This Is Gospel -Phan-

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Philip Lester was definitely someone people like Dan Howell would be expected to make fun of.  His family was completely devoted to the Catholic church, he was what his teachers would call "academically privileged," and was very much an introvert.  Not that he liked it that way, nor was it his fault.

"Son, grab that last box, please," Philip's father instructs pompously with a straightening of his tie.  He walks out the front door with confid-ence and poise, what a prude.

Philip didn't really understand why his father always had to dress up for the most boring of occasions.  They were only moving house to Manchester, and they wouldn't be meeting with anyone.  This would be the last day for Philip in Rawtenstall, and as much as he despised his current school, he was still dreading the move.

He stood up with an inward sigh and grabbed his satchel his mother bought for him years ago along with a cardboard box containing most of his life.  He took a final look around the house and shut the door behind him, his family already waiting for him in the driveway with exasperated looks on their faces.

-

Over an hour later, Philip pursed his lips as he looked out the window to see a group of kids his own age walking down the pavement, all engrossed in meaningless conversation.  He focuses on one smiling boy with brown hair and dimples, carrying a girl with bright magenta hair on his back, her face lit up with laughter.  Philip continued to stare at the brown-haired boy until his brain shifted out of reality.  As the car passed the clique, his eyes are still glued to the window.  He breaks out of his trance and looks down at his lap when he feels his brother nudge his leg with his foot.

"Philip!"  He hears his mother shout. "Answer me when I say your name!"

"Oh- sorry,"  He mutters absentmindedly.

He hears his father sigh audibly as his mother begins to speak in her shrill tone of voice.

"I was going to remind you that you serve at Mass Saturday evening.  I trust you remember what to do?"

He ignores the question.  "How come Martyn never had to do this?"

"I've told you this before, it's tradition in this family for the youngest son to be the altar boy."

He turns his head back toward the window.  It's not worth it to argue, it would just end in tense car rides and jabbing statements.  He reaches down into his bag and grabs his book, prepared to settle down and read for the rest of the drive.

"I wasn't done speaking to you, boy.  I was going to give you some advice, because you are irresponsible enough without it," his mother continues.

Philip rolls his eyes, then looks up cautiously to make sure she didn't see.

"I've met the Father already.  I'm just giving you a warning, because we've spoken before.  He's a nice man, he is, but he does not take any rubbish from young men like you, Philip.  You are to give him your full respect," she eyes him intensely through the rear view mirror.

Great, thinks Philip, lots of things
already piling over into his weekend. He didn't dare to say anything other than yes.  One step out of line, and he earns himself a beating and a half.

It's not that Philip necessarily hated church; he didn't mind the soothing sounds of the piano swirling through the brisk church air, or the absence of his parents always lecturing him.  He actually liked being in the presence of the kind elderly folks and their oddly sweet smells.  It was a nice change compared to school.  So he just agrees. His parents wouldn't like to hear otherwise.