Contact Lenses and The Cult of Community

[Note to reader: This is NOT an excerpt from my "Hairdresser On Fire" manuscript, but a free write blog post which is an expansion of the manuscript.To set up for contextual clarity: for a few years as a Clown Child, my family was in a cult; the leader's name was Milton.]

My sister wanted contact lenses more than I wanted Clown White.
Going into Ninth Grade, she was as marked as I was. I can’t imagine being a girl in ninth grade, let alone being The Girl in The Cult, the one with the big nose and glasses. My father felt bad for not being able to provide contact lenses, and for passing down the giant schnozz that they would bookend.

He saved up all his working-class nickels until the day he could afford to buy the new eyeball covers she wanted. He was so proud when she opened the package and saw them; I think we all cried.

My family was always happy for one another when something went well. Not a lot of competition when the bar is so low. Not particularly encouraged, I never shot too high, something that is with me to this day.

When I wanted a paper route my mother said "Oh, no way. No way, Jose! I am not driving around in the rain at seven in the morning on Saturdays when you don’t wanna wake up and do it. It’s a big responsibility, Francis. You’ll join up, and then you won’t do it, just like the Cub Scouts. Remember the Cub Scouts?”

When my sister got to remove her giant glasses, I was genuinely happy that she broke through to my parents. To her, they didn’t say “Oh, we’ll get ‘em for you, even though you probably won’t put them in.” They just got them for her, knowing. And she wore them, too. Every day. Her old glasses sat on her cracked wooden shelf like a fossil, on one lens was a gold butterfly and on the other lens were her initials. They were that big.

When Milton and the other Men in The Community found out about the contacts they weren’t too happy, and called my parents into an emergency meeting with the parish priest, Father Moe.
Moe was a raging queen who was later sent away from the Church- not because he was diddling boys, but because he was having sex with men, and because they knew he was a big old 'mo. Father ‘Mo.

“So, Milt, what’s this all about?” my father asked.

“Maybe we should all sit,” said Father ‘Mo.

“Yes, maybe. Good idea, Moe,” said Milton.

My mom sat silent as Milton took the seat across from my dad, took Father Mo’s seat. Milton was such a dick.

“We see you bought your Carlene some contact lenses...that’s what we heard from the girls today, that Carlene had some contacts in at school.”

“Yeah?” my father said.

“Well, we just don’t think…”

My father’s hands balled into fists as he waited for Milton to say it.

“…we just don’t think you should be making such large purchases without consulting the Community first.... or at least tell Moe, here…”

“Father Moe,” said Father ‘Mo.

“Father Moe...sorry.... but we, me and Moe, see this purchase as a reduction of your tithe, of our tithe, and we can’t have that. You understand.”

My father jumped out of his seat and held up his hand to the men with his middle finger extended. He never did it before, maybe once in the Navy, but giving the finger wasn’t his long suit. Like me, when enraged, he turns into Don Knotts.

“Screw you, Milt!” he screamed, "screeew youuu!" His voice shook into the higher octaves, his register getting higher with each word and his voice cracking. “I’ll buy anything for my damn kids that I damn well want, you don’t tell me how to spend my damn money, you big jerk.”

My father grabbed my mom and plucked her out of her seat- she was starting to cry- and pulled her out of the room, pushing past Milton and through the door, walking out the clackety doors of the Church rectory. "And screw you too, Moe!" 
And that was it. As fast as we were in a cult, we were out. No de-programming required. My parents got into their Impala and drove away.

"Well, that didn't go as well I had hoped," said Milton. "I guess some folks just can't be saved, huh Moe?"

“Father Moe,” said Father ‘Mo...