Pick of the Parish (and Other Things I Never Was)

Summary: A heartfelt journey from the pews of Catholic guilt to the signal within the noise. Spoiler: I was never the pick of the parish—should I thank God for that?

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Here I am,

Pondering my Catholic upbringing. You may relate—and if you don’t, well... there are reasons the term “recovering Catholic” floats around.

There I am, my 6-year-old self, sitting in a pew, doing my obligatory Sunday duty: Attending Mass to scrub my soul clean, polish up my conscience, and prepare for another week of societal indoctrination.

You know, nothing says “spiritual growth” like guilt served up with a side of an old man in white robes telling you how to live life by spouting the homily—his sermon—blah blah blah.

Then Father Harkins booms: "Billy, sit still! You'll never be the pick of the parish!"

Pick of the Parish. Did I miss the grand prize or something?

I didn’t sit still then, and I don’t now. The world is a stage with its cast of characters: some loud, some quiet, some cunning, and some wise. Most? Just noise.

What is noise, you may ask? Noise is the distraction. The homily is an example. Like many before us, people have opinions, memories, and stories… But when they’re shared, “the facts can be very flexible."

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Decades later, there’s an Old Boston Buck. Not some whiskey-soaked philosopher drowning in nostalgia. Just a guy attempting to engage life on life’s terms.

Paul, a retired teacher, sends Buck a copy of The Lucky Loser, Knowing he’s an avid reader. It’s a book on Trump.

Buck reads it. Sets it down. And laughs—not out of mockery, But because he understands.

Like most of us, We just want our perspective to matter.

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This much I know: Here today, gone tomorrow. Rinse. Repeat. Just like those before us.

Every generation has a Chicken Little crying, “The sky is falling!” A Karen, a Ken, Or something worse—just characters wanting to matter.

Do bad things happen? All day. Every day. And twice on Sunday.

Sometimes we hear a line like, “You talkin’ to me?” And think it gives us perspective. Father Harkins thought he was giving me some, But to me, He was just more noise in my perception.

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I will say this— Death is the great equalizer. It gives the world an opportunity to rinse and repeat… And maybe get it right this time.

And the sky? It never fell. But the noise? It never stops.

So, keep moving forward.

Because here’s the thing: These characters, these people—they’re all playing their roles. Just like you and me.

Every thought, fear, and dream crashing into each other like waves on a shore. Rinse. Repeat. One person’s imagination becomes another’s reality.

Like that chair you’re sitting on— It’s your butt that tells you it’s real.

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Find your signal. It’s what you believe it to be.

And Father Harkins? Yeah, he was right— I never was the pick of the parish.

But given all the noise— And the news about the Catholic Church—

Well…

Billy never needed to be picked.

Because 60 years later, He became Old Boston Buck. He carved his own way, Found his own truth, And kept moving— Questioning reality.

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Just a guy living life, Getting tattooed, Eating tasty food, Figuring out the health, wealth, and relationship game— Finding his signal. His perspective.

As Norm from Cheers once said:

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I’m wearing Milk-Bone underwear.”

So, hedge your bet. Maybe go commando. Learn to hear the signal through the noise.

Create your own story—because in the end, that’s what will matter.