I never really liked being a Unitarian. The church didn’t have candles or statues or stained glass windows. The minister and choir didn’t even wear robes. In Sunday School we talked about helping other people (boring), taking care of the earth (depressing), and ending war (terrifying). The potluck dinners were nice, though.
At home we had a tree and stockings for me and the dog and cat at Christmas, but when I wanted to get a manger scene, my mother said, “We don’t do that.” The church had a Christmas Eve service and sang carols, but it was more like a hootenanny.Julie, my college roommate, was the daughter of an Episcopal priest and when I went home with her one weekend, of course she had to go to church and I went with her. I was fascinated. Back at school, I started going to the Episcopal church. Everyone was very nice and the church ladies made a big fuss over me, which I ate up. (My mother was not a fusser). I got to know Father Bill and his family and by the next visit by the Bishop I’d been baptized and was ready to be confirmed.
My parents didn’t come to either service because I didn’t tell them. By that time I was dating Ed and he gave me a beautiful cross and took me out for a fancy lunch.
When my parents found out, my father snorted about “a ridiculous phase.” My mother told her Unitarian friends that she was too embarrassed to tell my grandparents and they told her that at least it was only “intellectual drugs” and not the illegal kind. I wrote in my diary that I “identified” with all those Christians who had been “persecuted for their faith.” (What can I say? I was nineteen.)
So I always said I would never give the children a hard time if they weren’t happy with the Episcopal Church.
Then Cilla decided she wanted to be a Catholic.
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