{"id":3155,"date":"2015-03-27T12:08:05","date_gmt":"2015-03-27T19:08:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/?p=3155"},"modified":"2015-03-27T22:25:17","modified_gmt":"2015-03-28T05:25:17","slug":"pot-god-and-going-home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2015\/03\/pot-god-and-going-home\/","title":{"rendered":"Pot, God, and Going Home"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"<\/a>

Mr. Pi<\/a> via Compfight<\/a> cc<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

David Lossing stood in a circle of light at Disney World Fort Wilderness Campground. He jutted his chin toward the furthest tent in our M.A.S.H.-like village stuffed with more than fifty members of New Smyrna Beach High School\u2019s Spanish Club. \u201cI\u2019m headed to the party tent.\u201d He waggled his brows.<\/p>\n

\"David<\/a>

David Lossing<\/p><\/div>\n

Son of St. Paul\u2019s Episcopal priest, David sprouted wild oats like the corkscrew curls springing from his scalp.<\/p>\n

\u201cWanna come?\u201d He tossed it out like a dare he didn\u2019t think I\u2019d do.<\/p>\n

\u201cAren\u2019t you afraid of getting caught?\u201d<\/p>\n

He surveyed the kids lolling around the tents. \u201cYou see any chaperones?\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughter littered the October night over football droning from someone\u2019s radio. The only adults in sight were an elderly couple John Scrivano and Kyle Avery chatted with beneath a Crimson Tide banner.<\/p>\n

Our chaperones\u2014teachers still conversant with their twenties, but cornering old age if you asked me\u2014had probably turned in after the bedlam of tent setup and herding us to and from tonight\u2019s New Smyrna Beach High School 30-0 shutout of Kissimmee.<\/p>\n

Something rose in my gut and wanted to wipe that smirk off David\u2019s face. No one knew about my Mary Jane junkets after CYO in Stuart. Call it a personality quirk, but shocking David would deliver a certain punch. I glanced over my shoulder at Diana Knox unrolling her sleeping bag at the mouth of our tent. \u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n

David\u2019s jaw dropped. \u201cYou\u2019re kidding me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shot him a steely look. \u201cTry me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged, his expression still skeptical, and headed toward the party tent.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Dominik Martin<\/p><\/div>\n

I ducked under the tent flap after David and peered at the kids crammed in knee to knee. I could only make out the faces right beside me in the dim haze.<\/p>\n

A guy guided a stubby joint into my fingers. I sealed the rolling paper, lumpy with warm marijuana, to my lips, sucked in the smoke.<\/p>\n

It burned all the way down. My lungs balked and a cough caught in my chest. The whole tent would think I was a weed virgin. I pinched my mouth shut, willed my diaphragm to calm, and shoved the roach at David.<\/p>\n

He stared at me, disbelieving, until he burned his fingers. Dazed, he handed the joint to the girl beside him without taking a hit.<\/p>\n

Now I was the one sporting the smirk.<\/p>\n

I ducked out of the tent before a second toke could land me in a coughing fit and kill the coup.<\/p>\n

I walked off to find Diana, my throat feeling like I\u2019d swallowed a campfire, ashes, smoldering logs and all\u2014vowing that was the last time. Forty years later, I won\u2019t even eat smoked bacon.<\/p>\n

\"\u00a9<\/a>

\u00a9 Judy Ben Joud | Dreamstime Stock Photos<\/p><\/div>\n

The next night, replete with pretzels shaped like mouse ears, Mickey sightings, and It\u2019s a Small World<\/em> marching circles in our heads we school-bussed home in the rain.<\/p>\n

Kyle slept open-mouthed in the seat in front of me. Bits of John and Diana\u2019s conversation buzzed around the surface of my mind.<\/p>\n

John said, \u201cWe ate with some tipsy Alabama fans\u2014hey, we were starving and they had something besides hot dogs and marshmallows\u2014till we got reamed for leaving the school campsite\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Diana was saying, \u201cOur tent reeked of mildew so badly Mark Conklin and I slept with our heads outside\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Diana\u2019s mother must have caught wind of the students\u2019 creative tent reassignments because the next time Diana asked permission to go on a Spanish Club trip, her mother burst into laughter. Diana didn\u2019t even get to, \u201cGo ask your father.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rain slicked the window at my cheek making me feel melancholy. Emptiness yawned inside. Maybe it was the crater where Dad used to be. His absence since the divorce usually landed in the blessing column, but tonight something essential felt missing.<\/p>\n

Somewhere in my catechism I\u2019d heard God was a father to the fatherless. How could God be the Daddy I craved who held me in His arms when I cried?<\/p>\n

Instead of holding me, Dad had said, \u201cI\u2019ll give you something to cry about.\u201d<\/p>\n

I cried rarely and alone.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by MGDboston<\/p><\/div>\n

