My not so favorite memory was my dad sitting in front of the tv screaming at football player who had dropped a pass or fumbled the football. And my mom playing her Mormon Tabernacle Choir on a tape recorder while ironing in the kitchen. And then one of my siblings who had already stopped attending, couldn't take football noise or Mormon singing so Madonna is blasting the rest of the house.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/25/2024 01:20AM by messygoop.
In my house, there were fewer beatings when our ward was scheduled as the second or third group cycled through the building. Getting six kids out the door for the early morning slot entailed angry banging on the bathroom door, shouting matches between siblings, screaming threats from my mother, and the occasional foot, hard against the backside, from my father. But it was all worth while, as we were able to sit on the front row of the chapel and better feel the spirit while my dad slapped my hand for going left instead of right while reaching for the bread scrap on the tray.
The LDS chapel that I attended back in my TBM days is close enough that I could have walked to church if it wasn’t uncomfortable to walk in “church” attire (and no, I don’t live in Utah). There is a pedestrian/bike path that runs directly behind the building. I can’t tell you how many times I have ridden my bike past there on a Sunday and enjoyed being reminded how much I didn’t miss being inside there.
With us it was the same as Humbetro, fighting for the bathroom, kids screaming and fighting. And then Mom arriving to scream at us some more. I would shower the night before, get out of bed and dress and walk to the chapel just to avoid the drama.
Then you would sit on a wooden bench late afternoon or evening for two to three hours for sacrament. Mom would stare at us and shake her finger if we dared make a sound. We were not allowed anything that would make that time period bearable.
Like others here have mentioned, getting ready for church was a drama-laden ordeal at our house too. One bathroom added to the angry attitudes. Any complaining about not wanting to go to church was met with swift "encouragement" to get ready.
My Dad was the heavy in our family and not heeding his wishes was not a smart choice. Once at church, the smiling faces came out and all was good in Zion.
I think this deep resentment towards going to church was my motivation for leaving once there was nobody left to tell me I couldn't.