Living the "Normal" Life

The next day in class was moving day. Our teacher liked to give everyone a chance to sit up front if they wanted so we would get to choose our seats again. It had only been two weeks since the last time, and I had a feeling she needed a break from me sitting across from her every day. I chose a seat in the very back. Steven plopped into a seat next to me and grinned. I felt my cheeks flush as I remembered his kiss and shyly looked down at my hands. "Hey!" he whispered. I looked up. "Did you get in trouble?"

"A little." I managed, "My uncle was in more trouble, though, so it wasn't too bad." Steven nodded.

"Class! Pay attention! Everyone needs to finish finding their seats," Mrs. Bradley announced over the chaos. She was a new teacher, very new. I liked her, and I think she really liked me, too. One day she told me, "You ask very good questions, Tammy. They make me think." I felt very proud of myself!

Having Steven sit next to me proved to be quite the distraction for me, and he didn't help much. He was always talking to me so we were always in trouble. One day Mrs. Bradley embarrassed me by announcing, "Okay, you two lovebirds, if you cannot sit next to each other without talking, I am going to have to separate you." I was humiliated! I only talked because he was talking to me, and I didn't want to be rude. While I really wished I had invisibility powers, Steven actually seemed to enjoy it, but he did quit talking. He wrote me notes instead and, of course, I had to write back. It was the polite thing to do, and Nan was always on me about minding my manners.

Steven and I would quickly become close friends. We never called each other boyfriend or girlfriend but I guess we sort of were. He would walk me home from school and we would stop at the playground along the way. We would race each other to the swings and challenge each other to see who could go the highest. He always won, but his legs were longer!

On Friday nights we would go roller skating. He would laugh when Bobby would knock me down but would always offer me a hand up. After Bobby made a scene, singing, "Steven and Tammy kissing in a tree.." I absolutely refused to skate with my brother again. Soon after he got bored and didn't want to go anymore much to my relief. Now Steven and I could skate together alone!

For a while things seemed to go smoothly in most areas for me. Life seemed good and normal for a bit, but something I learned quickly was...it hardly ever stays that way.

Facing the Music

Steven walked me all the way home, gave me a quick kiss, and waved goodbye. Floating into the house on Cloud Nine, I was about to get knocked off of it by a very angry and worried Nan. "Where have you been, young lady?" The kiss had preoccupied my mind for so long that I had forgotten to prepare a story! Uh oh!

"Um...just hanging out with my friends." Well, I wasn't totally lying. I shuffled my feet back and forth on the ground and squirmed uncomfortably. I wasn't sure why it was that big of a deal. I would often stop at my great grandparents and/or the playground on the way home but I usually showed up a lot sooner. I had no idea what time it was.

I would get an ear bashing like no other because not only was I very late, two hours to be exact, but Sister had followed through on her promise to call. "How could you talk to Father like that? What is wrong with you? Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? What in God's name would possess you to do such a thing?"

All these questions were fired at me so quickly that I never had a chance to respond so I stood there feeling helpless. "I mean, really, Tammy, sometimes I don't know about you. Are you going to answer me? I don't know why I am being punished like this. What did I do that was so wrong, God, to deserve this? Tell me." When Italians get wicked mad, their hands do a lot of talking, too, and hers were flying all over the place! I looked around the room, half-expecting God to be there, and say something like, "Well, Rita, you may want to sit down. This may take a while..."

So when Richie came bounding through the door, I was relieved. He had been in another fight and suddenly my Nan had something else to deal with. Normally I would hang around and be nosey, but I knew an opportunity when I saw one so I took advantage and escaped. She didn't even notice. As I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, I heard my grandmother start cursing in Italian.

I tossed my schoolbag on my bed and dragged my toy box over to the closet. Standing on tippy toes, I felt around on the top shelf until I found what I was looking for. Launching myself onto the bed, deliriously happy, I wrote, "Dear Diary, you won't even believe what happened to me today..."

The Meeting

The dismissal bell screeched me back to reality. I hadn't really heard any of my afternoon classes; I was still sulking over confession. Confused by my own behavior, I found myself trying to understand it all and make some sense of it. Hours later and I wasn't any closer to figuring it out.

Like a zombie I filed into line and, somewhat in a fog, shuffled out of the school building, quiet and pensive. My teacher gave me an odd glance but was probably relieved she didn't have to deal with me for the day. "Hey!" I almost kept walking, forgetting my meeting.

"Oh hi!" I said without much enthusiasm. Steven searched my face for a moment but whatever he thought he saw he never let on. He grabbed my schoolbag and shoved my lunchbox into it, swung it over his other shoulder, and took my hand. The next thing I knew we were running down the street away from my house. Laughing I managed a "Where are we going? I live that way!" reaching back to point in the direction of my home.

"I know. I wanna take you somewhere." We ran all the way to Hoffman Park, a local hangout that I had never been without adult supervision before. My uncle and I would often come here with Puddles who bit at rocks in the creek...such a strange dog. The trellis extended over the water, and Richie would make me walk across it. He never did, though. He would always make me do the craziest, most adventurous things, but it just dawned on me, he never participated. Interesting.

Steven came to an abrupt halt with me almost running into him. "You wanna cross over to the other side?" I had done it easily before, skipping across the tops of rocks, without any trouble at all so I nodded. The playground was on this side of the creek; the other side was definitely quieter. It was like being in the woods and because you had to cross the creek to get there, not many people would venture over. This time, though, would present a challenge I wasn't expecting. My patent leather school shoes were not conducive to hopping from rock to rock, and I found myself slipping all over the place. All I could think was how I would explain coming home soaking wet to my grandmother. Luckily, I wouldn't have to.

Hand outstretched Steven helped me jump the rest of the way to land. We climbed up to the top of the bank and sat silently for a time. He shot me a concerned glance. "You aren't going to get in trouble, are you?"

"Probably." I answered. "But it'll be okay. You?"

"Nah. My parents are both working. No one is there when I get home."

"Oh.' I whispered thinking that was sad. My parents were never home during the work week, which could be perceived as a good thing, but at least my Nan was there for me.

We chatted about most everything: skating, school, classmates but both of us steered clear of talking about our families like it was some unwritten agreement. Just as I was thinking, I had better be getting home before my grandmom had a search party out looking for me, he kissed me. Not just a peck on the cheek kind of kiss, but my first real kiss, a long one on the lips! Whoa! Staring into my eyes, he said, "I better get you home before I'm never allowed to see you again." I was, for once in my life, at a loss for words. Did this mean I officially had a boyfriend?

