Jan 27 2006
We’re not Catholic, we’re Public
I grew up Catholic, however these days I am one of them-thar ‘non-practicing’ types. My husband is a committed atheist. My children all attend public school. However, as fellow Catholics will recognize, there is a rockin’ sports organization within the Catholic school community and the Catholics are nice enough to let us heathens join in (I think God made them let us join, maybe). Softball is almost as big as fish-fries for these people (and trust me - fish-fries are BIG, especially during the upcoming Lent season). Softball games with hot dogs and beer and nacho chips! It’s huge.
We didn’t want to miss out on nacho chips, so last year we signed our 8 year old daughter up for her first year of softball, playing for the local Catholic school in the CYC league. It was great. I heard one teammate that my daughter had just befriended say “We’re Catholic, what are you?” and Sarah replied “We’re not Catholic. We’re Public.” So it is.
This year, my husband signed up to help with the coaching duties. Swell guy, he is. He came to learn that he must drag his atheist ass to a class called “Protecting God’s Children” before he will be permitted to coach.
Him: I have to go to this class called “Protecting God’s Children”.
Me: Oh, please, do leave your atheist agenda behind, will you?
Him: I just don’t see why I have to do God’s job. I mean, don’t these Catholics know he’s omnipotent? Why does he need an atheist like me to take up his slack?
Me: And please keep those questions to yourself, too. Let’s allow that to remain a mystery. Do not attempt to have it solved in the class by the priests who are teaching. I want my nachos. I need my nachos.
Him: I’m just sayin’ …
I’ve been on the lam from the Pope for many years. It goes back to my childhood, even. In my early years of Catholic school, we had church services every freaking morning before school started. I knew the whole mass by heart before I hit 2nd grade (don’t make me prove it… ’cause I still know it even today). When my siblings and I were old enough to be permitted to go to Sunday services with friends instead of our parents, the routine went something like this: meet at church, grab a bulletin, see who is saying mass, make sure to be seen by someone’s mom, sneak off to the candy store and buy some Swedish fish and then go into the ally and smoke cigarettes and eat candy until mass was over. Then go home. Fortunately, in the Catholic Church, you have this thing called confession where you can go and get your record wiped clean. Very handy, that.
Like a good bad Catholic girl, I got knocked up my senior year at Catholic high school. My Catholic boyfriend and I went to the Catholic priest who made us attend Pre-Cana Catholic classes which were required before we could be married in the Catholic Church. Evidently, we failed Pre-Cana because we were told they would not marry us. Probably because of the cigarettes and Swedish candy fish, I guess.
So we went the route of a civil ceremony (my dream wedding, just him and me and our teething infant in a dirty City Hall… the infant bit me during the ceremony, right on my shoulder - ouch!). So we’re married in such a way that the Church did not recognize our union as valid in the eyes of God. When we tried to get the little babies baptized, we were told “You are not married in the eyes of God and therefore we shall punish your children by condemning their souls to purgatory should something happen to them. We shall not baptize them.” Well, of course, they didn’t use THOSE words, but that really was the message.
By this time, my marriage was already clearly on the rocks so I was surely not going to plan some farce of a Church wedding just to satisfy their crazy rules. I wanted to say “But we TRIED to get married in the Church and you wouldn’t let us!” Of course, if I said that, given the condition of my marriage, I might also have had to say “You were SO right! We never should have gotten married.” and I wasn’t yet prepared to say that to anyone, even myself, so I didn’t.
The marriage went steadily downhill until I packed his shit and said “Get OUT!” By this time, my oldest was nearly kindergarten age. We lived in the city and anyone who knows about St. Louis city schools will know why I did what followed — I went BACK to the Catholic Church and said “I want my child to go to school here. I know I wasn’t married in the Church and I know how much you dislike that. But it’s a done deal and I’m not going to take my asshole husband, from whom I am separated, and stage some sort of joke of a Church wedding, so what the hell are you going to do? Are you going to CONTINUE to punish my children for the sins of their parents, Swedish fish, cigarettes, and getting married at City Hall when we shouldn’t have gotten married at all or what?”
The bastards finally baptized my kids and my daughter went to kindergarten at Catholic school so I could shield her from those dirty, no-good Publics. At the end of that year, I moved to the suburbs where the quality of public school was much better and the environment was safer and my kids have gone to public schools ever since.
I haven’t stepped into a church since my now-22 year old daughter was in kindergarten, except for weddings and such (and even then, I watch out for lightning because I really don’t want to be struck down). So it’s been almost 20 years since I’ve been an active Catholic.
It wasn’t terribly long ago that I ran into a priest from my high school. “Father!” I said, “Hi, how the heck are you? You’re looking great! Are you still teaching at Saint Something or Other?” He even recognized me. “Linda!” he said, “Long time, no see. What’s up?” So I gave him the spiel about me, my kids, yadda yadda, life is good. “Where are you living?” he asked.
“Our Lady of Sorrows parish.” I answered without a thought.
Me, having not stepped FOOT into a church for years and years - and NEVER having stepped foot into the church of the parish I moved into, answered like that in the flash of a moment. I’m going to BURN IN HELL, right? I mean, not that I believe in hell, but do you think they have Swedish fish there? What about cigarettes?
We’re Public, indeed. Ha! Once a Catholic, always a Catholic. I’d better go to confession.
(note: the name of the churches were changed to protect the not-so-innocent)
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