The next morning, I scurried beside Mom and R.J. into Sacred Heart’s sanctuary, ten minutes after Mass had begun, like every Sunday. I settled on the pine pew, last night\u2019s emptiness base-lining beneath my Disney-bleary brain.<\/p>\n

A glint of light flashed at the corner of my eye. Fall sun filtered through the stained glass windows, casting yellow-red-blue tints across the shiny pews. A cloud passed over the sun and dulled the colors.<\/p>\n

Beauty brushed the deepest part of me, but it came in elusive gulps that never satisfied.<\/p>\n

I pulled down the kneeler and slid onto it, rose and fell with the rhythm of Mass. I counted the ceiling tiles, said the prayers I\u2019d known from childhood, stared at the terrazzo floor until the spots melded together.<\/p>\n

The ache to know the unknowable had been inside me as long as I could remember. Something important and invisible hid under the wood-carved Stations of the Cross, beneath the altar cloths and Crucifix. Something existed in these four walls and in the wall-less world. God, my gut told me.<\/p>\n

My stomach growled.<\/p>\n

Maybe it was<\/em> God, the perfect Daddy I hungered for.<\/p>\n

Mass ended.<\/p>\n

I spilled down the steps between my mother and my brother in the flow of people fanning onto the asphalt.<\/p>\n

I waved at Jim Russell, wearing the same Harley Davidson T-shirt and chain running from belt to his wallet I saw every week at school.<\/p>\n

He grinned and told me I needed to party more.<\/p>\n

Mom smiled an aren\u2019t-teenagers-amusing smile. R.J. made a dash for our Duster between the bumpers of two station wagons lined up to exit the lot.<\/p>\n

I swallowed, recalling last night\u2019s raspy throat. \u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the car a couple minutes later Mom was saying, \u201c\u2026a nice Catholic boy\u2026\u201d while R.J. sing-songed an ornery rendition of, \u201cK-I-S-S-I-N-G\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever,\u201d I said distractedly, my mind still chewing on the possibility of God.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by JessicaCooper1231<\/p><\/div>\n

The next day we\u2019d learn our classmates\u2019 Milt and Debbie Wilkins\u2019 parents died in an accident on the way to Friday night\u2019s game at Kisimmee to see their kids play and cheer. Eric and Janet Bensen would lose their mother to cancer a couple months later and their father before Janet graduated. While I graded my dad against Perfection, my classmates lost their parents permanently.<\/p>\n

The Wilkins and the Bensen kids navigated their grand canyons of pain.<\/p>\n

I wound my way through my Daddy disappointments and other disasters life divvied me. I learned to cry in God\u2019s arms<\/a>. And I always go home\u2014more often in my mind than in person\u2014to New Smyrna Beach where I was folded into the fabric of life when I needed it the most.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t
If you’d like to leave a comment below, share some of your religious thoughts when you were a teen.<\/div><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Related Posts from New Smyrna Beach<\/h3>\n

Friendless on the First Day of School<\/a><\/p>\n

Beached, Brokendown, and Blessed in New Smyrna<\/a><\/p>\n

Spoons, Nudes, and Tuna Casserole<\/a><\/p>\n

Too Much and Not Enough Testosterone for the Christmas Parade<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Morgan Sessions<\/p><\/div>\n

A Couple of Kids Cobble Together Christmas<\/a><\/p>\n

Dodging the Day After Christmas Blues<\/a><\/p>\n

Swimming Into Forever<\/a><\/p>\n

Song For an Innocent Time<\/a><\/p>\n

Hippie In the Headlights<\/a><\/p>\n

Car Crash and Other Wrecks<\/a><\/p>\n

Five Minutes of Fame<\/a><\/p>\n

Nailing Normal<\/a><\/p>\n

Waiting for the Real Deal<\/a><\/p>\n

Breaching Bright Air<\/a><\/p>\n

Speed, the S.A.T.s, and Being Smart Enough<\/a><\/p>\n

Not Kissing and Telling<\/a><\/p>\n

Coveting Cheerleader Cool<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Check out my New Smyrna Beach novels by clicking on the covers.<\/p>\n

\"Avra's<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \"Tattered<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \"Kicking<\/a> \u00a0\u00a0 \"The<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

David Lossing stood in a circle of light at Disney World Fort Wilderness Campground. He jutted his chin toward the furthest tent in our M.A.S.H.-like village stuffed with more than fifty members of New Smyrna Beach High School\u2019s Spanish Club. \u201cI\u2019m headed to the party tent.\u201d He waggled his brows. Son of St. Paul\u2019s Episcopal […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3160,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false}}},"categories":[2,66],"tags":[275,276,164,274,172,273],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nPot, God, and Going Home - Ann Lee Miller<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2015\/03\/pot-god-and-going-home\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Pot, God, and Going Home - Ann Lee Miller\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"David Lossing stood in a circle of light at Disney World Fort Wilderness Campground. 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