WHAT’S A NAME FOR IT?

I know you’ve read of the sexual abuse by priests within the Catholic Church.  I’ve never really met one who was abusive in that way.  However, I did have an experience with a different kind of priest.

My mother left my father the year I was seven and had made my first communion.  We moved to a smaller town about 20 minutes away from our former home that summer.  After two years in Catholic School, my brother and I started public school that fall which meant on Saturday we had to attend catechism classes held in our small church.

Going to confession for the second time, I started going through the ritual I had learned, when the priest said to me “Where did you learn to go to confession like that? Get out of here and don’t come back until you can do it right!” Exactly that! Do you think I could ever forget those words?

I sat outside the confessional trembling as I went over what I had learned. After quite a while and still shaking, I went back in. I guess I passed the test because I got to leave.

I went home too embarrassed to tell my mother and grandmother what had happened.

The following Saturday when I was expected to attend my catechism class, I started sobbing and couldn’t stop and no one could figure out why.  They tried to soothe me and by the next week I calmed down enough to return to class, but I was still frightened to be there.

On Saturday, classes were held in the church itself.  Each age group occupied several rows with their individual teachers, so there were groups scattered throughout our small church as the priest walked up and down the center aisle with his perpetual sneer glaring at everyone in the groups.  He never said anything to anyone, just wanted everyone to be aware of him. I was totally afraid of him.

For the five years we lived in that town where we went to Mass every Sunday.  In the late 1930’s not too many people had cars, but the ones who had them escaped to the small towns around us on Sundays. Many years later when the priest finally died, the parishes all around said they knew he was gone because attendance had dropped when our people went back to their own church.

I’ll tell you more about why the people disliked him in another blog. Also something my Mother told me many years later which may explain why he treated me so horribly.

ACTING SERIOUSLY

We moved from Chicago to a small town in Ohio where I envisioned sitting on my front porch and waving to the neighbors as they walked by, but we couldn’t find a home with a front porch and majority of the neighbors were old time residents not really interested in newcomers.

There was an article in the local newspaper about a group starting a civic theater. I attended the first meeting with about six or seven of the town’s people.  Their first order of business was to elect officers. Each of them got a title and I became the only member.

I stayed in the background as they made plans for the future.  The first production was “You Can’t Take It With You” and my role was Essie the dancing daughter. I had never done a straight acting part so I was interested in preparing for my character. My part called for interacting with the young woman who was playing my sister. We were to have a little sibling rivalry but she couldn’t understand the concept not having had a sister, so I asked did she ever fight with her husband.  No, she never did. It became a lost cause.

My character always wore a tutu and was constantly dancing in the background.  At one point in my stretching exercises I got my foot stuck on top of the buffet and hobbled around trying to get it down. No one seemed to laugh.  The reviewer said he liked my quiet humor in the background.  Later some audience members told me they thought I was hilarious but were afraid to laugh out loud and ruin the scene. The townspeople were not very sophisticated theater goers.

INTROSPECTION

It’s amazing that I’m meandering about feelings from when I was a child and wondering if I have come to some conclusion about my parents divorce which happened when I was seven years old and the little clues that I managed to glean through the years.

I mentioned previously that my father became furious when the hospital asked about paying my mother’s medical bill. So I started to think about him and his attitude.

My father was a master electrician and had worked on various government installations all over the country ending up in Baltimore, Maryland, so financially he did very well.

Meeting him after ten years of silence on his part when I was almost seventeen, I don’t remember him giving me money to buy something for myself. For ten years we (my three brothers and I) never received a gift from him except at Christmas when I think we got a $25.00 savings bond which cost him $17.50.

At one point he told me he never returned to Pennsylvania because my mother would have had him arrested, which she later told me wasn’t true and he knew that. But why would she have jailed him?  I always thought it was because he never sent money for child support. She finally did get $35.00 a month which it was upped to $50.00 in later years, the total for four children. She left him when the youngest was nearly one and the oldest nine.  Maybe he had abused her, but I do have a small memory that as we passed a by certain bar, I would always say “that’s where my daddy is”.

For those who don’t know, I met my father by accident while visiting his family home which was about twenty minutes from where we lived. My mother’s family never discouraged us from doing so although there was no fondness between them. I went there at Christmastime to deliver my picture. I was graduating from high school the following summer and the picture was a gift for my father who we thought visited the family from time to time.  He came into the house that day and didn’t know who I was.

