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!