There is not much I like better than a red neck who has given their life to Christ.  Sparky is French Canadian. The French Canadians being the Catholic holdouts on the whole birth control idea, they were still having babies when in was no longer in vogue to do so.  So in my non Catholic, a-religious childhood experience of the dark abyss, French Canadians has lots of kids.  Sparky and I went to school together, and he was nothing short of a museum piece with all those siblings and cousins numbering in the dozens. Like himself, all these cousins, unformed Catholics, were baptized but have no idea why.

A lot of confusion there, nobody really knows why but hindsight would seem to suggest that the parents thought the school was forming their children, the school people thought the parents were still doing it, and therefore well formed Catholic went  on the endangered species list.  Still are, in fact.

Still, these poorly formed Catholics had Something.  I call it Catholic Pride.  They don't know why they just know the Catholic Church is right.  It’s the Church.  Sparky, when we were courting, was one of these Catholics.  He insisted we get married in the Church.  I thought it didn't matter.  I didn't mind of course, but we wanted to get married in September.  I needed some paper work, the Petrine Privilege would be granted but as the Vatican closes up shop in August, we couldn't get married in September.  We would have to wait until at least November.  I thought this was silly, but I suppose it was all my fault for marrying someone else before I met Sparky.

I digress.

Sparky wanted to be married in the Church and he had no idea why nor did he have a viable explanation for me.  Just Because.  It was ingratiating. And he was immovable on this point. But thank God, and by the way I do daily, for those infuriating stubborn badly formed Catholics and their stinking pride. 

So, a funny thing happened with one of the dozens of cousins a few years back at some sort of family reunion, a funeral I think.  Of the seventy or so cousins in his life, people have kind of got the idea that we (Sparky, me and the offspring) are Religious.  Perhaps the seven kids is a bit of a giveaway of blind obedience.  Perhaps its family gossip.  I do not know, but on this particular occasion the cousin wanted to let Sparky know that he had a little Religion in him, too.  And proud of it.

The cousin, let’s call him Louis for a good safe French Canadian psuedonym, recounted a story for Sparky of a recent encounter he had had with a Mormon trying to evangelize him.  The Mormon was his boss, who took him out for lunch and began the evangelization process.  Louis stops him mid-sentence.

"Listen," he interjects.  "You can stop right there.  I'm a Roman Catholic. I can't explain very much to you. But what I know is this; Jesus was a tough guy.  I'm a tough guy, too.  And if you want to talk religion any more with me, we can take it out in the parking lot."

So it just goes to show, sometimes knowledge is overrated.  A little gumption can go a long way.

Jesus.  Yo.  My Man.