All the Unitarians
have is a naming ceremony, which, of course, you don’t have to do (because
whatever Supreme Being(s) there is (are) forbid that you’d have to do anything regarding religion, spirituality or whatever
reason you are a Unitarian.) My parents
didn’t have me done because my father said it was “foolishness imitating
foolishness.”
There have been seemingly endless “rehearsals.” Veronica invited Cilla to go with her.
“Watch out you don’t get hit with a yardstick” Ed cautioned
her. “Nuns have been known to do that.”
“Oh, Daddy, not anymore.
Veronica’s mom told me.”
Nobody got hit with a yardstick or even yelled at. Veronica’s mother introduced Cilla to the nun
in charge, who had said, “Maybe next year, you can make your First Communion.”
“Oh, Mommy, can I?
Please, please, please!”
“We have to give it serious thought,” I said. When I was ten years old, I had promised
myself that I wouldn’t be one of those mothers who said “We’ll see.” “This is a very big decision. We’ll have to pray about it.”
“She just wants the presents,” Josh sneered.
“That’s not nice.” I
pounced on the teachable moment. “Never
criticize anyone’s religious ideas. It’s
all right to ask questions if you’re curious, but you have to be
respectful. And anyway, you just get money
that your parents put in your college fund and things like Bibles and
rosaries.”
Ed was passing by. He
shook his head. “Charlie, you may be on
the Altar Guild, but you are a still a recovering Unitarian.” I was too worn out from dealing with Cilla to
ask him what he meant.
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