Note: Read the original "My First Day of School" piece that inspired this ongoing Aristocrats-style series.

I will never forget my first day at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows. Believe me, I have tried my hardest, but I recall it like it was yesterday. I wouldn't say I have the sharpest of memories, but the nightmares that frequent my sleep seem determined to keep the details of that day fresh in my mind.

For most people, going to church is an exciting opportunity to reunite with friends and start a new week with a clean slate. I'd be lying if I said I didn't experience a slight amount of excitement that day at all the new possibilities, but what little bit I did enjoy was mostly trumped by fear of the unknown.

I knew that while almost everyone attending that day would be happy to see each other after a long week, I would be enduring the strange feeling of knowing nobody, as it was my first day at a new church.

As I walked into the building, all of the alter boys in the church started pointing at me and whispering as if I was some kind of a freak.To make matters worse, I had only just moved to town a mere two weeks prior, leaving all of my friends behind and hundreds of miles away. Needless to say the ride to church that day was full of half-hearted optimism and feelings of homesickness and depression. Still, I remember feeling determined not to get too down, assuring myself things would work out for the best as it is all part of God's plan.

As I walked up to the building for the first time I was very nervous and thought about turning around and running home. It took some courage, but I managed to convince myself that I was going to be fine and that all of my worries were simply in my head. After all, my biggest fear was getting overly judged, an occurrence that I had yet to witness happen to anyone on any of my other days of church.

It wasn't long until I walked into my new church, pushing aside the bad thoughts and focusing on being optimistic. Before I walked in, I took a second to assure myself that I was going to make a bunch of new friends and that the sermon was going to be great. Then I picked my head up and marched into my new church.

It didn't take more than a second or two for my fears to be validated, because as I walked into the building, all of the altar boys in the church started pointing at me and whispering as if I was some kind of a freak. It was almost as if they had planned it all along, because the hushed whispering could only be compared to what I saw at a surprise party we once threw for my grandpa at Chuck E. Cheese. Nonetheless, I pressed forward with determination.

I held myself together, even as a big red-headed altar boy made fun of my short stature and glasses. But then an even bigger altar boy ran up behind me as I took my seat and ripped my Bible out of my hand. He proceeded to pull the pages out of it and began mocking their contents as he dropped the rest of my Bible in the garbage. And finally, in true bully form, he finished by ripping off my cassock and holding me down while the other altar boys took turns sodomizing me, shattering my faith in God (along with my feelings) into pieces.

I could not believe how mean these kids were to me, when I had done nothing to them. I tried to ignore it, but panic began to fill my entire body and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. As hard as I tried to fight it, it was no use. Once I started crying, I fell apart and ran out of the room as fast as I could.

I had no idea where anything was, so I just took off and followed a hallway wherever it would take me. I ran past several prayer rooms but it seemed like nobody even noticed me, so I just kept running until I found the Monsignor's office.

I burst through his door while he was on a phone call and tried to tell him what had happened, but I was so hysterical that he couldn't understand me. He told the person he was talking to he would call them back and hung up the phone. He grabbed me a glass of water and told me everything would be fine. He tried to calm me down by having me take deep breaths.

I explained to him how mean these kids were, and slowly I regained some composure. After about ten minutes of watery eyes and sniffles, he managed to get me to stop crying, and made me realize that I might be overreacting a bit. He handed me a tissue and I wiped away the tears, thinking I had cried myself out.

Unfortunately that wasn't the case, because it wasn't more than two minutes later that I started balling again when he told me he didn't think I was cut out to be the first midget priest in the Roman Catholic Church.

All "First Day of…" Aristocrats-style articles:

My First Day of School

My First Day at Prison

My First Day at the Cemetery

My First Day at Alcoholics Anonymous

My First Day of Senility

My First Day of Church

My First Day of School, Part 2

My First Day of Fat Camp

My First Day at the Circus

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