Seducing Mormons

Fiddler on the Roof is my favorite Broadway musical of all time. It's also my father’s autobiography once you change Judaism to Mormonism. If you don't know the story of Fiddler on the Roof, it's basically about three daughters who disappoint their dad.

My dad is a Mormon, a die-hard Mormon. He's a great man. He's intelligent, loving, caring, thoughtful, generous and completely committed to his faith. All he wanted out of life was for his kids to grow up and stay in the church. Well, guess what? None of us did.

Over the years he's learned to accept it, but it has broken his heart.

For me, it was never in my blood, because I was adopted. My birth mother requested that I be placed in a Mormon home, and my parents used that over the years to try and convince me that I belonged in the church, but it didn't work. I have since met my birth mother, and she is anything but Mormon.

My birth mother is this amazingly loving creature who loves beer, cigarettes and hearing about my sex life. She is the opposite of the family that raised me. She just likes Mormons, and she wanted me raised by good people, and Mormons are certainly good people. Fuck you, they are.

How many Mormons are on death row? When was the last time you worried about being mugged by a Mormon missionary?

My brother and sister see it differently. They have a lot of anger toward the church. They were both kicked out by the church elders for being sinners. My brother was living in sin, and my sister was sleeping around.

For some reason, I was never kicked out. I guess the Mormon leaders have never Googled me. Technically, I think I'm still on the Mormon record books as a member. I sort of like it actually. The playwright who wrote Making Porn and Cocksucker: A Love Story has still not been excommunicated from the Mormon church.

I stopped going to church when I moved out at 17 and never went back. I didn't struggle, I didn't feel guilty, I just stopped going cause I no longer had to. I had moved out and was on my own. I found spirituality in the theater. Ushering Broadway shows at 17 was the closest I've ever felt to heaven.

It's funny, I don't smoke or drink and my friends tease me that I'm still a practicing Mormon, but I remind them that practicing Mormons don't suck cock, thank you very much. The closest I've been to Mormonism in the past 17 years was the Jell-o I made last week. Mormons love Jell-o. Every Mormon potluck has five types of Jell-o. I've secretly pondered going back to church just for the potlucks, and to see how many straight Mormon men I could seduce, but I hate wearing a tie.

So for Christmas next week I'm giving my dad what he truly wants. I'm going to church with him again. I have a nice suit I bought nine months ago that I've never worn, so I figure this will be a good opportunity to break in the suit and make my dad extremely happy in the process.

I love my dad. I worship my dad. I truly do have the greatest dad in the world. So next Sunday I'll be at his church, sitting next to him and making him feel for at least one day that hope exists. I'll go and I'll enjoy it. I'll study the people, I'll be intrigued by the silliness of organized religion, I'll check out the latest Mormon fashions and my dad will feel that I've taken one tiny step closer to giving him the one thing he's always wanted, the one thing he will never have.