Rebellion Strikes (Part 2)

Sister sternly pulled my arm, "Didn't you hear me? I said you were next." I hadn't even realized the line had moved in front of me. How long had I been gone lost in my own thoughts? Obediently, I walked over and sat beside Father, Mr. Grumpy himself. I went through the motions quickly and emotionless, and then stopped in mid-sentence. "It's been…" How long had it been since I was last at confession? "Who really cares?" I thought and said, "A week since my last confession" knowing full well it had been much longer than that. Father nodded.

I knew I was supposed to pour out my indiscretions at this point but wasn't in the mood. I toyed with how to proceed and Father eyed me curiously out of the corner of his eye. Feeling dangerously mischievous I proclaimed, "I don't have anything to confess, Father."

He shifted his weight and turned so I was looking straight at him. "You have nothing to confess?" He didn't sound like he believed me, probably because he didn't. I always had lots to say.

"No, I took a break from being a bad sinner this week, Father. All of us have to be good some time, don't we?" Part of me was thinking, "Have you lost your flipping mind, girl?" but the other part of me didn't care. For some reason, I felt like I was challenging him, probably because I was!

I could feel the tension growing between us as my defiance never weakened. "Get out of here now!" he bellowed. Oddly calm, I thought, "That took longer then I thought." I got up and walked out with Sister and everyone else staring at me. As I strode past Steven, he looked up with an odd smirk on his face. I knew I was going to be in deep trouble this time, but I didn't care. I don't even know why. I just didn't.

In the schoolyard I stood quietly gazing at the rose bushes, feeling anti-social, and not at all happy. My trip to see the principal had gone about as well as I had expected. I got a long lecture and a promise to call my Nan, which means I would be in deep doo doo when I got home. Still I didn't have any regrets. I was tired of this place and most everyone in it.

I felt warm hands wrap around my eyes. "Guess who?" I couldn't help but smile. "Hhhhmmm…Steven?" I asked trying to make it sound like I wasn't sure. He turned me towards him with a big grin. "What were you thinking?" I shrugged. He laughed, "I would've loved to have been a fly on the wall in Sister's office this morning. What happened?"

Not wanting to get into it, I shrugged again. "Okay, I get it. You don't want to talk about it. Meet me after school. I'll walk you home." The bell rang and we watched as everyone ran to get in line. "Well…?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to meet me?" I noticed he was holding my hand and realized I didn't even know he had taken it in the first place.

"Well, yeah, of course." He smiled, and we walked over to join the rest of the clan. He had never walked me home before, usually he disappeared as soon as we got out the doors, so it made me wonder why now.

Rebellion Strikes (Part 1)

Steven butted in front of Alice so he could be next to me. "I hate confession," he said to me in an annoyed voice.

"I know what you mean," I answered dryly.

Steven was cute. Dirty blonde, curly hair and blue eyes are only a couple of his best features. I had never realized he even liked me until the Valentine's Day Dance when he had given me a box of the little hearts with phrases like "I love you" and "Be mine" written all over them. We had danced together and had a lot of fun that night. I liked him, but I only saw him at school or at school activities.

"Are you going rollerskating tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. You?" I whispered as Sister stared daggers at us.

Having noticed Sister was onto us, too, he nodded. Then he leaned in closer to me, so close I could feel him breathing on my neck. "Will you skate with me if I come?" I blushed, and I was suddenly glad that I was facing forward and he could not see.

"If I don't have to skate with my brother, yeah, sure." I said trying not to sound too interested.

"Good!" his voice perked up.

He stayed close behind me, but I didn't turn and look. I tried to keep my composure, even though I was distracted. I began to think about how I could talk Nan and Richie into letting me go skating alone for once. I loved Bobby, but I always had to skate with him. And, if that weren't bad enough, he would always make me fall! He was a horrible skater and spent more time on his bottom then up on his skates.

He never just fell either. He would wobble and kick his feet out until our skates would connect, sending the both of us flying. It was really embarrassing. I think it was entertainment for my family, though, because Richie's laughter could be heard clear across the gymnasium and above the music!

(To be continued...)

A Day in the Life of Me, Part Two

I rolled my eyes in response and huffed and grumbled as I yanked my bedclothes off and threw on my uniform. "I don't know why I have to go to this dumb school anyway. I hate it!" I pronounced vehemently.

Nan seemed tired and distracted as she thrust a bowl of cereal at me. I swirled my spoon in it, not feeling very hungry. Bobby plopped himself into the chair next to me, not in a much better mood than the rest of us. Only Kevin, who sat in his high chair feeding Fruit Loops to the dog, seemed cheerful and oblivious to whatever was affecting us. I guess at 2 his life was still pretty simple, although mine never had been even at that age. Watching Kevin as he giggled playfully, I felt a tiny bit envious.

My mom rushed down the steps calling out, "Bobby, let's go or we are both going to be late." I looked at Bobby sympathetically as he shoved down one last bite of his cereal into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of his juice. Kevin wiggled in his seat, chanting, "Ma ma, ma ma" excitedly. Hearing him she ran into the kitchen, passed by me, and kissed him goodbye. "Be good for Nanny," and off she went with Bobby not far behind her.

Nan, having observed the whole thing, put her dishrag down, walked over to the table, and kissed the top of my head. "She was in a rush that's why she forgot you." I sometimes wondered if Nan knew how ridiculous her excuses sounded for my parents' weaknesses. I shrugged, deciding it was better to let her think I believed her, and in a low voice I mumbled, "It's okay. I know."

As I trodded off to school, dragging my schoolbag behind me, and my tin lunchbox dangling from my other hand, I felt a presence beside me. I didn't look because I knew no one I could see would be there, I always walked to school alone. It didn't speak this time, but its silence spoke volumes and suddenly I didn't feel so all alone.

A Day in the Life of Me, Part One

Most of my trips into my inner worlds or dreams were happy, and I was content to allow the quiet of the night lull me into the grand adventures that awaited. Occasionally, though, my dreams would take me into darkness; I wasn't so fond of those.

Although I was almost 8 outwardly, I was only an infant in this dream, crawling through a long, narrow tunnel. I would not have enough room to stand in it if I were capable of doing so, and there was only enough room to reach my arms out in either direction. The darkness was impenetrable except for an illumination directly on and around me like it funneled from the top in the shape of a triangle downward. I could feel my fear and anxiety as I cautiously moved forward, hesitating with each small step. Suddenly, a hand shoots up out from under and grabs me. I awaken with a startle, crying.

