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(Continued from previous page) Sister Honoria took the whole class over to the church to practice. Our classes were really large then. So she was handling about 40 or 50 kids by herself unless the Principal of the school showed up. If she did, you better stay out of trouble. We had practice confessions. I don't even remember what sins I pretended to confess to. Probably because my twin brother was so clever at what he confessed to that whatever I said was pale in comparison. He confessed something so outrageous that whoever was playing the part of the priest would know it was not a real sin. My brother confessed that he stole a horse! Yep, that's what he said. He stole a horse. Now the whole class - in fact the whole student body - lived in the city. Everyone knew we didn't have a horse in our garage. Not only that, when he was done confessing, he got to practice being the priest. He went into the confessional and the rest of us had to pretend to tell him our sins. That's really why I can't remember what I told. I didn't want to tell him anything. Once we got confession taken care of, we were on our way. The only roadblock was fasting from food and drink after midnight on Saturday until communion on Sunday. As you might guess, in those days, there was considerably more fainting and being sick in church. But finally, on a beautiful Sunday morning, in my new white dress, white patent leather shoes, and a white lace veil covering my head, I made my First Communion. My Dad even came to church to see this event. He usually only came to church with us on Easter and Christmas. This was really a BIG deal. I had to remember not to chew the communion wafer because it was considered "blessed" and to chew it was a, you guessed it, another S. I don't know which level. So you stuck your tongue out and the priest placed the wafer on your tongue. If you were lucky, you could swallow it right away. But sometimes it would stick to the roof of your mouth and it might take ten minutes to get it off without touching it with your teeth. After mass came the best part, the presents. Most of the presents were of a religious nature, but sometimes cash was given. Hey, a present is a present. Now that my First Confession and First Communion were finally accomplished, I concentrated on being a good Catholic girl. My mother got her money's worth out of the dress because the church had processions several times during the year on other holy days and I wore the white dress a few more times with the white patent leather shoes. Of course, everyone knows the story of black patent leather shoes. No respectable Catholic girl took a chance with those, because they acted as a mirror for boys to look up your skirts. The boys dressed up and the girls wore their white dresses and all the girls wore the same thing on their heads. It was a huge hairbow (so as to be considered a proper head covering). Four hundred bobby pins held it in place and even then it wobbled. If we went outside to process around the church, you had to be real careful or you'd end up like Mary Poppins. In the space of a couple of years, I had made my First Confession, First Communion and now I made my Confirmation and became a Soldier of Christ. How could I be a soldier? I was just a little girl. The church wanted me to work for them. Who, me? Again, I asked no questions. I was obedient because hovering like an ax over my head there was always the "S" word. As the years went by, confession on Saturday and communion on Sunday became routine and remained that way for several years. After all, how sinful could a seven to twelve year old child be? That changed as I got older. Those "occasions of sin" popped up more and more as I grew into my teenage years and started dating. Boys began to enter into the equation. They were always good for causing an "occasion". There was a lot of weighing or classifying of sins going on in my head then. The guilt was tremendous, especially if I had a date on Friday night. Let's just say I spent a lot of Saturday afternoons in the confessional. Now if I had a date on Saturday and woke up Sunday thinking I had committed a sin, then here's where creativity entered the picture. Mom, the great sentinel, the watcher of the sinful, was always there to ask why I did not go to communion. Let's see. Sometimes I would say I broke my fast - ate or drank something after midnight. Sometimes I would say I didn't feel good. And of course, the following Saturday, I would confess that lie. It was a vicious circle. |