Man Church

I boycotted Father's Day this year. Not for the expected reason. I just couldn't handle another Man Church spectacle. Last year the theme (yes, there's a theme) was sports. Because fathers are practically men, and men like sports. (On Mother's Day this same church taught me -- again -- that woman and mother are synonyms.)

Last Father's Day, I walked into the church building and grabbed a water bottle from one of two giant ice troughs, declined the free popcorn, and headed up to the balcony. The excitement was almost as palpable as the spilled popcorn underfoot. I looked down onto what used to be the stage but was now a mini football field. The musicians were wearing baseball -- basketball -- whatever kind of jersey they could find, I guess.

The next hour and a half was a blur of cheerleaders, a dancing mascot, clips of sportscasters, a referee blowing the whistle on the pastor's (rehearsed) bad jokes, halftime entertainment, live competitions, prizes, and T-shirts launched into the congregation audience. Oh yeah, and there was even a sermon. The pastor's talk was divided into four quarters and that was my takeaway. (I'm sure all the dads remember the message though because they would have gotten the football analogy.) What I do remember: doing the wave. Or sitting there in a stupor while everyone else did the wave, more likely. I kept forgetting and remembering that I was at a church worship gathering as if I were going in and out of consciousness.

This year the theme was Nascar. I just couldn't.