Why I Go To Church.

I went to church as a kid. My parents would make my sister and me go because they enjoyed going. It would drive me nuts listening to my father sing because as far as I was concerned, all the singing should have been left to the experts in the choir, and all the listening should have been left to people like us. Occasionally when my parents looked at me I would lip synch like Milli Vanilli, putting on enough of an act to satisfy my parents that I was engaged in what was happening around me.

The weekends that my dad ushered were the best. He ushered about once a month and we always went out for breakfast with all the other ushers before church. Thirty minutes before service we would head over to the church and talk about who was covering what. I liked to hand out programs because it was my excuse for talking to hot girls. Five minutes after the service started we had to get ready to receive the offering making sure to be ready for the pastor to say the word for us to come forward and pass the plates. Most of the time it went smoothly, but occasionally I saw one or two of the girls I had handed a program to earlier, and wound up skipping a row or two so I could smile at them again. Apparently this messed up the flow and caused all kinds of problems, but it was worth it to me.