Memories Monday --The Meeting

 

 

Even though I am what Barbara Pym would call a “holy fowl” and we have an Episcopal priest in the family, the prospect of a conference with a Catholic priest was almost as scary as being questioned by a homicide detective.  But at least he couldn’t put me in jail.

I’d hoped for a progressive young priest, maybe even one all the girls fell in love with, a Father Whatawaste.  But this guy was old enough to be Father Whatawaste’s father or maybe even his grandfather. He looked like Barry Fitzgerald, but without the twinkle in his eye.

“So young lady,” he said to Cilla, “why do you want to become a Catholic?”

Veronica must have prepped her, because she said, “To learn about God and Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mother.”

“Are you willing to work very hard and make sacrifices?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And what do you think your faith will help you become?”

Cilla looked puzzled.  He looked impatient.  “A mother? Or a nurse?  Or a nun, perhaps?”

“I’m not sure.  But maybe a movie star or a veterinarian or a priest.”  Father Barry looked surprised, but he recovered quickly and put on his stern face, which would have scared me when I was six.  At my age, it just made me clutch my purse.

“Women can’t be priests.  You’ll have to choose something else.” 

Not being Catholic, Cilla didn’t realize that you don’t disagree with a priest.  “But my Aunt Kate is a priest!”

Father Barryfitzgerald glared at me.  “Your sister, I suppose.”  (Obviously, as a male, Ed could not have such a thing as a sister who was a priest.)

“Oh, no,” Cilla clarified.  “She’s not really my aunt.  We just call her that.  She’s my grandma’s friend.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Does she live with her?”

“Oh, no; Aunt Kate has to live in the rectory.  That’s what we call the priest’s house.  And my grandma says that since she’s paying her own mortgage, she’s not going to live in that mausoleum.  I guess we call it a mausoleum, too.”

Father Barryfitzgerald didn’t miss a beat.  “Well, your Aunt Kate is going to Hell and she’ll take your grandmother with her.”

 Ed looked like he was ready to deck him and I wanted to walk out as quickly as possible, but Cilla was too fast for us.

“No she’s not!  You’re a very bad man.  I don’t want to be a priest and I don’t want your old First Communion!” She ran out of the office, with Ed and me trailing along.

“She’s right,” I called back.

I sat in the back seat with Cilla, expecting her to cry all the way home, but she was too busy listening to Ed rant about that SOB and that GD organization, mainly because he didn’t use the initials.

When we told Betsey and Josh what happened, they high-fived Cilla and wanted to call Father Barryfitzgerald and add their thoughts.

I sat them down and gave them a talk about disagreeing respectfully with others, even if they were wrong, but my heart wasn’t in it