Teenage Awakening

INT: A Living Room, Saturday afternoon. Father smokes his pipe, reading the paper.

Father: Boy, the Dodgers sure blew it last night.

Mother comes down the stairs, disturbed, distressed. She holds a laundry basket.

Mother: Honey?

Father: Yes, Darling? Why, you don’t look too — -

Mother: You need to see something. Upstairs. In Junior’s room. I found some…some things…that he was keeping under the bed. He was hiding them.

Father: What do you mean, hid—

Mother: Honey, I don’t even want to explain it in words. What I found wasn’t…appropriate. I’m shocked he even has something like them. Just see for —

Father: But he’s —

Mother: Just come upstairs, please?

Father: Okay. Is Junior home?

Mother: No, Junior is over at a friend’s. Come up.

They head upstairs.

Mother: He’ll be back this evening. We need to speak to him then.

INT: Junior’s room. Not very neat, a typical teenage bedroom.

Father: Well, what— -

Mother: I was putting away his socks and underpants, in the dresser by his bed. I dropped a sock of his, so I knelt down to grab it, just by happenstance, and I saw something poking out from under his bed.

She kneels down at the side of the bed. Father follows.

Mother: Look, in the middle.

The two pull out several magazines.

Father: Oh, no.

Mother: I was speechless. I did a double take. I mean, why on Earth would he — -

Father: Darling, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but this…this is…

He looks at the magazine covers, disgusted.

Father: Revolting. My gosh, they’re all — all for—He pages through a magazine, and discovers a center fold.

Mother: Don’t say it out loud. I don’t want to hear it.

Father: We raised him so well, he’s never shown any interest in — -

Mother: I just don’t understand it. Every night he goes through these? Is this what he reads when we think he’s doing homework?

Father: My god, honey. I feel so filthy just glancing at this. This, this is just smut.

He pulls out a little bag

Mother: What on Earth is this

Father: I don’t know. He unties it and looks in, and gags a little.

Mother: What is —

Father: Darling, you absolutely do not want to know. He gets up from the floor. I…I need to wash my hands.

He breathes heavily as he heads to the restroom. Mother sighs.

Mother: Why would he even want this? Our boy, our boy who goes to Sunday school every week. I just don’t understand.

Her voice cracks on the last word. She lies on the bed. Father returns.

Father: Gosh. How long do you think he’s been…well, you know…in to this?

Mother: Who knows? I just don’t know what to believe right now. What to believe about him, what to believe about his —

Father, sharply: Well I know what to believe — -that this filth is going to be out of this house this instant!

He grabs an undershirt and wraps it around the little bag.

Mother: No, no. Not yet. We have to confront him about this. This is just too much to sweep under the rug. This is a matter of Life and death.

Father: I agree. This isn’t what the Good Lord wants for Junior. It just isn’t.

Mother: We have to show him why this is wrong, why this just isn’t acceptable in this house.

Father: Sighs. All those years of Sunday school…all for this?

He sits down on the bed next to Mother. His head in his hands.

INT: The Living Room, that evening. Mother and Father are sitting sternly on the couch, stiff but ready to pounce. A knock at the door.

Junior: Mom? Dad? The door’s locked. Mother gets up, goes to the door. Mom? Since when do you — She opens the door, and returns to the couch.

Mother: Get in and sit down, young man.

Junior: Mom? What’s going — Dad? why are you —

Father: Do as your mother says, Junior!

Junior, flustered: Um — I — he sits.

Mother: Sweetie, we have to talk. Today while you were gone, I was putting your clothes away and I dropped a sock, and so I knelt down— -

Father: Your mother found the magazines, son.

Junior’s face turns to shock.

Father: She found that pile of SMUT that you keep under your bed. All of it. She showed me what she found. I couldn’t believe it. And then I found what was in that little bag of yours —

Junior: I can explain! Give a chance to —

Father: Explain WHAT? That somehow you’re now a filthy —

Mother: Darling! You are not helping!

Junior: Please just —

Father gets up from the couch to the laundry basket, on the living room floor. He picks up the magazine, and unfolds the center fold.

Father: No, you don’t get a chance to explain. The evidence’s plain as day, son! That you are committing an offense against the Good Lord by —

Mother: Honey, that’s too far.

Father: It isn’t! He’s offending the Good Lord because he’s apparently a filthy, no-good, rotten, creepy, sinful old…

CATHOLIC!

We see the center fold — a photo of the Pope waving to a crowd.

Mother gags. The color drains from Junior’s face.

Junior: I promise you, if you give me a chance —

Father: It’s worse than that! I saw all the others! Commonweal! The Jesuit Monthly! Latin Mass Magazine! The Franciscan Quarterly! It just goes on and on —

Junior: Stop! Let me speak for —

Mother: Honey — Junior. We’re just…just shocked. We never, ever, would have thought you were interested in, well, Catholic things.

Junior: Can I please explain —

Father: Explain? Explain the bag I found, with that foul little Communion cup and wine you kept in there! You must be up in your room every night, instead of doing your homework just drinking that awful —

Junior: STOP!

Father: Stop? It’s hard to stop when I find it utterly impossible to believe that you, that in my own house, that…that-

Junior: That I might be a little different from you two?

Both parents look shocked.

Mother: What’s that supposed to mean, honey?

Junior: I don’t know, exactly. This, all of this — all started from an innocent curiosity, honest! I just wondered what it was like for people who weren’t quite, well, regular. You know, regular Protestants. How do they think, how do they act, what do they do on Sundays, that sort of jazz. I kept reading more, first in the school encyclopedias and then in the library. After the library, I ended up going to the corner store. And that’s where the magazine started. Surprisingly good religion section. I just started thinking that, maybe, just maybe, they had a point. Maybe the way they see the world, and God, was the right way, and maybe the way we see things is a little more…lousy.

