Jake was a bad example of how any man should behave, especially towards his wife (or significant other). Instead of being a good husband, he continuously berated his wife, Kate — a devout Pentecostal Christian — even occasionally while in the presence of visitors, such as my mother (who was Kate’s longtime friend) and I. The two of us were of Catholic upbringing, though I wasn’t much of a ‘believer’ in that nor any other religion.

“Ahh, shut your goddamn, filthy mouth,” Jake maliciously, repeatedly, sometimes unrelentingly spewed at his supposed-to-be life partner. She’d say a few things about this or that, and again out of his foul mouth came, “Ahh, shut your goddamn, filthy mouth.”

To be fair, it should be known that Jake didn’t indulge himself in vices, not even alcohol. On a few occasions, however, he did help himself to the prepubescent sisters who resided next door and confided in me about his “tummy tickling” (albeit it was considered relatively innocent playful molestation back in the 1970s).

As for his venomous verbal assaults against his wife, his cardiovascular system could tolerate only so many years of such blood-pressure-boosting, anger-based emotional abuse of Kate. One day his heart gave out, though he was lucky enough to have survived — albeit, he remained wheelchair bound, while physically, emotionally, mentally and thus verbally as weak and helpless as a kitten.

Henceforth, he didn’t say a single nasty word to Kate, who went on to love and nurse Jake, whilst he seemingly sincerely discovered the same Christian faith. Apparently, the only filthy mouth that would be profoundly shut, or at least very much mellowed, was that of Jake himself.

Following Jake’s physical and mental humbling and weakening resulting from his heart attack, another devout Christian, senior-citizen husband and wife couple whom Kate met at church a couple years prior, felt comfortable enough in her due to the absence of the usual nasty spirit (via Jake’s former full malicious potential) within the household to regularly visit her and Jake.

When came time for the closing of each visit, they would join hands in a circle as the visiting man initiated intense, deep prayer. He emphatically rambled on with some indiscernible ‘holy’ words for 35–50 seconds.

As I sat alone at the opposite end of the living-room during one such prayer circle, this time (with Mom) five in all, I inexplicably and unexpectedly felt very relaxed during the speaking-in-tongues prayer. I experienced something that was the most profound sensation I had ever encountered, before or since. I felt a spiritual lightness so incredible I couldn’t put it into accurate words. Nor could I explain it away, especially considering I had been totally sober and clear-headed that day.

“He was speaking in tongues,” I was later told by my mother, who occasionally attended the visits and joined in on the closing prayer circle, on our way home from the one occasion I coincidently and quite skeptically accompanied my mother there. “He was rebuking the evil spirits and inviting the Holy Spirit.”

The prayer session and its accompanying profound effect wasn’t new for my mother, though it would be a one-time experience for me because such an opportune visitation occasion didn’t reoccur for me.

Additionally, I feared that further joining the Pentecostal prayer circles would interfere with my guilt-free enjoyment of the illicit intoxicant party life with the usual circle of rowdy friends. I therefore ensured that none of them would ever learn of my involvement, however brief, with the speaking-in-tongues gathering, lest they laugh the hell out of me.

I’ve remained far from that spiritually-light sensation during the four decades since, though that’s mostly due to a lack of similar opportunity. But I’ve lately been seriously considering thus making a genuine effort at re-experiencing it, likely through a prayer group with the local Pentecostal church.