Bad Habits Page 7

  Mom would wait for a neighbor to walk by our house and say, “Hey, Mike, your hair is looking a little long. You want me to trim it?”

  Everyone would say, “Yeah, it is pretty long. Okay.”

  And then she would collect five bucks from them.

  That night, boom bam, we were eating noodles with ground chuck for dinner.

  When people say to me, “Jenny, you really are a scrapper in Hollywood,” I know that this is why. I learned it from the best.

  I’ll always find one way or another to feed Evan.

  No one really had money in our neighborhood, but there was always one family that seemed to have the best toys, clothes, and lawn décor: the Baruchs.

  Those damn Baruchs would rub it in our faces too. My Big Wheel had a crack in the seat, so when I rode it, you could hear me coming from a mile away because my ass was scraping the concrete. I really wanted the new Big Wheel that had pink pompoms.

  Soon after mine broke, Diana came whizzing past the front of my house with the fucking Big Wheel with pink pompoms.

  “Hi, Jenny. Do you like my Big Wheel? You will never ride it. Ever!”

  Whenever I would say to my mom, “Why do the Baruchs get everything? It’s not fair!” my mom would reply, “Jenny, don’t be jealous and envy what other people have. It’s a sin.”

  The next day I would catch my mom out on the porch squinting her eyes to watch Mr. and Mrs. Baruch put up the most amazing Christmas decorations on the South Side of Chicago. I could hear my mother say, “Look at that. That is not fair. They shouldn’t be allowed to have those beautiful decorations. They are sinners. We deserve them. We’ve never missed a single Mass. Ever!”

  I so badly wanted to tell her, “Didn’t you just say we shouldn’t envy other people’s stuff?” but I couldn’t. My mom worked so hard to take care of us that I could never be mad at her for all of her contradictions no matter how wishy-washy they were.

  This is where I created a belief system to help me cope—that rich people were evil.

  I think this was the only way to not be depressed about not having money.

  There is even a religious song that proved the theory: “Blessed are those who are poor … for someday you should laugh.”

  I knew I couldn’t help my parents at this young age to get money, but I knew I could make them laugh. I would regularly put on shows to give them a chuckle to help ease the pain of poverty. I was hoping this would hold them over until I was old enough to help them financially.

  Our monetary strain got progressively worse through the years. In my teenage years, it was even more difficult not to have the material things I wanted. I so desperately wanted the new sparkly blue Schwinn ten-speed. I had a picture of it up in my room and would pray for it to any saint who would listen.

  One afternoon, I was sitting on my porch when Diana Baruch rode past my house on the blue Schwinn bike that I had been praying to God for. She paused in front of me and said, “Like my new bike?” and then rode off laughing.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening again! How could I not envy?

  I mean, come on, God!

  Then a miracle happened. Well, actually two miracles. The first was that my mom took us to McDonald’s.

  McDonald’s for us was like going to Disneyland. It was considered a luxury. One reason we were able to go was that my mom scored two perms from nuns at the convent and made a whopping fifteen dollars! The other reason was that McDonald’s was promoting that Monopoly game where you collect stickers for each square and win big cash. My mom was collecting them from everybody she knew. Even the nuns would give them to my mom when they saw her.

  So off we went to McDonald’s and came home to devour the food.

  My mom pulled the Monopoly squares out of the bag and uncrinkled the paper Monopoly game board she had been gluing the other squares on.

  Just as I was sinking my teeth into a hamburger, my mom started screaming, “Oh my God! We won! We won!”

  She jumped up and down as if she had won a car on The Price Is Right. I ran over to look at her Monopoly board game and all the stickers were covering every square.

  I too began jumping up and down and screaming.

  My mom then ran outside and started screaming, “We won twenty-five thousand dollars!”

  Friendly neighbors hurried over to celebrate and jump up and down with us. I was so excited. God heard my prayers.

  Of course, I immediately thought of myself and asked, “Can you buy me that ten-speed I want?”