The sun is beginning to shine through my window, wiping away the darkness leftover from the evening, and beckoning me to a new day. I wipe my tears with my sheets and take a deep breath. I had been having this dream for as long as I could remember dreaming, and I couldn't remember a time when I didn't dream.

Soon after Nan entered my bedroom. Hearing her shuffling down the hallway, I squeezed my eyes shut. "Tammy, time to get up, honey. Time for school." I pretended not to hear. I hated school. What was the point? She sighed, came closer, and shook me. "I know you're awake, and I know you heard me. Let's go." It was my turn to sigh.

"Ah, Nan, I don't feel good, and I didn't sleep either."

"Come on, Tammy, none of this… Out of bed now!" The tone of her voice made me stand up and take notice. She would have none of it today so, defeated, I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. She turned and gazed at me as she was walking out my door. "Oh, look! You are cured! It's a miracle!" Her sarcasm was not lost on me.

(To be continued...)

The Mission Box

Sitting in my seat, swinging my feet back and forth, I stared at the cardboard box on the corner of my teacher’s desk and then back at my hand which held one shiny quarter. It was all I had, and it was for my afternoon juice and pretzel. I sighed as I debated back and forth on whether I should keep it for myself or give it to the poor. The hungry boy on the front of it stared at me, practically foaming at the mouth.

If I don’t give up my quarter, this boy is going to starve to death. This is the message I felt I was getting, and it was a very big weight for a 7-year-old to carry, although it didn’t seem to bother the rest of my greedy classmates. The smell of fresh baked pretzels wafted across the room, diverting my attention to a box sitting on the chair.

Now I know how Eve must’ve felt looking at that apple every day! “I bet it didn’t smell as good, though,” I thought. Just then a snake appeared before my eyes, coiling around the pretzel box. I gasped and rubbed my eyes. It was gone.

Reluctantly, I looked back at the scrawny boy on the picture. “Okay, okay,” I screamed in my mind, “you can have my pretzel!” Geez! I sure didn’t want to be known for all time as the girl who was tempted by a lousy pretzel and lost. I mean wasn’t it bad enough that the female species was doomed for all eternity over a darn apple! I bet Eve was kicking herself in the butt over that.

This scenario was an on-going battle. Every morning I would spend looking at this black & white picture on this tiny box that held so much power over me. Some days it won, and some days it lost. It got so bad that, after running home complaining that I was dying of hunger at lunchtime, my grandmother made sure I had two quarters: one for the box and one for me. This solution contented me for a while, but it wasn’t too long before good ‘ole Catholic guilt seeped in, and I thought how two quarters would sure do this poor boy a lot more good than it did me. My Nan quickly put a stop to that, though.

After scarfing down my peanut butter and jelly sandwich one afternoon and asking for another, my grandmother eyed me suspiciously. “Did you have your snack today?” My eyes darted around the room as if looking for the nearest exit. “I asked you a question.”

“No, Nan. How could I eat that pretzel and drink my iced tea with that little boy looking so hungry?”

My Nan sighed and sat down beside me, “Tammy, there are always going to be hungry children. It’s good that you care about them and that you want to share with them, but we don’t have a lot either. If you can’t make it okay within yourself to just be content with giving one quarter then I won’t give you any. Understood?” Those sad eyes flashed in my head. Thoughts ran through my mind as to how I still had food in my belly where he did not, but, if Nan took the money away, we would both be going hungry at snack time. “Yes, Nan.”

She kissed the top of my head and got up to make me a bigger fatter sandwich with the jelly lapping over the sides. I nearly had to crawl back to school my belly was so full. I smiled the whole way!

Adam and Eve

Being a stubborn child, I had to test everything. If you told me not to touch the electrical outlet, I would touch it anyway. What was knowledge without the experience? This would pour over into my entire life. This seemed to be the cause of my pain as well as my joy. Gems are most often found after looking under a lot of rocks. I don’t think grown-ups looked at it that way, though. My inquisitive nature was more of a thorn in their side than a blessing.

One day, during religion class, Miss Conrad read to us the story of Adam and Eve. Immediately afterward she asked us what we thought. My hand promptly shot into the air. She looked around the room like she was begging for someone else to put their hand up, but mine was the only one.

“Yes, Tammy?”

"I don’t think it’s true.”

“Well, of course, it is. It’s in the Bible. The Bible is the Word of God.”

Without pause, I replied, “No. Why would God, who is ALL-loving make ALL people for ALL time be punished because of two people’s mistakes? And it’s not like a really big mistake or anything. Eve shared an apple with Adam. Big deal! God wants us to share. You even said that!”

“Yes, God does want us to share. Adam and Eve had all the Garden of Eden to share, except for this one apple. God told them they were not allowed to eat that apple, and they disobeyed.”

I tried to process this and, just as my teacher thought it was safe to move on, I interjected, “What does God care about one dumb apple when they had the whole Garden of Eden?” My classmates laughed.

My teacher, knowing I had the potential to make this an all day discussion, threw in the towel. She asked us to pull out our math books. I raised my hand. She looked away so I waved it real big to get her attention. She turned her back to me. I yelled, “Miss Conrad. Miss Conrad.”

“What is it, Tammy?”

"We aren’t supposed to start math for ten more minutes and…”

“Today we will do things differently. Open your book to page one hundred forty-six, class.” I shrugged. I don’t get grown-ups. They do the strangest things, and they don’t like to answer questions either.

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

I didn’t pay much attention to people’s words, but I did learn very early on to be aware of what they did. I noticed people said lots of things they didn’t mean. My dad would say “I love you” and then beat the heck out of my mom or I in the next breath. I was sexually abused by someone I loved and trusted. What did I know, though? I was just a kid. This is what adults did when they loved someone. Right?

So many examples flood my head that it really is no wonder that I stopped listening to the words and began observing conduct. Lies seemed to be acceptable, and honesty a dying virtue. Even in the most moral of characters, it seemed some lies were okay.

Three that I think of easily are: white lies - you could lie to protect another’s feelings, or there was the “what they don’t know won’t hurt them” lie, also very convenient when one chose to fudge truth. Lastly, the one I had begun to perfect was exaggeration. For instance, why say you caught a 1-pound flounder when you could say you landed a 20-pound swordfish? The swordfish certainly does make for more of an interesting story, kind of like walking “five miles in a blizzard barefoot," wouldn’t you say?

It was because of these gray areas and the out right black areas that led me to develop my own way of distinguishing the truth. Motivated by my own need to know, it wasn’t long before I noticed another language that was spoken much more loudly than the verbal garbage that littered my air space. It was body language. Once my attention was drawn to this, I realized I didn’t need to rely solely on words but could tell a lot more by a person’s actions and how his or her body was moving when he or she spoke.

