Crashing the Confessional

I was not taken to church until fourth grade. One of my classmate's fathers was a preacher at a Presbyterian Church. I liked him and attended some of his services. There wasn't much to it.

He was and remains a peaceful, loving man. He and my father played basketball at the local gym. It never made me think about joining his church. One of my friends was Jewish and he was taken to Hebrew School one day per week.

Both parents attended Catholic school all twelve years. They grew up in different areas. At first they did not want me in a religion. That's fair- just because their parents did it does not mean they had to follow suit.

In fourth grade they decided to send me to church. I had gone to others, going through the motions as I did in school and team sports. I was placed in CCD Tuesdays after school.

Sister Mary Agnessa was my first point of contact with nuns. She was really nice and was moved by the time I was transferred to the school two years later. Taken somewhere different, I acted weird.

Part of that is my parent's fault. They were like gossip columnists for my life. That is strange because I was not that interesting. It felt like I had to put on a show and there are some offbeat rituals in the Catholic Church.

Part of the reason Catholics and Jews have success in humor is the rituals in their faiths. Another story, another article. I was sent to CCD and there was a children's mass on Sunday.

Children's mass was similar to regular mass. It was held in the auditorium instead of the church. The children were invited to gather around the priest and he spoke to us rather well. No scaring us with damnation or anything that would scare children.

That came later. The conversations were nice. It was like a classroom. Children were the first in line to receive Communion. That was nice.

Since my parents were not married in the church they did not receive the sacrament of Holy Eucharist. That looked awkward because almost everyone lined up except my parents.

I never asked if they went to confession. I was sent there. Before the Sacrament of Holy Eucharist there is the Sacrament of Confession. It seemed weird to confess my sins.

Exactly what would a nine year old have done? I wasn't coveting my neighbor's wife. I waited my turn. When I was called, I walked to the door. There was an inner door and an outer door. There has to be a more official way to describe them.

Long story shot, I pulled the handle on the door that did not open easily. It was not intentional. This was my first confession and I entered like a bull in a china shop.

I went face to face. There was nothing I was so embarrassed about that I knelt anonymously. It is good they have that option. Chances are my "Sins" were white lies.

This did not change my life. Circumstantially I saw different children. Some of them would come into prominence in sixth grade. My fifth grade teachers were so awful and apathetic I understand why I was taken out of public school.

It was not because I lacked discipline. You ought to know by now I do. I did not have to attend CCD once I entered a new school. My humor improved in a new school.

Whether I matured or the new students needed something to laugh at- the cat was out of the bag. I would attend confession again frequently, knowing to open the correct door. Sometimes you have to break it down to find what you need.