If you are very Catholic, very Christian, orthodox Jewish, a mildly reformed Jew who is nevertheless horrified by how we're sending our girls to a Catholic school, an atheist friend who is horrified by how we're sending our girls to a religious school, an agnostic but culturally Jewish person horrified by how we're sending our girls to a Christian school, very easily offended, or don't have a sense of humor about serious subjects, beware that pretty much this entire posting is one big Sacrilege Alert. In fact, it's probably safest if nobody reads it at all.
Earlier in the school year, Gigi was sitting at the table one day and suddenly put her finger up to her forehead, then on to her shoulder, then down to her chest, saying, "We learned this at school today. Le Frère, la Soeur, and Somebody." It was, of course, meant to be the sign of the Cross, with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, but instead came out as the sign of the Isosceles Triangle, with the Brother, the Sister, and Some Other Random Dude.
"Where did you learn that?," I asked.
"Oh some guy in a black dress taught it to us in school," she answered. Pippa added excitedly, "He comes to my class, too! The one with the funny haircut!" Well, these priests are not Franciscan monks, so they don't actually have bowl haircuts, but perhaps it just wasn't the most stylish do.
It runs in the family: Anthony, who actually did grow up (till around adolescence) Catholic and going to church, was baptized, went to Sunday school classes, etc., once went to cross himself in a church in Latin America, in order to scandalize me. But he was trying to do it properly -- that much I could tell. He went from the forehead to the shoulder to the chest to the other shoulder, and I had to say to him, "I'm Jewish, and even I know you did that wrong. It's a cross, not a baseball diamond."
Last night, on Thanksgiving, while our family and friends in America were cooking up the turkeys, here it happened to be the patron saint day of our girls' little Catholic school. A beautiful, ancient local church held a special mass for the children after school, followed by a very sugary party thrown by the school itself. (Oh, nobody even pretends to put out fresh fruit, cheese, or carrot sticks at parties for kids. Straight frosting, cooking, cakes, and sweets.)
I was a chaperone to the church and so was there to witness as both of my girls followed the crowd up to the front for communion. The sight of it made me want to burst out laughing, but since I was in a church, I had to stifle it and ended up shaking, silently laughing, and crying at the same time. It's typical of me, with my IEED (Involuntary Emotional Expression Disorder, you can read about it in my Family in Croatia blog).
But the moment I realize with great certainy that if there is, indeed, a hell for Catholic non-believers, we will certainly have first-class tickets to get there is tonight when Gigi asks me, "Mom, what does 'Vierge Marie' mean?"
"It means 'Virgin Mary'."
"What does 'Virgin' mean?"
"Somebody who's never had sex." At this Gigi looks very confused, so I start to elaborate, in case she's forgotten, "You remember? Sex is when two people put their bodies together...."
"Yes," she interrupts, "I know what sex is. But Mary wasn't a Virgin."
"How do you know?"
She looks at me like I'm truly a moron, "Because she got pregnant and had a baby!" If she had known how to tack, "a-duh," unto the sentence, she would have.
"Well, that's part of the religion. Catholics think that God got her magically pregnant, and that's why they think Jesus is the son of God." At this, she looks even more dubious, if that's possible. So I say, "And you may not believe it, and I may not believe it, but that's what many of your friends and teachers believe. That's a very special part of the religion to them. So just be respectful."
She says to me, "Oh sure. I'll be respectful when they talk about" -- and here my eight year old does perfect air-quotes! -- "the 'Virgin' Mary."
Earlier in the school year, Gigi was sitting at the table one day and suddenly put her finger up to her forehead, then on to her shoulder, then down to her chest, saying, "We learned this at school today. Le Frère, la Soeur, and Somebody." It was, of course, meant to be the sign of the Cross, with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, but instead came out as the sign of the Isosceles Triangle, with the Brother, the Sister, and Some Other Random Dude.
"Where did you learn that?," I asked.
"Oh some guy in a black dress taught it to us in school," she answered. Pippa added excitedly, "He comes to my class, too! The one with the funny haircut!" Well, these priests are not Franciscan monks, so they don't actually have bowl haircuts, but perhaps it just wasn't the most stylish do.
It runs in the family: Anthony, who actually did grow up (till around adolescence) Catholic and going to church, was baptized, went to Sunday school classes, etc., once went to cross himself in a church in Latin America, in order to scandalize me. But he was trying to do it properly -- that much I could tell. He went from the forehead to the shoulder to the chest to the other shoulder, and I had to say to him, "I'm Jewish, and even I know you did that wrong. It's a cross, not a baseball diamond."
Last night, on Thanksgiving, while our family and friends in America were cooking up the turkeys, here it happened to be the patron saint day of our girls' little Catholic school. A beautiful, ancient local church held a special mass for the children after school, followed by a very sugary party thrown by the school itself. (Oh, nobody even pretends to put out fresh fruit, cheese, or carrot sticks at parties for kids. Straight frosting, cooking, cakes, and sweets.)
I was a chaperone to the church and so was there to witness as both of my girls followed the crowd up to the front for communion. The sight of it made me want to burst out laughing, but since I was in a church, I had to stifle it and ended up shaking, silently laughing, and crying at the same time. It's typical of me, with my IEED (Involuntary Emotional Expression Disorder, you can read about it in my Family in Croatia blog).
But the moment I realize with great certainy that if there is, indeed, a hell for Catholic non-believers, we will certainly have first-class tickets to get there is tonight when Gigi asks me, "Mom, what does 'Vierge Marie' mean?"
"It means 'Virgin Mary'."
"What does 'Virgin' mean?"
"Somebody who's never had sex." At this Gigi looks very confused, so I start to elaborate, in case she's forgotten, "You remember? Sex is when two people put their bodies together...."
"Yes," she interrupts, "I know what sex is. But Mary wasn't a Virgin."
"How do you know?"
She looks at me like I'm truly a moron, "Because she got pregnant and had a baby!" If she had known how to tack, "a-duh," unto the sentence, she would have.
"Well, that's part of the religion. Catholics think that God got her magically pregnant, and that's why they think Jesus is the son of God." At this, she looks even more dubious, if that's possible. So I say, "And you may not believe it, and I may not believe it, but that's what many of your friends and teachers believe. That's a very special part of the religion to them. So just be respectful."
She says to me, "Oh sure. I'll be respectful when they talk about" -- and here my eight year old does perfect air-quotes! -- "the 'Virgin' Mary."
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