In “Tammy’s World” (an inner place I had come to know in my dreams), I was taught by this Voice how to protect myself by feeling the vibrations of words and people. A person gives off many clues about who they really are, the message behind the words they were speaking, and any underlying feelings or thoughts that may not be conveyed in their verbal communications. In these worlds, I would perfect these techniques, and they would become my “radar,” my inner guidance and map.

As my education in this progressed, I found I needed only to pass by a person to accumulate more information on them that I ever wanted or needed. I could tell if they were happy or sad, angry or calm, or any other human emotion one could feel. Taking empathy to another level, I not only became aware of what they were feeling, but sometimes I would unconsciously take on their moods as well. (It would take me a very long time and many mood swings later to partially unlearn this transfer that took place. I like roller coasters but not the emotional ones.)

Being a child who loved to play games, I quickly learned to have fun with this new skill. Every individual I came in contact with was a new specimen to try it out on and not a living soul was exempt. I would ask questions like, “Why are you sad?”, “Who made you angry?”, “Are you happy because you have a new girlfriend, Daddy?”, “Are you tired because you drank too much?”, and other more poignant inquiries that made some people squirm and others relieved to have someone to pour their heart out to.

I would delve into lives and feelings and found I was more correct in my guesses than incorrect. This led to a sensitivity in me, not usually found in other kids my age. It also made me different, and most kids do not want to be different. I was one of those kids.

Nan

My Nan was a good person with a huge heart, but don’t make her pick you up from school. She was my first experience with religion on a personal, deeper level. I would peek through the crack in her door and watch her as she prayed the rosary. With her eyes closed, she would reverently stroke the beads in her fingers one by one. The words that came from her lips were not mechanical but bathed in love. I don’t think she ever knew I was there, silently and respectfully in the shadows filled with awe and wonder. This was my experience of the word “holy”.

To go in my Nan’s room was not just taking your life in your own hands but like walking into a shrine. Her walls and dressers were filled with crosses and pictures of Jesus; Mary, the Blessed Mother; and many of the saints. Among these items would be treasures we found for her: a flower wilted from time, a “special” rock, ribbons, drawings (or scribbles, depending on whose eyes you were looking with.), and any number of other little gifts that had been given to her.

I was fascinated with her room, and not just because of her goody drawer of all kinds of cakes, pies, and candy either. In a quiet way, I learned more from my grandmother about God and love than I have ever learned from a priest or preacher, perhaps there is something to be said for that.

Many would not consider my grandmother a good Christian lady. She did not go to church on Sundays, except for rare occasions; and she certainly did not parade her religion around like a peacock strutting its feathers. Nor did she agree or disagree with anyone else’s expression of their beliefs, yet there was no doubt in my mind that my Nan loved God.

This is not to say Nan did not take a more active role in teaching me about God. As soon as I had been able to talk, she taught me to say my bedtime prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my Soul to keep…” I think it is a horrible prayer myself. It scared the daylights out of me thinking I might not get up in the morning! But my grandmother insisted I should say it every night, and I didn't dare argue. Although I do think I slipped in a quick "Please God let me wake up in the morning because it can be bad here, but I don't know where I'm going there." While I didn't really believe in a hell, I wasn't quite ready to take my chances since I was often told what a little devil I was.

Nanny would also clap my hands together gently and teach me how to bless myself, but these would be the only outward expressions of religion I would learn from her. The most important lessons I gleaned were about love, strength, compassion, and nurturing. And those lessons were taught to me silently, by example, not from her lecturing me about it. Maybe that is why they were so powerful.

To Confess or Not to Confess (Part 2)

“I went on the boys’ side of the schoolyard so many times. I got caught on top of Joey pounding his face into the ground,” I rushed on, “and that would be it. Guess I’ll have to say five ‘Hail Mary’s’ this time, huh, Father?” I grinned. Father turned ever so slowly towards me. I swear he looked like the devil himself had possessed him.

“Just what would make you hit another human being?” he said angrily. My grin disappeared.

“He was calling me a baby and a sissy. I’m not no sissy so I showed him I wasn’t.” Father seemed like he was going to blow. He looked up towards the ceiling and then back at me.

“You will say a full rosary and tell Joey you are sorry for your penance.” I gulped. I didn’t dare argue about that, but I sure wanted to. He shooed me off with a few waves of his hand.

“Hhmmph!” I thought. “It was worth a rosary to put Joey in his place.” I glanced back worried that I may have said it out loud, but Father was gazing straight ahead, lost in his thoughts.

A thought came into my mind and I turned back, “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Why do I have to tell you my sins? Why can’t I just tell God directly? I mean, God sees and hears everything anyway so what’s the difference?” Father took a very deep breath.

“Because you are born with sin and thus not worthy to talk to God. This is why you confess through a priest.”

“Oh, then you pass it on?” He nodded yes.

“But aren’t we talking to God when we say our prayers?”

“Yes, but that is not the same.” I didn’t get that one, but I let it go. I chewed on this information for a few seconds while Father stared at me coldly. It gave me chills, and I thought about something else.

“Who do you tell when you sin?”

“I tell God or another priest.”

“If we’re all born into sin then what makes you so special?” I thought.

Apparently, Sister is a mind reader too because she dragged me out of church by my ear and called my Nan, who dragged me all the way home by my ear. I think it was red for an entire month! I must’ve been thinking out loud without even knowing it. Sometimes I do that.

To Confess or Not to Confess (Part 1)

It was not unusual for my questions to go unanswered. Frustration and headaches were common ailments in the people around me. My questions were usually the cause of their maladies. I would talk to anyone who would listen. Ah, who am I kidding…listening on their part was not really a requirement, I would talk anyway.

Another day at confession (we had to go like every month), I swore I saw Father Callahan purposely stall another child until Father O’Reilly was free. I didn’t like going to Fr. O’Reilly so much. He wasn’t very patient. He didn’t even seem to like kids.

I did everything I could to try to wait for Fr. Callahan to finish. I tied my laces twice, as slow as possible, hoping Sister would send Danny instead of me. I didn’t think she would keep Father waiting, but that wasn’t happening.

Sister’s shrill voice snapped through me like someone cracked a whip, “Enough, young lady! Father is waiting for you.” She pointed in Fr. O’Reilly’s direction. I took one last glance at Fr. Callahan, but he quickly looked away when my eyes met his. I approached the older priest examining his silver gray hair, his pale face, and bright red nose. If he had a white beard and moustache, he would’ve made a great Santa; that is, if he ever smiled.

