiveté began to dissolve as we grew older; we began to understand that there are consequences to peoples’ actions, sometimes big consequences. Huge consequences. And we noticed the same of ourselves, occasionally the hard way. I remember more than once as a child staring up at a police officer as he took down my name for one infraction or another. (How did I know digging a four-foot-deep, six-feet-in-diameter fort on private property was against the law?)

Aren’t these the ABC’s of life? Don’t we have to go through this rough and tumble learning process if we are to understand how to survive our lives Holy intact?

Sure! That is, if we are to be PG-rated people living in an R-rated world. The rough patches are the lessons. That’s how we learn. Hopefully we learn, anyway.

(Why be PG instead of G? As much as we attempt to be pure at heart — to "stay golden, Pony Boy" — except for a few wonderful souls, I think the G rating is somewhat elusive after childhood. By the way, don’t tell my mom that; she thinks I’m a "G".)

Sure, we’re an imperfect people, but as PG people, even as we see the darkness, we endeavor to choose the light. We’ve got "Parental Guidance Suggested" imprinted on our soul, and we know to turn to the Light of our heavenly Father (as He suggests) so we can avoid the darkness -- or find our way out.

Problem is, we’ve got a lot of people out there with flashlights. Who are they trying to kid? Themselves? Us?

Who am I talking about? They’re the corporate zombies who sell ultra-violent video games to children, who in turn buy them up like candy. I once heard a child ask a returned soldier, "Is [war] kind of like the video games?" The soldier responded, "Yeah, sort of." Wrong answer to give an 11-year-old.

There’s Dr. George Tiller of Wichita, a later-term abortionist who admitted at one time that his office had committed around 11,000 late term abortions in a five-year period.

There’s our own administration, which preaches life and practices ... well, you be the judge. As of July 28, 2,574 American soldiers had died, and reportedly more than 40,000 Iraqi non-combatants. I see your light, Mr. President, though I think you could use a new battery. Perhaps it would help you to understand NSWWJRD (No, Seriously, What Would Jesus Really Do?)

There’s that group of people from a Tulsa parish who strongly berated their bishop in a June 29 meeting because he dared present a Confirmation celebration in Spanish and English. " ‘But what about the 11 million to 12 million people who already are here?’ [Bishop Edward J. Slattery] asked. ‘Should they all — mothers and fathers and children — be sent back?’ he asked.

" ‘Yes, and I’ll drive a bus," one man replied."

Wow. If that’s not a load of spiritual bacteria, then I’m next in line to be pope.