As a youngster growing up in a Catholic world there always seemed to be this morbid focus on death, sin, sex, hell and, of course, every Catholic’s second chance at getting into heaven – Purgatory.
I always imagined purgatory to be like the corridors in court where people waited on hard benches, listened to confusing legal talk, had no access to tea, coffee or food whilst waiting for some guy in a robe to either send them to jail or release them to gambol in the sun.
Consequently there was a lot of focus on death and the many rituals needed to ensure that one’s loved ones got the chance to head to heaven, either immediately or after some really hard prayers of intercession for them whilst they sat waiting for their trial in the court of purgatory.
Needless to say we were ‘encouraged’ to pray for our family and relatives who had passed away before any other riff raff.
This led me to the realisation that I was on my knees more for the male members of our family.
Initially I thought that the reasons why may be linked to them being more important until I realised one thing: The men in our family had a habit of dying young whilst the women stayed alive well into their 80’s and 90’s.
The cynic in me also observed that the women didn’t remarry which could have been because they were afraid to lose another man to the Grim Reaper and not because of what you are thinking…
Seriously though, the three most significant men in my life died in their early ages – both grandfathers in their early 50’s and my late father, George, at age 49.
This is where the Catholic doomsday teaching bubbled to the service as I wondered if I would make it past 50.
Those thoughts easily become darker and more depressing the closer one got to 50 – an age that I reached and clocked over to 51, then 52 – each year began with one thought; “This year could be my last”.
A bout of depression and abuse led me to thinking that maybe I could eat and drink my way to that surely early death and then I had my revelation; “My life expectancy is more a product of my lifestyle than genetics or doomsday teachings.”
So, I changed my lifestyle and started the IBGC or ‘I Beat George Club’ for all direct descendants of George who surpassed the half century mark. For a while I was the sole founder and member (4 years to be precise). In the last 12 years our mebers have swelled to their limit of 4 – Michael, Bronwyn and Nicola have now joined the club.
My lesson; “Turn doom and gloom into positive shit!”