  My mom, still jumping up and down, suddenly morphed into a philanthropist with the power of Oprah. “You all get one!” She pointed to all of us kids with her mouth open and her eyes wide and bright.

  “Woohoo!”

  Now I was jumping up and down as if I had won the Showcase Showdown on The Price Is Right.

  My mom ran back inside the house to call my dad at work. I followed her in to maybe catch a scream from my dad on the other end of the phone. Mom asked Dad’s boss to page him and have him call back immediately.

  While we waited for my dad to call, my mom shouted out all the bills she would pay off with this money. I was a teenager, so all I cared about was making sure I got my damn dream bike.

  I asked my mom to guarantee that I would get my blue Schwinn. She was so elated with joy she just kept screaming, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  With that confirmation, I went over to the Baruchs with a pep in my step. I was cocky with a new attitude. I envisioned myself riding past their house showing off my ride.

  I stopped in front of their house and shouted to Diana’s bedroom window, “Hey, Diana! Diana!”

  Moments later she came to the front door. “What?” she said in her usual bitch tone.

  “We won twenty-five thousand dollars and my mom is buying me the same ten-speed you have, and I thought you should know so you don’t confuse yours with mine when it’s parked in front of my house.”

  “You’re a dork,” she replied. She slammed the door and went back to her room.

  She was right. I was a dork, but I was a winning dork! I ran home and continued to celebrate with my family. My mom told me that she talked to my dad and he was leaving work early to take our prize into McDonald’s to cash in.

  That was a huge deal.

  Dad never missed work. He couldn’t afford to.

  Mom told me that our win was announced at my dad’s work and the steel plant celebrated for him. It was a good day for the McCarthys. A really good day.

  When my pops pulled up to the house, we all greeted him by jumping up and down on him. He giggled with a delight I hardly ever saw from him.

  My parents sat down at the kitchen table and went over the game together.

  My dad smiled. “Wow, we really won. This is really gonna help. Let’s go take a ride to McDonald’s and talk to the manager.”

  Holy shit, I thought, we get to go to McDonald’s twice in one day! Woohoo! We all jumped in the car to go claim our prize and have dinner as a family at my new favorite restaurant in the world.

  As my dad started the car it misfired, which would normally cause him some audible grief and cussing, but this time it was symbolic of our newfound life, as if the car were saying, “Giddyup.” My entire family had a healthy glow as if we had just come back from vacation. Nothing could bring us down. Mom looked at me when Michael Jackson’s “Ben” came on the radio. I was smiling and singing along. Not even the sounds of Satan could faze me and kill the high my family was on.

  When we got to McDonald’s, my dad told us all to order whatever we wanted while he talked to the manager. My dad explained to the manager that we won the Monopoly game and needed to know what the next step of the process was. The manager congratulated us all and looked at the Monopoly game to confirm our win. His smile slowly faded as I heard his lips slowly mouthed the words “Youuuuu didn’t wiiiiiiiinnnnnnn. You used the same piece twice.”

  I quickly looked at my parents, who looked down and realized their mistake. The
defeat and sorrow that came over them caused a little piece of me to die in that moment. It was the longest, most awkward, painful moment, as my mom and dad and their four daughters stood there with long faces, staring at the McDonald’s manager in complete shock. Again, being a teenager, I thought of myself first. My bike. My dream bike! I had already told Diana I was getting one. The whole neighborhood thought we won. Everyone at my dad’s work thought we won.

  All I could feel was shame, embarrassment, and anger. The manager could see the look of devastation on each of our faces and gave us our dinner for free. We all shuffled over to a booth and ate in silence.

  Swallowing that food was like swallowing glass. We were all sucking back tears from the rise and fall of our McMoney as we suffered through our last McMeal. I remember looking at the life-size Ronald McDonald statue and wanting to punch him and bleach the stupid red smile off his face. Once I got past my own depression about the bike, I could see the true devastation in my parents.