The last word sinks in. Mother is silent. Father looks enraged. He stands up.

Father: Lousy. Lousy! You think that our good honest, clean, Protestant faith, is Lousy!? You think that Martin Luther, that John Calvin, were lousy!? That sixteen years of this wonderful life, of wonderful parents— that the whole experience was just a Lousy? Sixteen years of Sunday school —

Junior: Truth is, I haven’t even been to Sunday school in a while.

Stunned silence. Father walks up to Junior.

Junior: After our ten-thirty service ended, I snuck down and caught the twelve-o-clock mass at Our Lady Queen of Heaven.

Father gets right up to Junior.

Father: My son, MY SON, taking CATHOLIC communion! My Son, a gosh-darned Catholic! A Papist! A Popish freak! A Romanist right under my roof! And you think we are the lousy ones! Why, I —

Mother grabs his arms and pulls him away.

Mother: Darling, stop it now! Calm down!

She pulls him back to the couch.

Mother: Junior, right now I have just one question. Just one.

Junior: Um — alright then, Mom. Shoot.

Mother: Honey, were you…pressured…into all of this? Was there a friend, or somebody, who told you that should you

Junior: You see, I didn’t involve anybody in this. No one pressured me into this. It was me. All me. And I don’t just read about this. I…I would say that I believe in a lot of it.

Father: Son — -

Mother: Junior, sweet Junior. You don’t actually mean that, do you? I mean, this could very well just be a phase, a part of your teenage —

Junior: No, Mom. Honestly, I am, truly and deeply…A Catholic.

Father: Darn it all!

Junior: I’m telling the truth. I swear. On the names of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. He crosses himself while saying this.

Mother, on the verge of tears: Oh heaven, you cross yourself now?

Father: What in the —

Junior: It’s not strictly a Catholic thing. The —

Mother: Oh, Of course it is! Oh gosh, oh gosh. She puts her head in her hands. Father holds her shoulders.

Mother, muffled: I…I raised a Catholic! How did this happen?

Junior: Mom, please don’t cry. Please, just —

Father: Go to your room, Junior.

Junior walks up the stairs. Mother and Father remain on the couch, distraught.

Father: We have to call someone — the Pastor, another reverend. Somebody who can help.

Mother: I suppose. Are you thinking that if someone just talks —

Father: No, honey. No, I think he’s too far gone, I think. If what he said about the mass is true, he’s in a very bad state. It may take more than just talk for someone to nail some sense into his skull.

Father gets up from the couch, to the telephone on a small table. He picks up the reciver.

Father: Operator? Put me through to Pastor Paisley, please. Ranger-1690. Thank you.

Pastor Paisley? Hi, how are you doing?

Oh, thank you. She says hello too. Pastor, I apologize for calling you at this hour, but there’s an urgent matter that I think you need to attend to.

You see, our Junior has been, er, he’s been…dabbling in…He’s become involved, completely unknown to us, in…well, in Catholicism.

Yes. Yes. I completely assure you, we’re distraught at the moment.

Yes. He has, multiple times. And we found magazines of his…his new persuasion, I should say. Yes. You get the idea.

Do you have any suggestions, any ideas for — ?

Oh. I see. Fascinating.

How soon could they come? Tomorrow morning, really? That would be wonderful!

Thank you so much, and God bless.

He hangs up the phone. He sighs, and has a slight smile.

Mother: What did he say? Is he coming to talk tomorrow morning?

Father: Even better, darling. The Pastor has a program for boys who have lost their way, and he can pick him up tomorrow morning. Apparently this can all be solved!

Mother: Oh, I hope so.

They start heading for the stairs.

INT: Junior’s room, the next morning. Junior is sound asleep, a knock is heard at the door.

Mother: Honey, are you up?

Junior rouses up, and sits up in the bed. He looks like he slept poorly.

Junior: Yes, Mom. Is breakfast rea —

Mother walks in, as does Father and Pastor Paisley.

Junior: Pastor? What the heck are you —

Paisley: No need for profanity, boy. Though I understand your surprise. Your parents explained the situation of your…alleged persuasions of theology. I’m here to help. Why don’t you get some trousers on and head downstairs.

Junior: What are you talking about? Mom, did you tell him about this? Dad? What is he going to —

Paisley: Junior, the Good Lord soothes the afflicted and comforts the weary. All will be explained soon.

Two very large men in white uniforms also enter, and pick Junior up from the bed.

Junior: What the heck is going on? Mom and Dad, why the heck are —

Paisley: Language, son! That sort of language certainly isn’t in the Good Book.

Junior: Well, Hell certainly is.

Paisley looks unamused.

Paisley: Lads, take him downstairs. I suppose he won’t need trousers for the time being.

Junior: MOM! DAD! STOP THIS!

Junior is escorted out of the room and down the stairs.

EXT: The driveway. A large white van is being locked by the two men. Paisley, Mother and Father chat in the driveway.

Father: So Pastor, this is guaranteed to work?

Paisley: Oh, only the Good Lord can be 100% certain about anything. But in all the cases that I and other local clergy have seen like this, the boy or girl returns cured of their persuasions. They all come back with no interest in anything but the good, decent Protestant Word of God.

Mother: Well, I sure pray that this works.

Paisley: Well, I suppose it’s time that they leave. Lads, you can drive off.

The van drives away.

Mother: Junior! I’m praying for you!

Father: So am I, son!

Junior, in the distance: I’m praying too!

Paisley: Well, those will be Protestant prayers once we’re done with him!