When I was, oh, 11 or something, I went with my best friend to his grandparent's house on Lake Ontario for a family gathering. His mom drove us out there and kept bitching about "Randy" this and "Randy" that. She was not looking forward to seeing her cousin Randy, who she always argued with because he was a Jesus freak and she was a hippy who used to own a record store.
My friend's grandparents had set up a tent in the yard for us kids to hang out in, and my friend and I were doing so when a guy who looked like Ronald McDonald was playing the lead in Godspell poked his head in.
"Hey Guys! Mind if I come in?".
"Oh, hi Randy. No, come on in", my friend said, too wearily for an eleven-year-old.
So this Randy seems alright at first, just asking us about school and whatnot, blah blah blah, and I kind of zoned out but then tuned back in when I realized he was warning us that we would go to Hell for listening to rock music! Aw geez, shut up man! He went on for what seemed like hours, warning us of all the things we could go to Hell for. Including, of course, self-abuse and homosexuality. Eventually the hamburgers were ready and for the first time all day we felt gratitude toward God.
My friend's mother later became a spokeswoman for Planned Parenthood locally and had many heated disputes in the press with her cousin Randall Terry.
I'd like to thank Randy for helping turn me into the raving lefty secular humanist that I am today. You taught me at an early age that right wing evangelical fundamentalists are a creepy, suspicious, and extremely boring lot. I hate to think what your son must have gone through, but I bet $5,000 doesn't begin to make up for it.
True story, by the way.
(Thanks, tmftml)
*Correction: My friend's mom is Randall Terry's aunt, not cousin.
Posted by monk at 14.04.04 16:39