His steady gaze never left the Altar. I sat down next to him, suddenly wishing I was in the line for the confessional (The thing that resembles the inside of two coffins upright and put together with a screen in the middle. Brrrr…gives me the willies. It was dark in the confessional, but at least I couldn’t see his grumpy face.)

“Good morning, Father.”

“Good morning.” he said in a dry manner.

“It’s been…” I thought for a moment, “a while since my last confession.” I noticed his eyes twitch.

“A while? What is a while?”

“Oh, since the last time, Sister dragged us over here.” I really had no editing abilities, whatever I thought shot right out of my mouth without a moments hesitation. Father gave me a not so nice look. I didn’t take it personally; everyone has bad days.

My plan was to unload all my sins as quickly as possible, throwing the really bad ones in the middle so maybe he wouldn’t notice so much. “I hid my brother’s cars on account of him taking my stuff one time. I told some tall tales, but Nan says that’s the same as lying.” Father didn’t even look like he was paying attention so I threw in a bigger one. “I fed my brother mud pies against his will. Well, first I just told him they were chocolate cupcakes, and he believed me!” I snorted. Then it dawned on me, “I guess, that’s, uh, lying too, huh?”

Father nodded without ever taking his eyes away from the front of the church. “Well, I only had to lie once because, as soon as I put it in his mouth, he knew they weren’t really pies. I had to force feed him the rest, but only cause I was still mad over my best doll that he ruined,” I puffed. Father didn’t budge. I looked at his chest to make sure it was still moving. It was. Hhhhmmm…maybe this was going to be easier than I thought. I breathed a sigh of relief and went on.

(to be continued...)

Attempted Kidnapping (Part 3)

“Nan!” I whined loudly. “Tell Richie to go away. He keeps bothering me.” My grandmother, annoyed at being interrupted while she was trying to get dinner on, tugged on his ear and pulled him clear into the kitchen by it. Ouch!

“Where was I? Oh, yeah. Anyway, they told us they needed help finding the lost prince of Aramon, and my stupid cousin almost fell for it!” I explained to the fuzz that I had to turbo us out of there, but I gave Anne Marie a talking to. I had told her that anyone with any brains knows that there is no prince on Aramon, only a princess. Those bozos actually thought we’d buy it! Of course, if it had been up to my cousin, we would be dangling by our toes in some pod in Nowhere Land, which is where no man or girl wants to go. Trust me on that!

Afterward the good cop/bad cop spoke to my mom and Nan. Since adults like to talk like kids aren’t really there, I got to hear what was said. Nan inquired of Officer Paul what would happen now. Officer Jack snorted, “Not much. We have a description of a maroon car and a beat-up silver spaceship, two Caucasian males with blond hair versus two darkhaired aliens…”

Officer Paul gave Officer Jack a nudge with his elbow into his side. “Ma’am, what my partner is trying to say is that it’s not unusual for children to remember things like this differently. We will alert nearby schools and patrol the playgrounds. If anything comes up, we will be sure to contact you.”

As they were leaving I yelled out, “Bye, Officer Paul!” He turned, smiled, and then, as if he had another thought, came over and squatted in front of me. “You did a great job of protecting yourself and your cousin from those bad men today. You did the right thing.” I beamed at him.

"Thank you!” I replied politely.

They were just about out the door when I yelled, “Hey, Officer Jack, watch out for the dark forces!” I heard him mumble something about watching too much “Star Trek.” What do you know? My dad liked that show, too.

Attempted Kidnapping (Part 2)

“That they were almost kidnapped by werewolves?” asked my smart alec Uncle Richie giggling in the background. I stuck my tongue at him. My mom ignored him.

“She called the police and is sending them over here when they are done talking to Anne Marie.”

“Oh my God!” My Nan gasped as she pulled me close.

I looked up at my mom and cried, “I told you! You never believe me!” My mom sighed.

Two cops showed up not too long after. One was tall, skinny, and kind of cute for being older. The other was a little chunky and looked like he had one donut too many. I had really made up some doozies to spice up our conversation by the time they arrived so when the nice police officer handed me a lollipop and sat with me on the plastic covered couch and asked me to tell him what happened, I was ready for him.

“Weelll…,” I drawled out my words after popping my sucker out of my mouth, “it happened like this. Me and Anne Marie stopped at the playground like we always do. Anne Marie is my cousin. Actually, I think we stopped at my great-grandmom and grandpop’s first. She always gives us pizelles. You ever have them? They are sooo yummy and…”

The officer taking notes jabbed his partner with his small white pad, which prompted the one sitting next to me to ask, "Tell me what happened when you left the playground.”

“Oh, well, Anne Marie wanted to leave because she said the spaceship made her sick because it spun so fast when it took off...”

“Spaceship?” the pudgy cop laughed. I scowled at him and said with another big slurp of my lollipop,

“Didn’t your momma tell you it’s really impolite to innerrupt?”

The cop beside me cleared his voice and smiled at his friend. “What’s your name anyway?”

The cop, who wasn’t finding this so funny just glared at me so the nice cop beside me said, “I’m Officer Paul and that’s Officer Jack.”

“Well you really need to teach Officer Jack some manners,” I huffed.

Officer Paul winked at me, “I’ll try. Can you please tell us more about the spaceship? Is that a ride at the playground?”

Richie, who was eavesdropping again, popped out from the family room and said, “She’s talking about the merry-go-round.” I acted like I didn’t hear him. He might be 16, but he acted like he was 10!

“Anyway,” I continued, “she really is a sissy about spinny stuff. She needs to toughen up, if you know what I mean.”

The good cop grinned, “I think I do.”

“We had just come out of Universe Playtown when these two aliens from Nowhere Land, on the other side of Jupiter, pulled up in their broken down spaceship…”

Richie burst out laughing, “I thought they were werewolves.”

(to be continued)

Attempted Kidnapping (Part 1)

One day while walking home from school with Anne Marie, we had an unusual and frightening encounter. We took our regular route home, making a pit stop at my great-grandparents’ house for snacks, and then hung out at the playground that sat conveniently half way between school and home.

After we finished swinging, sliding, and releasing the general stuffiness that accompanies a day trapped in a classroom listening to people talk at you, we picked up our school bags and walked towards the exit. No sooner had we reached the street did a banged up gray car pull up in front of us. Two young men with long dark hair and even darker eyes sat inside of it. The passenger rolled down his window while Anne Marie and I stood cautiously but curiously watching. He held up a little brown puppy for us to see and was asking us if we wanted to pet it.

