I’m not saying we’re different or special, because I didn’t grow up as a Protestant, Presbyterian, Methodist of follower of David Koresh; I only know the Catholic kid experience, which has probably shaped who I am and how I look at faith, regret or wafer crackers for that matter. We crowned the virgin Mary every day in May and prayed before lunch in the cafeteria- my supplications mostly involved divine intervention by way of successfully stuffing my green beens into my milk carton- without incident- so Sr. Corrine wouldn’t ridicule me. Religion class was making tissue paper stained glass decorations or memorizing the Beatitudes.
Even play outside of the classroom was a strange version of the secular variety- climbing a tree wasn’t just climbing a tree- I was Zaccheaus- the short, sinning tax collector. A baby doll was the infant Jesus sometimes and being Mary on the playground was funny because we’d chase boys around getting them to submit to being our Joseph, singing Madonna and Bon Jovi songs. Man, Catholic kids are nuts. In the run-down of occupations I toyed with as a child (professional ballerina, Cybil Shepperd (for real), wife of Harrison Ford and journalist), the one in which I felt most powerful as was priest. No, not nun- they were wimpy and had terrible teeth and breath- I wanted to be the Big Man in Robes. I wonder how many parents of friends contemplated my future when I organized play-Masses in their basements while staying the night. What third graders perfect the art of stamping out a Eucharistic host out of a piece of Wonder Bread? I’d make rows of plastic kid chairs in my own basement, fill them with my own congregation (Mr. Howell and the Professor- my teady bears, Raggedy Ann and Andy, etc) and begin a procession to my Monkees vinyl, or Daryl Hall and John Oates. This cracks me up- I was odd…pulling off the legs of spiders so I could preside over a proper Catholic funeral Rite and burial.
Now, nearly thirty years later, I’ve forgotten about and walked away from it. I just can’t…. I go to Mass at the key Holy Days- and, just as I remember my aunt doing when I was a kid (totally confused by the entire moment) I find myself crying by the end of Mass- wiping fat tears off my lashes in concealment- and I’m just as confused now as I was then. Anyway, that’s my take on growing up Catholic- it’s puzzling.
Growing up Catholic is definitely puzzling, but awesome, in terms of the small ways it enters your life. I remember being glad for being Catholic while watching The Exorcist for the first time, and I even got a strange sense of pride when I saw this:
Yes! Me too! And you put that very well: strange sense of pride- Catholicism=cool- Love it!
First, I never knew you went to Catholic school and as your cousin that seems a fact I should know =D Second, I was “raised” Catholic in the sense that my stepdad decided that thats what me and Stephen were going to be, and that was that. We did the Catholic school thing for elementary school and the Mass thing on Sundays. But probably because my stepdad is the biggest douche hypocrite and he was my only example of ‘being Catholic’ I was completely repelled by the whole deal. I feel like I’ll always equate Catholicism with all the negativity and hypocritical bullshit that my stepdad was. And its such a really odd feeling because despite it, my upbringing was Catholic and I feel somewhat a part of that.
Wow that was wordy. Sorry :/