Getting High on God
By DJ Quinn
This little reflection is for my nieces and nephews to give them a better understanding of why all nine of us Quinn kids loved to go to church every Sunday.
In the days before mini-vans roamed the earth, God had created the Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser. This was a Hell of a station wagon, equipped with non-opening sunroofs above the “back seat” and tinted glass windows along the roof-line in the “very back”. Designed to carry six passengers and their gear comfortably, the Vista Cruiser was the perfect machine to carry the eleven members of the Quinn family to the our parish church, the Cathedral of St. Helena.
“How,” the next generation is bound ask, “How did they all fit? Where did they put all the car seats?”
An understandable question from a generation of kids who have grown up believing automobiles don’t work unless every member of the family is strapped or bolted to the body of the car. For these children, who are afraid to even sit on the toilet without wearing a bicycle helmet, it is impossible to visualize 11 people traveling to the Cathedral in a single Vista Cruiser.
Our family went to the same Mass each Sunday. We went to whichever Mass was scheduled to begin 15 minutes after Dad woke us up. Nothing, nothing puts one in a holier mood than being told, “Get up, it’s time to go.”
Much chanting and speaking in tongues would take place as we tried to assemble ourselves and stumble to the Vista Cruiser. The final few minutes always included a body count to determine who was missing. Some kid just settling into their seat would have to jump out of the Vista Cruiser, run back into the house, and scream, “Hurry Up. We’re leaving!”
The fires of Hell were cooler than the mood in the Vista Cruiser as we roared out of the driveway. Dad would drive with Mom seated on the passenger side, and between them was the first kid to make it into the car that morning. The rest of us were jostling with each other in back.
A dark cloud of collective grumpiness would fill the back of the car as we pulled out. Yet each week, somewhere along Benton Avenue between Euclid and the Civic Center, the voices of sin would be silenced. It was there along this holy stretch of Benton Avenue that the Angel of the Lord, seated in the passenger side of the front seat, would reach into her purse. Confident she was doing God’s work, she would whip out the Aqua Net hairspray and unleash chemical warfare on the forces of evil.
Aqua Net, for the unfamiliar, is one of three over-the counter products resulting from a catastrophic chemical reaction that takes place in a factory somewhere “Out-of-State.” A tub of chemicals mixes, bubbles, burps and ferments. Then like magic the goo separates to produce Off! Insect Repellent, Emarude Perfume (a favorite of our Aunt Jean), and Aqua Net Hairspray--available in a pink, silver and black spray can decorated with a fish-net motif. Suggested retail price for Aqua Net back then was about 15 cents for a five-gallon drum.
As the sinners started to scream, the Lord’s Handmaiden started spraying the Aqua Net. First on her bangs, then a bit on the side. A quick glance in the mirror on the visor followed by a major blast at Dennis. Another “psssst” on her bangs, two quick sprays at Kelly, and a long, long squirt at Tim and Katie. One last quick pass over the other side of the hairdo was followed by a 15 second dusting of the back seat.
This was, of course, a glorious miracle as it was all done without Mom even turning her head. And Satan Be Damned! It was a mortal sin to roll down a window for air because the wind might ruin Mom’s hairdo.
Who needs car seats? By the time we reached the Cathedral we were all limp rag dolls, lying on the seat or floor, gasping for air. We could have had a head-on collision with a semi-truck and none of us floating in our Aqua Net stupor would have felt a thing. We arrived at church and piled out of the car. As we ran toward the church, we begged God for mercy and a little bit of fresh air.
Yes, the Quinns arrived at Mass. Dad looked relaxed, Mom looking dashing with nary a hair out of place, and we kids just looked at the massive stained glass windows in the cathedral. Higher than kites from inhaling Aqua Net fumes, all of us would watch the figures in those windows come to life.
The Saints would dance, whirl around, and do a few cartwheels. The Apostles would make faces at the priest and pass gas at the Last Supper Table. Perhaps it was a sense of deep spirituality that engulfed us. Most likely, we were all just really, really stoned. Whatever the case, before long we would settle back in our pews, take in the show, and begin to whisper our praises.
“Oh Jesus! This is great!”