I could feel and hear my radar (a sound much like an inner alarm) start bleeping in my head. I stood frozen in place, but, when Anne Marie began to walk towards the car, I sprang into action. I leaped from my spot, grabbed her hand, and drug her in the opposite direction the car was facing. As we raced off, I chided to her about the class we just had on talking to strangers in between screams for help.

We ran to the closest house banging on its door frantically, but no one answered. Looking over my shoulder, I realized the car had sped off. We quickly walked the other half block to Anne Marie’s, and then I cut through some back yards and front yards to my house.

Bursting through the front door, dropping my bag on the floor, I breathlessly blurted out, “Me and Anne Marie were almost kidnapped!” to which my mom promptly rolled her eyes. Now, understand, I was the “queen of tall tales” as my Nan would so fondly tell me. I had told whoppers about pretty much everything and, of course, there were true things that no adult could ever bring himself or herself to believe. It was all classified as my “vivid imagination," whether it was or not.

“No, really it’s true this time,” I shouted.

“What’s true?” my Nan asked from the staircase.

“Me and Anne Marie were almost kidnapped by these two werewolves driving in a silver bullet. They were about to eat a puppy, and they wanted us…” The phone interrupted me.

Okay so I exaggerated. Fiction was always much more interesting than the truth. You had to juice it up a bit, and I was good at it. What was the big deal anyway? Adults did it all the time. They made up pretty lies of how much they loved you and then would hurt and betray you in the worst ways possible. Believe me, I knew. I had learned a lot in my 7 years on this earth.

My mom hung up the phone and, speaking more to my grandmother then me, she said, “That was Anne. It seems Anne Marie came home saying the same thing.”

(to be continued)

Cousins First, Then Friends 2

“Why aren’t there any women priests in our church?”

Without even looking up from her cup of wafers, she answered, “I don’t think there are any women priests in any church.” She was one year older than me, but I don’t think you would guess it if you didn’t already know it.

“Well, why not?” I questioned.

“I dunno. I don’t think the church likes women too much.” I rolled with laughter.

“Yeah, right. You don’t see the men walking around in those crazy get-ups! They make the women look like a bunch of penguins.” We both giggled then. Once we calmed down again, the conversation turned serious.

“I’m gonna be like Mother Theresa when I grow up,” I said to not really anyone in particular.

“I’m gonna be a model” replied Anne Marie.

After she thought for a few minutes, she said, “Why you wanna go and be that? I think you have to be real old. Mother Theresa has a lot of wrinkles.”

“I don’t know. It just seems like something I want to do.” I shrugged. Anne Marie shrugged, too.

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll give you some money to feed all those kids then. I’m gonna have lots of money! But don’t expect me to go out there with you because I can’t be all dirty and be a model.”

I cackled, “Who says you have to get dirty?”

“Don’t you see them pictures of those people. They are dirty!”

“They ain’t dirty. That’s their color!” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, I don’t mind getting dirty.”

“I know you don’t, but I’ll have a reptation to uphold.”

It was my turn to be the priest, and I dunked the wafer into our grape juice. “Mother Theresa is a nun, Tammy. You gonna be a nun?”

"I dunno. I don’t like the ones at our school too much. They are pretty scary. Mother Theresa seems okay, though. I wonder if you can be a reglar person and still be a missionary?” My mind wandered off as I placed the wafer onto Anne Marie’s tongue.

Cousins First, Then Friends

Many times I would find myself over at Anne Marie’s house to play. She was my cousin. She was okay, even if she did like to play with dolls.

The first time I met her was when her mom brought her to my house. They thought we would get along nicely since we were so close in age. It might’ve been okay if she hadn’t brought those darn dolls with her. How sappy!

As soon as she walked through the door with her brown curls and those ugly dolls hanging from her hands, I knew I was in trouble. Yuck! I ran upstairs to hide, but my mom found me. “Tammy Marie, Annie has brought her daughter to play with you.”

“Aw, Mom, she’s gonna wanna play babies. I don’t like that sissy stuff.” I grumbled from underneath my bed, giving away my position.

My mom yanked me out by my leg with me protesting the entire time. “She can play with Bobby. He doesn’t know any difference anyhow. Moooom….”

Despite our rough start, we did grow on each other. She hardly ever made me play dolls cause she knew I hated it. Anne Marie had a chalkboard and school desks in her grandparents’ basement so a lot of times we would pretend to be at school. Only our school was cool. Not like the real thing. We would let our students, which were a mixture of stuffed bears and dolls, ask questions. A lot of times we would have really good answers for them, too.

If we weren’t playing school, we were pretending to be at church and took turns being the priest and doling out the wafers. Her grandpop would get bags of them from the church for us. Those things weren’t as tasty as potato chips, but we sure could put them down.

“Hey, Anne Marie.”

“What?”

(to be continued)

The Sacrament of Eucharist

Rows and rows of boys in neatly pressed suits and girls in pristine white veils and dresses made of laces and satins were almost spoiled by the dark, ominous skies. Various colored umbrellas hung precariously over the heads of the young children being quickly ushered from the convent to the church. It was the day of my First Holy Communion, and the clouds had burst open with a fierce downpour. The rain pounded the pavement around us, splashing dirt onto our shiny white shoes. It looked as dreary as I felt.

Making your First Holy Communion is a big deal in Catholicism. For the first time in a child’s life, you are old enough to enter into another aspect of your religion. It was a very special time we were told. We would be allowed to receive the body of Christ in the form of a wafer, which begged the questions, at least from me, “How did they get Jesus’ body into that little wafer? And why would you want to eat it?” Many more of these crossed my mind, some expressed and some not.

Then, of course, was the counterpart of the wafers, the wine (I thought you had to be an adult to drink?). But this wasn’t any ordinary wine, it was supposed to be the blood of Christ. Gross! This seemed pretty creepy to me. I guess, it was just me, though, because everyone else seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, especially the priests.

Part of me felt very proud to participate in this special occasion, parading across the schoolyard for all of our families to see, but another part of me could not escape all the questions it brought forth. It made me uncomfortable. As we entered our local church, we were escorted into the pews and warned again to be quiet. I sighed and nervously peeked back to catch a glimpse of my Nan and the rest of my family. I couldn’t see them so I turned back around and put my attention on the altar.

It was adorned and surrounded by beautiful white and blue flowers leftover from the May Procession, which was in honor of Mary, the Virgin Mother of Jesus. I had asked Nan what did it mean to be a “virgin," but she waved me off with a brief but abrupt answer that never made any sense to me.