  I so badly wanted them to get ahead financially and felt hopeless at age fifteen. Looking back now, I can see how this didn’t help my dad’s belief system of having money one minute and then it disappearing before his very eyes the next.

  This was the day I made a promise to myself.

  I was gonna make it up to my parents.

  The McCarthys would overcome this.

  Someday, I would pay off their bills and make them proud. But first, I had a lot more sinning to do.

  15

  The Purpose of Lent? I Give Up

  Every year, Christians prepare for the risen Jesus during the season of Lent. Well, not exactly.

  Every year, Christians celebrate the anniversary of people preparing for the risen Jesus during the season of Lent. Well, not exactly.

  You see, nobody prepared for Jesus to rise from the dead because nobody knew ahead of time that he was going to rise from the dead. So for the six weeks before Easter, nobody was wearing sackcloths and ashes, nobody was fasting or abstaining from meat, and nobody was giving up things they liked. But today, we prepare for the risen Jesus—even though his resurrection was about two thousand years ago. Which is like saying that someone is preparing for a wedding anniversary. Hey, you prepare for the wedding, not the anniversary!

  This is why so many people have a hard time dealing with Lent. We’re asked to suffer to make ourselves more presentable for Jesus. It’s like losing a bunch of weight so you’ll look like a dreamboat in front of your onetime sweetheart at the high-school reunion. But when your former sweetheart sees you, he doesn’t realize you had to drop twenty pounds to look so hot. On the other hand, Jesus knows what you looked like before and after. And supposedly he loves you either way. So what’s the point?

  Lent is a lot like the story of Cinderella. You start out with ashes on your forehead and end up wearing a beautiful dress.

  In between, it’s a time to atone for your sins with heaps and heaps of sacrifice.

  And let’s face it, the Catholic Church likes the idea of sacrifice a lot.

  BOY GEORGE:

  Do you really want to hurt me?

  Do you really want to make me cry?

  CATHOLIC CHURCH:

  Uh, yeah.

  Holy people say that sacrifice wards off the devil. Then they turn right around and mention the Bible passage in which Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights in the desert. As I recall, the only visitor Jesus had during that time was … the devil.

  The folks who invented Lent—no, it wasn’t Jesus’s idea—decided that just like Christ’s time in the desert, it should last forty days. Actually, from Ash Wednesday to Holy Saturday it’s forty-six days, so it looks like the first thing someone ever gave up for Lent was math.

  For those forty or so days, you’re supposed to give up something you enjoy—or something you’re not supposed to enjoy but you do anyway.

  When I was young, one of the first things I tried to give up for Lent was lying. I quickly found out that wasn’t a good thing to do, or maybe I should say that wasn’t a good thing to stop doing because someone soon will ask what you’re giving up for Lent.

  If you tell the truth and say, “I’m giving up lying,” they will say, “You’ve been lying? About what?”

  And if you lie about giving up lying, well, that’s that.

  When I got older, I tried to give up alcohol.

  I was okay for a while, but then I really started to miss it. I imagined I was living in the time of Christ and I had been invited to a wedding at Cana. All of a sudden, Jesus comes up to me.

  JESUS:

  I just changed a bunch of water into wine.

  Have a glass.

  ME:

  Uh … geez, Jesus … this is kind of awkward.

  I gave up alcohol for Lent.

  JESUS:

  Really? How did you find out what I was planning to do for Easter?

  ME:

  Long story. Anyway, thanks but no thanks.

  JESUS:

  Are you sure? Everybody’s saying my wine tastes a whole lot better than the wine they ran out of.

  ME:

  Jesus, are you tempting me?

  JESUS:

  Geez, this is kind of awkward.

  If you think that’s crazy, imagine the hallucination I had when I broke my Lenten resolution and started drinking again. And it’s not enough to give up chocolate or lying or alcohol or gossip. You also have to give up meat on Ash Wednesday and all Fridays during Lent.

  Why Fridays? Maybe it’s because Jesus died on a Friday.

