It was always really hard to be good in church, my parents were a part of the Cursillista movement that lived on way past the 70s and the liturgical movement that came out after Vatican II, that made god accessible to all and common people laymen and ministers. I would squirm on the wooden benches, and show my discontent for having to stay still for an hour until my dad would pinch me so no one would see and I’d Shout, “¡Papí maloso! ¿porque me peliscas?” in the middle of church to the embarrassment of my parents. There were happier memories, like putting my ear to my dad’s rib cage while he sang the songs of un pueblo en marcha, a musical movement that accompanied the changes after Vatican II where church songs came from the people and reflected the will of the poor and their place as righteous people, alluding to our commonalities with Christ as farmers, through “El Sembrador”, about humility, “He was god, and man”, “poorest of the poor” lines of “Dios y Hombre” and finalé songs that were also sung at marches, like “Santa Maria del Camino” or of hope “Santa Maria de la Esperanza” maintaining the rhythm of our wait before the rebellion. It was the music that made me despise church in English, and what made the culture of cultural catholic beyond the rituals and rites.