When I asked my teacher that same question, “What was a virgin?” she turned several shades of red, stuttered awhile, and then asked why I wanted to know. Slightly relieved when I told her I wanted to know why Mary was called a virgin, she told me that God put Jesus in Mary’s belly. I thought about this and then said, “My neighbor was talking to my Nan and told her that Pauline would be a virgin for the rest of her life. Is God going to put a baby in her belly, too?”

My teacher’s mouth hung open and her face lit up like the red bulbs on our tree at Christmas time. “No, Tammy,” she managed to squeak out, “Mary was very special. This won’t happen again.” I chewed on that thought for a few moments and then spit out,

“Did God marry Mary afterwards? Did Mary divorce God and marry Joseph? Aren’t we all children of God? If we are then are our mommies virgins too…” The words flew out of my mouth like bullets but were halted in mid-air by the look on my teacher’s face. She reached up and rubbed her temples.

As she turned back to the class, she said, “We’ll talk about this more another day," which translates into “when hell freezes over.” I giggled at the memory of it and was snapped back into the present by Sister Mary tapping on my shoulder. She leaned close to my ear and whispered, “I have my eye on you, young lady.”

“Great!” I thought. “Why does she always have to sit right near me.”

Father Comes to Class

Two days later, Father Callahan took over our Religion class. I was glad to see he kept his promises. He was a younger priest and much nicer to look at then Sister Anne. Father sent Sister to the back of the room. I giggled into my hand as she tried to squeeze into an empty desk. It kind of looked like a penguin when they waddle their back end into something, and it struck me funny. When I turned around in my seat, Father wagged his finger at me.

“Okay, children, today we are going to talk about sins.” He made columns on the chalkboard for the venial sins and another one for the mortal sins. He asked us for examples of these. I sat and listened because everyone was yelling at once. Father had to tell everyone, “One at a time. We’ll start here and go all the way back.” Great! I was the very last one. They would take all my answers!

We had to name a sin and then say if it was big or small. Lying, disobeying parents, stealing, cheating, fighting, and not going to Mass on Sunday or Holy Days were some of the standard answers. Some of us were more original. Susie said her brother knotted her cat’s tail to a rope and then tied it to their fence and then made a loud noise causing the cat to try and run. That’s just mean!

Jeffrey said that his dad liked to look up their neighbor’s short skirts when her husband wasn’t looking. He said his mom caught his dad once, and she didn’t talk to him for a week! That reminded me of something and I piped up, “That’s okay. My dad came home drunk one night and brought his girlfriend with him! My mom cursed a lot, and there was lots of sinning going on that night. My dad wasn’t even allowed in the house for like an entire month! How many ‘Our Father’s’ would you have given for that, Father?”

I think that was the shortest religion class I ever had! And I never did get an answer to my question. How do you like that?

Confession 4 (final)

“But, Father, I still have more.”

“I think that can wait until next time.”

“Next time? But what if I get run over by a car? I won’t be cleansed of all my sins and I might….” I lowered my voice to a whisper, “Go to h-e- double l.” Father clutched his Bible.

I noticed his knuckles seemed very white, “You are not going to die between now and next week, Tammy.”

“Oh, yeah?” I exclaimed, “That’s a relief!”

I got two “Our Father’s” and three “Hail Mary’s." I wonder how he figures that out. As I knelt down in the pew and bent down my head to make it look like I was praying, I thought this over. Does he just pick a number out of his head? Or did God tell him that's what I had to do in order to be free of sin? Because saying a few prayers hardly seemed like a lot. A person could do a lot of sinning and come in and get them all forgiven. What's the point?

Feeling a presence beside me, I peeked out through my fingers. Great! Sister was kneeling beside me. You would think there were plenty of other kids to harass than only me. I sighed in resignation.

Confession 3 (continued)

“Tammy, you don’t go to Mass to sleep, you go to praise God. It is a sin to not go to church on Sunday!”

I stared at my feet as though they were the most amazing things upon this Earth. I was thinking Nan always says to be honest. It may work for her, but it always gets me in more trouble. I decided to move on before he could chastise me any more.

“I lied two times, but once was because my mom asked me if she looked fat in her blue dress, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I told her it didn’t.”

“And the other?”

“My dad asked me if I hid his beer. I said no.” He nodded and waited for me to begin again. “I talked in class…” I began to count my fingers again.

Father said, “You don’t remember?”

“No, but I can figure it out.” I think he was praying again, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was to help me remember how many times.

“How about you just say ‘so many times’ when you can’t remember instead of a number.” I thought about that. It sure would be easier. I smiled.

“Anything else?”

“Well, I did hit my brother, but he deserved it. He marked up my favorite doll with black ink! My Nan couldn’t get it off.”

“What about forgiveness, Tammy?”

“I did forgive him, right after I punched his face in!” I balled up my fists to show him how.

Father must’ve been real tired because he shook his head and sighed pretty loud. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Confession (continued)

“I didn’t listen to my Nan…um…”

He waited. I thought about it. Ten sounded good. It wasn’t less, and surely it could not be that much more.

“…Ten times. I pulled my dog’s tail one time, but that was really only to get her back for biting me. Does that count?”

Father shook his head in the affirmative. “Continue.”

“I don’t think that should count. ‘An eye for an eye’, right, Father?”

“Jesus said you should turn the other cheek.”

“Oh, yeah…right. So they lied when they said ‘an eye for an eye’?”

“No, Tammy, that was the Old Testament. I think we should finish up. Sister is waiting.”

I glanced over in her direction. She looked back sternly. I shuttered and went on, “Oh.”

Then “Okay. Well, I climbed out my bedroom window to fly my kite, but I don’t think that should count. My dad already beat my behind for that one. I can prove it too. It’s still plum red!” I stood up to point at my backside, but Father quickly grabbed my arm and gently pulled me back down as Sister watched intently.

“Are you finished yet, child?”

"Well…goodness no!” My mind raced over all the things I still needed to confess, and I proceeded cautiously. “I didn’t go to church last Sunday…um…or the week before. I’m not sure about the week before that either…” Father didn’t look sure he should ask, but then he did.

“Why haven’t you been going to Mass?” I swallowed my gum that I had been hiding all morning!

“To be honest, Father, it really puts me to sleep. I figured I can do that in my own bed.” Was his face red? It sure did look it, but then the yellow lights seemed to shadow it.

Confession

“Father, how much sin is too much sin?”