So Dad came back into our lives, he and mom reconciled, remarried and divorced once again before I even graduated, we kids went back to our old lives where once again we had no money and plenty of worries.  But this time he stayed in touch and visited often especially after I was married and had children. Unfortunately, he would show up to visit without checking to see if it was convenient for us and stay for a week where we were expected to entertain him.

My grandmother always told me to pray at Mass that my father would come home.  I did so for ten years and then my prayers were answered.  What happened was that through the later years I always forgot to get him a Fathers Day card, so his card always late and he would get angry.

In this week of my 80^th birthday, I have finally come to the conclusion that I never really learned to like my father.

REACHING 80

As I was driving down the highway of life, actually Little Road on my way to Countryside Mall, I was struck by the fact I was going to be 80 years old in several days and maybe I shouldn’t be driving today. There is always something in the newspaper about one of us causing an accident.  I said to myself I don’t feel any different than I did last year so I calmed my fears and continued on.  On my way home on US 19 I found myself in heavy traffic. Feeling very confident, except for the stupid drivers around me, I came home after buying several things for myself and my husband so it was really a successful trip.

Yesterday I played bridge with fifteen other women and most are older than I am. Several who are in their nineties (one is 96) weren’t impressed that I was going to be 80. What’s remarkable is they still read and exchange books at our building library, drive but mostly in the area close to home and keep up on sport events and but also talk about their aches and pains.

I can’t take pictures on my cell phone, design cards on the computer and walk a full mile (I’m going to work on that) and remember so and so’s name immediately, but I do love the fact I have such good friends and family.

So today on my 80^th I’m going to a movie and early dinner with friends not because it’s my birthday, it’s actually a monthly thing our club does. 

My husband mentioned about me now being a senior citizen, I told him I preferred being called “elderly” ‘cause it has a lot of perks.  I can sit down and take naps when I want. Sometimes you get to go to the front of a line or are given the best seat. You aren’t expected to keep a spotless house or get dressed before noon. People listen to you, even though they’re being polite and don’t care anything about what you have to say.

 Being elderly isn’t so bad. I hope I’m elderly for a long, long time.

THE REALIZATION

On a Sunday morning many years ago my youngest daughter and I were waiting for my husband to get home from the golf course to drive to the airport.  Knowing we would be late, we drove off without him.  The plane carrying our married daughter had landed and the passengers were already off the plane. As they come towards us we couldn’t find her.  There was a person walking in the opposite direction and my teenager said there she is. I said “nah, that’s some woman”. She turned around and I was startled to realize my young daughter was now a woman.

Gifts

Our oldest grandchild has received many gifts, one being her creative ability.  She can make beautiful quilts, decorate, cook as well as handle a job requiring financial skills.

Oldest grandson with great mechanical abilities can interact with any adult and children always seem to cling to him.  An ex-Marine he has shown enormous bravery in the war in Iraq. Civilian life has been a challenge, but we have great faith that he will be happy in his accomplishments.

Our third grandchild is a granddaughter who after graduating college has an enormously satisfying career. We don’t see her but once a year when she can get time off but take great pride in knowing she is happy.

Fourth grandchild is a remarkable young man whose many accomplishments are any parent’s dream come true, possibly our future president and not said lightly.

Fifth is a multi-talented granddaughter, a beautiful and shining star. Starting college this fall, which path will she take?

Sixth is our youngest grandson who is close to our hearts. In high school with so many avenues to take and so many abilities, we want him to shine too and hope to be there to see it.

The seventh granddaughter has more talents than anyone can imagine.  She’s serious as well as extremely funny.  She also could be president.

Granddaughter eight has great hair. (seriously) Blessed with many friends and a loving sister, she could be vice-president. Her smile just charms everyone.

Lastly, granddaughter nine flies through the air with such grace it can bring tears to your eyes.

ALL THOSE PICTURES

I was looking at all those pictures on our electric picture frame this morning. (actually the digital frame, I had to look at the manual to find out what it was called) What a wonderful Christmas gift with the family pictures chosen by each of our children of their own individual families. Seeing our children and their children as they grow up represents our life in a capsule.  Each picture brings joy to my heart and makes me so proud of our legacy to them, not in money but in allowing them to become who they now are. What wonderful futures they all have.