I was in middle school when I began exploiting the God of my mother. I went to synagogue often only because they had cable TV. We didn’t have cable at home…I learned to drink at the synagogue when I’d steal the small cups of blessed wine every Friday night from behind the rabbi’s back.
It was Christmastime when I sang a song I’d made up at the top of my lungs on the school lunch line: Joy to the world – your God is dead. Even though, at home, my Catholic father had placed a Star of David atop our Christmas tree.