I heard a sigh escape him, and I peered through my thick, ugly glasses at him. He shifted in his seat. A tall, thin younger man with jet-black hair and deep, dark eyes stared back at me. He cleared his voice.

“Tammy, this is a confession. It is not a time for questions.” He turned his eyes forward and clutched his hands together, preparing himself to hear my long list of indiscretions.

Not willing to let go just yet I squeaked, “Why not?”

A bigger, deeper breath gusts out from his pursed lips. “Why not what?”

“Why isn’t it the time for questions?”

Already exasperated he said with feigned patience, “Because, Tammy, we have others waiting in line. It would not be fair to them if we sat here and chit-chatted.”

Satisfied that I would understand this, he once again faced, or perhaps braced would be a better description, himself towards the altar. I had other things in mind. “But confessions are about sins. And I’m asking how much is too much?” I leaned forward in my pew so I could see his face better. He looked like he was praying. I waited, but he seemed quiet for an awfully long time. I wondered if he were okay.

“Father?” No answer. I poked his arm and said a little louder in a whining voice, “Faaaattthheeerr!”

Maybe that was too loud. My voice echoed all around me, bouncing off the large, stone cold walls. Muffled laughter came from the line of children in back of me. Sister gave them one of those “Be quiet or else” looks then turned to me with another familiar look, “Sit up straight and quit your whining.” Wow! She’s good! I sat straighter and slid back letting the wood shoulder of the pew touch mine.

Father looked startled but was quick with his decision. “Tammy, if I agree to come to your religion class one day this week, can we get on with your confession?” I thought about it, rubbing my fingers across my chin.

"Tomorrow?”

“Uh…well…I don’t know about tomorrow.”

I itched my nose and said, “Why? Do you have to think about it?” He picked up his Bible and sat it upon his lap, perhaps looking for inspiration.

“It may be tomorrow, but it may also be another day. I need to check Sister Ann’s schedule.” His voice was firm and taking on an impatient tone.

I shrugged, and then began. “Father, please forgive me for I have sinned. It’s been…um…” Oh no! I couldn’t remember how many days, but I didn’t dare say that. What should I do? I took a deep breath and did what any other kid would do who was backed into a corner…the ones that were smart anyway. I improvised.

“It’s been fifty days since my last confession.” I announced matter of factly. Father’s eyebrows shot upward. Glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes, he said, “Fifty?”

“Well, I don’t actually remember exactly, but fifty sounds good.” I saw a small grin try to come up on the corner of his lips, but he cleared his voice again and sat up straighter. I wondered if Sister Anne yelled at him for not sitting up straight too.

“Continue.” he said his voice sounding tired. I thought about how I should probably work my way up from the smaller to the bigger offenses so as not to put him to shock or anything.

(To Be Continued...)



*** Some names have been changed for privacy sake and to protect the innocent.

The Sacraments

Sacraments were Catholicism’s version of initiations. First, you were baptized as a baby because, if you weren’t, you had to go to purgatory, a kind of holding tank for all the Souls who didn’t meet the requirements at the golden gate into heaven which was, of course, guarded by Saint Peter. (Well, that is purely subjective because no one actually knew for sure, but that’s how all the jokes go.)

Some may wonder, if you aren’t familiar with this religion and even if you were, why a pure infant would not automatically pass into heaven? Good point. It was one I made several times to no avail. The answer I received, and the only one I can give you in their defense was an age-old culprit called “original sin.”

Baptism, according to these teachings, washed away this kind of sin, the rest was on you. To get rid of that sin, you had to make the Sacrament of Confession, also known as the Sacrament of Penance. Apparently, second grade was when you were no longer allowed to sin in ignorance. Now you would be held accountable unless you went and confessed these sins to a mediator, a priest who would listen to your stumbling blocks on your path to God and then absolve or forgive you for your sins.

As a punishment for these mishaps, you would have to say these prayers that he gave you immediately afterwards. I wonder what happened if you didn’t say those prayers. Did they take back the forgiveness they just gave you or what?

Hand in hand with the Sacrament of Penance was the Sacrament of Holy Communion. This is where you dressed up in fancy white dresses and veils, at least the girls did. The boys would look too silly in that get up so they wore white suits, at least they did then. Whoever thought of the idea of putting kids in white clothes must’ve never had any children, but that’s just my opinion. I digress.

Holy Communion was where you finally were allowed to stand in long lines to receive the body and blood of Christ. Who knew that was going to be a big hit? Surely, it wasn’t me. I’m still trying to figure out how they turned Christ’s body into those small, cardboard tasting wafers. And why is drinking blood bad for vampires but not for the rest of the church going world? These questions weren’t well taken by my teachers so I will have to get back to you on that.

About fifth grade, you were considered old enough to renew your baptismal vows, and this is known as the Sacrament of Confirmation. Confirming your vows, confirmation, get it? It took me a while to figure out that one too. All I knew then is that you got a longer name for your parents to scream out to let you know just how mad they were.

For instance, I picked Theresa after my aunt and Mother Theresa was my idol in those days. So, when I was in trouble, Tammy Marie Stone was okay. But if I were in really big trouble Tammy Marie Theresa Stone vibrated throughout the neighborhood. I’m sure that wasn’t its intended purpose, but you couldn’t tell our moms and dads that.

There are some other sacraments, but these are mostly the ones I will refer to along our journey together. These were the ones I had direct experience with so I couldn’t really tell you too much about the others.

Introduction

Grown-ups! I don’t get them. They do the strangest things, and they don’t like to answer questions either. They either dodge your questions altogether, or they answer them without really answering them. Catholic schoolteachers and priests weren’t any different in my experience.

The Sacrament of Penance or Confession was another thing that never made much sense to me. Actually, not too much of the Catholic religion did. (This, of course, is my own personal feelings; and not meant to be a put-down on Catholicism. Each path has its place. It just didn’t happen to be mine.)

I struggled with this quite a bit growing up. A voice always whispered, “This isn’t right. It isn’t like that at all.” I’m still not exactly sure who the Voice was, but it got me into lots of mischief. Some may say this voice was my conscience, a departed loved one, or maybe even a guardian angel. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter who it was as much as what it was saying to me, and the experiences that resulted from the deep questions that flooded my mind and my heart on any given day.

I would like to share those experiences with you. Some you may relate to, and maybe some you won’t. Perhaps, you came away with treasures from your own childhood religion, and this is not meant to make light of them in any way. This is simply one little girl’s views and opinions of life, religion, and love.

Readers beware: Must have a sense of humor!