grrgoyl

I dreamed all night long about my beloved Father Roger last night.

He was the one that began it all, my fascination with unattainable men (people). He should have been first on my Bandwagon, in actuality. And a priest, no less. Never let it be said I do things halfway. In my defense he started it, not me. But it wasn't a creepy, Catholic priest-child-molestation thing, even though I was 15 at the beginning. No, this was True Love (as far as I was concerned).

The first time I noticed anything was at one of my parents' parties, when he got a little....tipsy and sang "If Ever I Would Leave You" while gazing deeply into my eyes the whole time. It was frightfully romantic, at least to a shy 15-year-old Catholic girl. I will never forget his beautiful, sky-blue eyes. After that it was just little things...the constant hugging (well, he hugged everyone, but it seemed he always held me just a little bit longer), the time we left for vacation and he snuck a quick kiss on my neck as we said goodbye, the way it seemed he would say Mass directly to me (some of the time. Okay, I might have been lonely and delusional. But I think there was a lot more evidence I am forgetting). My little obsession happened right about the time The Thorn Birds miniseries came out, which didn't help in the least. He was totally the Father Ralph to my Meggie.

Oh, how I loved him. I became rabidly and insincerely religious, attending daily mass just because it was more intimate, just him, me and some little old ladies that I felt posed no competition whatsoever (and my mother, who I suspect may have had a little thing for him herself). I became an altar server (one of his radical feminist ideas to try to drag the Church into the current century) and schemed and manipulated to sit on his left, the position that involved the most interaction with him. I think it is safe to say I would have turned my back on the Church much, much earlier than I did if not for my Father Roger.

Just look at him at my Confirmation (not the guy in the silly hat, the younger one with all his own hair).....the mischievous smile....the arm "casually" draped around me. Oh, yeah. He was hot for me, boyeeeee. Don't ask what was up with my ridiculous hairstyle, though. I was young and foolish and trying to be feminine. And my god, I didn't even have boobies yet. Those were the days:

And here, looking devilishly handsome with a beard (I loved him best with a beard) in our backyard, chillin' with my father (hint: he's the one wearing the (unbuttoned) dog collar *la sigh*):

Then, as lovers sometimes do, we drifted apart. He left for another parish, I went off to college and never saw him again, but I never ever forgot him. I heard years later that he left the priesthood and was living in sin with ~~some shameless hussy~~ a woman. See? I KNEW he had the devil inside. I often wonder what he is like these days. I regret more than ever not attending my father's memorial service because there is a better-than-good chance he might have been there.

But as it is, I fear he will be among the handful of people I am doomed to forever dream about til the day I die. *sob*

P.S.: I think considering the deeply subversive nature of this post, my South Park Satan-in-love icon is highly fitting.