What is Lent All About Anyways? Guest Blogger, Chick R Explains. Kinda…

Too Funny Chicks

I was raised Catholic.

In my family, this meant my sisters and I were dragged to church every Sunday by my very Catholic grandfather, “Papa”. When I say ‘very Catholic,’ I mean he had a rosary and a bible in his nightstand (next to his Scotch), drank and swore like a sailor, frequented the dog track, moonlighted as a bookie and wouldn’t take communion, because that was a “good time to go and get the car started.”  I should also mention we attended the 10 o’clock mass at Sacred Heart, because the service was only thirty minutes, a sprint compared to the hour and fifteen minutes at our other church. Why the discrepancy? This mass was communicated completely in French. And, non, we don’t parlez a word of the Français. Vive La Différence!  Papa would use Mass as a good time to catch up on some Zzz’s and my sisters and…

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