Round Lake Sunday School (Sid)

According to the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, the Indo-European root is ser meaning "to protect". According to Eric Partridge in Origins, the Greek word Hērōs "is akin to" the Latin seruāre, meaning to safeguard. Partridge concludes, "The basic sense of both Hera and hero would therefore be 'protector'." (source: rip off of a rip off on internet)



Carl Jung said that the ultimate goal of our psychic journey from birth to the grave is to self realize or discover which particular Archetype of the collective unconscious we individuals, in fact are. You know, Jung was basically a cluster-fuck. But as was discussed in the learned lines in a prior Blog, scientific cluster fucks make for great figurative material.

So in figurative Jungian parlance, Marilynn was the Great Warrior and Hero. Piss on the way people now-a-days use the word hero. Running into a burning building and rescuing babies, Pahh! Testosterone run amuck. A job well done. Atta boy! Pat on the back. Give him a metal hanging on a ribbon. Not courage, raw courage. Not Warrior courage. No stinking bonze hanging on a ribbon. Pahh!

Hero courage is to face in battle, by choice mind you, a God. This is a battle the Hero will lose. This the Hero knows. A god cannot be defeated. A God is not satisfied with victory. After the Hero’s defeat comes Vengeance. Not ordinary Vengeance, No. No. Vengeance magnified 1,000 times for 1,000 generations. This the Hero knows. This the Hero accepts. Because the God is Wrong. Because the Hero is Right.

So in figurative Jungian parlance, I was “Foxhole” the doughboy. How the Hell did I end up in this cluster-fuck epic battle of Right vs. Wrong? Jesus!

I asked, rather pissed, “Why do I have to go to Sunday School?” It was a mistake. It was the classic doughboy error, like the final scene in “All Quiet on the Western Front”, the smart, smart, outlier, long-survivor reached out for the butterfly. Reached out for the symbol of his innocent childhood. Reached out for symbol of Freedom and Beauty. And a sniper blew his stupid fucking brains into the land of all that beautiful shit beyond. I had revealed myself to the God in the front seat.

And in figurative Jungian parlance, Alma was the “Moron” the Goddess. Her answer to my question as predictable as the motions of the celestial spheres inhabited by her race. I knew the answer just as surely as the German trench soldier knew he was to be killed by a sniper as he reached for the lovely butterfly.

Marilynn went to Sunday school. She must have already fought the Goddess about Sunday School. But I didn't remember the battle. Could it have possibly been that Marilynn wanted to go to Sunday School? It was a confusing situation. The doughboy was in new terrain and no foxhole in sight.

If this was “Leave it to Beaver” the Beaver would have plaintively asked, “Aw Dad why do I have to go to that crummy Sunday School.” And Ward would have answered, “Well Beaver, you know your brother Wally has received a lot of spiritual enrichment at Sunday school. And your Mother and I have received that same enrichment for many years from Pastor Miller.” And and Wally would have said, “Anyway Beave, Dad'l cobber you if you skip church.” (canned laughter) Then the Beaver would have gone to Sunday school and something swell would have happened there and Beaver would have said to Ward in a genuine father – son moment, “You know Dad, I thought Sunday school was going to be goofy but I like messing around at church.”

The Markses were not the Cleavers. And I had no illusion about it being fun to mess around in Sunday School. But I was pretty certain that there was some warped “Beaver” episode organizing in the Moron Goddesse's head and I was right on. And out it came, “Everybody needs exposure to religion.” This was about as close to Ward Cleaver as it was going to get. The Moron Goddess never stepped foot in a church as near as I could tell so there was no possible Pastor Miller bull shit forthcoming.

Since I was already locked in the sights of the sniper, I chose to try out the persona of Warrior Marilynn. I boy-manfully engaged in battle, 'How come I have to go to Church if you and Dad never go?” It was a feeble show of force. Sadly the Beaver mentality had me. Although Alma was more of a Ward than a June, the “Aw shucks“ shit goes nowhere with Gods. So now comes the predictable Thunder and Lightning display. And I knew that I was banished to Round Lake Sunday School for the duration. There was only one feeble response possible. I would not do well at Sunday School. I would not shine. I would never graduate to Church.