My Roman Catholic Upbringing: A Brief History Part I

Piss Christ by Andres Serrano

I. Early Childhood Development

I do not remember my Baptism, but I was told it happened.

First Holy Communion: I wanted a frilly, puffy dress like the ones all the other girls had and instead I got this Little-House-on-the-Prairie smock with white eyelets that my aunt made.

In third grade I receive The Children's Book of Saints. I decide to become a saint. During Lent, I go to church every day at lunch time and forgo any food.

Fourth grade I become disillusioned with the Roman Catholic Church and refuse to participate in choir practice. Because I was the teacher's pet (for the first and last time), she let me stay in her classroom for the "elective" cooking class.

I am never, not once, selected to be Mary in the Christmas Pageant. I am usually one of the peasant townspeople or a pack mule (yes, an ass).

Sister Mary Margaret can never remember my name and repeatedly refers to me as "flananagan."

My mom no longer bothers to come to church with me and instead, drops me off at the corner. I quickly learn to wait in the bathroom a few minutes and then walk over to Smith's Food King where I read Mad Magazine.

II. Adolescence

Suddenly going to church is totally hot! There are ALTAR BOYS and they are on stage for all of us to admire. The wear long robes and ring bells and kneel repeatedly. Walking up for Communion becomes the main event of this most pleasant social scene. Many students return multiple times so they can scope out the other adolescents. It is de rigeur to stick out your tongue to a select individual of the opposite sex after receiving communion as you return to your seat.

My classmate, Merci-Anne, decides to wage war against the parish because girls cannot be altar girls. Her parents support her in her struggle. She starts a petition which we all sign. After the winter break, Merci-Anne and her family quietly disappear. We never hear from her again.

I discover blasphemy. That is, the joy of doing unholy things in holy places. We begin to tell enormous lies at confession. We take communion and come back and spit the hosts out in our hands. We walk in front of the crucifix without genuflecting. We sing our own dirty version of the hymns for the May Crowning. And then, I am Judas for the Christmas pageant.

In eighth grade, I am bullied into taking Confirmation. There is simply no other choice offered to me. I am thoroughly humiliated that I cannot stand up to the forces that be. With another group of malcontents, I ditch youth group and in the school parking lot I smoke my first joint and learn how to french kiss.

III. High School

I am confined to an all-girl secondary education. The only man on campus is the janitor. During summer, his son, Vladimir Espinoza, works with him. During the summer before I begin school, I start dating the janitor's son. Ok, we are not really dating, we are just fooling around. By the time school rolls around, I have inadvertently made a lot of enemies.

The school, once a bastion of liberalism in the 70's has, along with the rest of the country, taken a decidedly conservative turn.

For a short period I become a Goth, as many a Catholic teenager do.

For a short period I consider myself a lesbian, as many Catholic school girls do.

I discover that e.e. cummings trumps all.

Virginity becomes something to loose as quickly as possible.

There are probably many ways to get kicked out of an all-girl Catholic school, even if Jesuit, but I never figure out a way.

At graduation, we wear white gowns and hold a dozen red roses. We are paraded around like the Christ's miniature brides that we are. I am again humiliated for allowing myself to engage in such charades.