  Or maybe it’s because Long John Silver’s has a surplus of fish that it has to get rid of by the weekend and it worked out a deal with the Vatican.

  By the way, this rule of no meat on Fridays was for Americans only. So truth be told, I wonder which bishop owned stock on the East Coast fish harbors, considering this rule only came into practice in the 1960s. Sounds fishy to me.

  Anyway, if you’re a meat lover like I am, giving up meat for even one day is a real sacrifice. No hamburgers. No meat loaf. No steak.

  But if you’re a vegan, giving up meat is no sacrifice at all. This doesn’t seem fair.

  Shouldn’t the Catholic Church say, “No meat on Fridays and no vegetables or salad on Wednesdays”? Let’s balance out all this sacrifice.

  So for all of these reasons, Lent remains a mystery to me.

  The Catholic Church says sacrificing to cleanse your soul of sin is something you should like. Therefore, for Lent you should give up something that you like. Okay then. The next time Lent rolls around, I’m giving up sacrificing.

  16

  Girls Gone Wild

  College. Holy shit.

  I attended Southern Illinois University. It was voted the number one party school by Playboy magazine, so I was all over attending that campus. Also, it was really easy to get into. My parents didn’t want me to go there, but I was denied entry from all the other universities, so they didn’t exactly have a choice.

  After attending Catholic school for twelve years, the thought of being unsupervised elated me. I couldn’t wait to hit the bars with my big hair and fake ID.

  My dad took the six-hour drive with me from Chicago. I was waiting for the “don’t get pregnant and don’t do drugs” talk, but it never came. It felt good that Dad trusted me enough to at least use a condom and not overdose.

  We pulled up in front of my dorm, and I will always remember the feeling that I had vividly. It was the feeling of freedom. I unpacked my dad’s car and brought everything up to my room in one hour. Then I politely hugged my dad and shoved him out the door.

  I heard silence. No parents, no sisters, no nuns, no one telling me what to do. I quickly pulled out the pack of cigarettes I had been hiding for four years and sucked one down. With every puff, I danced around my room. I couldn’t wait for a dorm neighbor to offer me a beer.

  That night, I went out to nickel draft night and met Laura. She was a junior, but she must have recognized the look of “I’m
ready to party” on my face and quickly made friends with me. Laura and I then proceeded to go out every week, getting drunk, making out with boys, and begging restaurants for free food. Soon we gathered a regular crew of girls and proceeded further to intoxicate our bodies and wreak as much havoc on campus as possible. My friends’ favorite thing to do was to dine and ditch. The problem, besides running out on the bill, was that my crew enjoyed having me be the last one to leave the restaurant. They would take turns peeing and then would knock on the glass outside the restaurant staring at me, leaving me alone to ditch the table myself.

  As I successfully ran for my life every time we dined and ditched, I was hit with huge amounts of guilt. I would run and cry without letting my friends see. I wasn’t afraid of breaking a commandment so much as I was saddened by the waitress who was counting on the tip to feed her family. I felt bad about it, but peer pressure always won.

  Speaking of peer pressure, drugs quickly became popular among my friends too. Fortunately, the drugs back in my heyday were pot and mushrooms. There wasn’t really any coke, heroin, crystal meth, etc., on our campus. Just good old-fashioned hallucinogenics. Looking back on this time now, I’m grateful for the drugs that were en vogue because I hadn’t yet built up enough self-esteem to stand up to peer pressure at that time and those harder drugs really ruin people’s lives. So I turned into a stoner and mushroom expert. I had posters of the Grateful Dead; I knew every word to Pink Floyd’s The Wall. And I started to grow dreadlocks. I became so good at shrooming that I started offering tours on the weekend to help people through their trips.

  As odd as this may seem, I was really good at it. I realized during this time that I was really connected to other people’s energies. I was able to figure them out and calm them. I was like the mom people went to when they were tripping their balls off. This is not something you want to find as your calling, but later on I would come to realize how valuable it was in being able to identify negativity and illusions that people were using to get to me.