In Jesus’s Name, I’m Kidnapping You.

The ages of 12-15 are pretty horrible years. You’re hitting puberty, (unless you were one of the “early developers” that got boobs in 4th grade), probably have braces, shitty hair and skin, horrible clothes, and hate everything in the world. I am no exception to the above. I think I have 3 pictures that are solid documentary evidence that I did, in fact, exist. Here’s one. I think I’m about 12:

Proof that I existed as a teen.

My mother is a deeply religious person. She hails from a strong French Catholic background. They go to church on a daily basis and pray the rosary at wakes. Here’s the problem: I am not religious. At all.

When I was 14, I thought I was the toughest bitch around. I shaved the back of my head, wore flannel shirts, baggy pants, and a choker (it was the 90’s; don’t judge me). One day, I was sneakily smoking a cigarette out my bedroom window, when my mother called me downstairs. She wanted to take me clothes shopping! This was relatively unheard of because it was well past back to school shopping, not Christmas or my birthday. Cautiously, I agreed to go. Into the car we go, just me and mom. We lived pretty close to the mall, so I didn’t understand why she was getting on the highway. As we drove, I realized that she wasn’t taking the exit to the mall. Panic struck. “Where are you taking me?” Nothing. No answer, just driving. Now I’m losing my mind; I had been duped and my mother has lost her mind. After several minutes of screaming my head off, she finally told me: we were going to a church to go see a visiting statute of Mary. Oh, and I was getting blessed. I blacked out from rage. I’m being held hostage for Jesus.

Holy. Shit.
We got to the church and I refused to leave the car. I made a huge scene, mortifying my mother. Like many desperate parents do in those situations, she offered a deal: she would get me whatever I wanted if I just went inside.


I had the upper hand! What would any badass teen want that they can’t get on their own? Cigarettes. I made the offer, never thinking she would agree. But…she did. She promised she would buy them for me on the way home.

Into the church we went. There I was, this sort of lesbian-looking, miserable teen, standing in front of a church full of old woman and Mary. But I did it and didn’t burn, surprisingly.

We left and didn’t speak. I felt like I had been victimized. My mother looked dejected and sad. But! A deal was a deal, which I reminded her of frequently the whole way home.

She pulled into a gas station a few miles from our house, went in and bought my cigarettes. She gave them to me as I sat in the front seat, shocked. Because I was a complete and total asshole, I decided to smoke one. I lit the cigarette. Then, the unexpected happened. I felt guilty. Overwhelmingly guilty. Angry, I threw it out after only a few drags.

When we got home, I went to my room and couldn’t wait to tell my friends what a sucker my mom was! But those phone calls never happened. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I kept thinking about how disappointed my mother looked when she walked out of that gas station, over and over. Then, I did the unthinkable: I gave the pack back to my mother. I literally could not smoke another one.

We never really discussed what happened. We didn’t have to; she won. All those years of Catholic guilt paid off. I did the right thing.

So mom, if I never admitted this to you before, I am now: I was a douche. I’m sorry.


Author: Marie Forster

I write this blog to (over) share the good, bad, and absurd with the masses. You can also find me performing stand-up comedy. Or….eating pizza.

8 thoughts on “In Jesus’s Name, I’m Kidnapping You.”

  1. I don’t think you’re a douche, you were just a kid on a mission. Frankly, I would say your mother was just as much in the wrong as you were. She gave you no ultimatum to escape going to see this statue. Getting you the cigarettes was likely the same for her as you giving back the cigarettes to her was for you.

    I’m in my mid-20s and my mother still guilt trips me sometimes about church and my faith. The issue with my mother’s approach is that she doesn’t force me into religious situations, she complains about how much it hurts her that I’m not Catholic anymore. She makes the entire thing about her, and makes no reference to what matters to me. It’s as if she’d rather I lie to myself about my personal beliefs regarding faith and instead fake being Catholic just to put on a show for her to make her feel better. It drives me up the wall! (Sorry, that was a tangent. The whole religious mother pushing her faith down your throat thing is very relateable. XD)


    1. Thanks, Rana. I don’t think I’m a douche either (well, sometimes I am). Religion is a tricky thing, that’s for sure. I’ve had that same battle too; I’ve just come to realize that I’m not going to change her mind, and likewise. Do what makes you happy!


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