When I was about four or five, my parents began sending my sister and I to church every Sunday (good ole Catholic/Pentacostal guilt). Both of my grandmothers are walking bibles, and both of my grandfathers were only caught dead in a church. Needless to say, I was very conflicted about Sunday Mass.
As the grown folks shuffled into the pews, us chilluns were sent to the basement/dungeon for Sunday school. As I'm told, the teacher began to lead us through several church songs and hymns, and then she asked if any students knew any songs. Apparently, I jumped right up and shouted, "I do, I do!" Being the new student that I was, the teacher was eager to allow me to participate in the activities. That's when, according to my mom, things took a turn for the awkward.
I stood up, fixed my legs shoulder width apart, and began, passionately, to sing the following:
"Beat It! (Beat It) Beat It! (Beat It!)
No one wants to be defeated!
Show them how ____________
Show them how ____________
It doesn't matter--"
At this point in my rendition, I was promptly carried back upstairs to my mother, who then stared at me in horror.
If you ever meet my moms and MJ comes up, you'll hear the full story.
