I Don’t Fit In

 

I drove up Wyoming Avenue, Route Eleven, to the Rock Street Music Store on Main Street in Pittston, Pennsylvania.  I couldn’t help noticing St. John the Evangelist, the biggest building in the city.  My parents were married there and I was baptized there. 

“I was born here, but I’ve been a New Yorker since I was a toddler,” I told the youngster behind the counter.  “Welcome back, sir,” was his terse reply. 

Wearing my Miraculous Medal and carrying my Rosary, I went into St. John’s, greeted the same way.  There’s no memory of me here. I’m just another stranger.   

Pittston was my mother’s hometown, and the  PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot reminded me so much of it.   So join ROCHELLE here each week, my friends. You’re sure to get a smile.  Click the psychedelic frog, please, to join us too.

27 thoughts on “I Don’t Fit In

  1. granonine says:

    Someone, somewhere, said that it takes about 60 years after you die for you to be completely forgotten. Kind of a chilling thought. Unless, of course you were famous in a world-altering way 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

      1. larry trasciatti says:

        It’s a variation of things that have happened to me ,though that specific incident has never really transpired. That city, music store, and church are real, so they must really add to its being so believable.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. pennygadd51 says:

    You’ve caught the feeling of being met by an unwelcoming greeter very well. Even though he was perfectly civil, the coldness came through. Churches should be warm and welcoming, and if we’re not, we’re falling down on the job.
    Have you ever had the feeling of going into a church you’ve never worshipped in before, and feeling instantly at home?

    Liked by 1 person

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