I was raised in a devote Catholic family which religiously (pun intended!) followed the Big Ten (commandments, not college sports teams). Not only did we go to church every Sunday, but on all those other holy days of obligation as well. I also attended parochial school through the fourth grade until we moved to the other side of town.
St. Isidore's ... now there’s a walk down memory lane! It was acceptable back then to say the Pledge of Allegiance and pray in school. I wore Hushpuppies, white knee socks and a plaid uniform complete with matching beanie. (Should I be worried that a former boyfriend found that intriguing?) And we adhered to the canons laid down by 107-year-old nuns with names like Sister Octavia who reigned over their elementary classrooms with the whack of a ruler and the hurl of a blackboard eraser.
As I came into my own, I began to question which faith was right for me. Lest you think I’ve become a total non-believer and am going straight to Hell in a handbasket, I still accept as true the notion of a higher power though I no longer necessarily subscribe to all the principles of Catholicism. Yet many of the things instilled in me during those years of sit-stand-kneel still surface every now and then.
While I didn’t mean for this post to go off on some tangent about religious convictions, that thought came into play when making plans for dinner. In the yards of Catholic churches all over the city are signs touting Lenten fish fries and it seemed like a good idea—both literally and figuratively. We’d hit the church right around the corner to indulge in fried perch and other meatless offerings, and then head back to my house to catch up on life and contemplate future travel ideas.
A little background on Tracey is in order. I met her while doing a part-time employment stint several years ago and we immediately clicked. Though she is 12 years my junior, we share a passion for photography, travel and Starbucks, among other things, and are cut from the same cloth. Little did we know how literal that would prove to be. Incredibly, during an early conversation in which we were getting to know each other, we discovered our great-grandmothers were sisters and we are actually third cousins! Blood is indeed thicker than water; no wonder we became such fast friends. It never ceases to amaze me what a small world it is.
And both of us can talk non-stop for hours on end. Is it any wonder why we always manage to close down a joint whenever we get together? Why would tonight be any different? Imagine our surprise when we came up for air after being engrossed in conversation to discover parishoners folding up tables and sweeping the floor around us! How many people do you know who have been kicked out of a church fish fry?
As usual, good times and great stories. But I wonder ... should I go to confession?
1 comment:
I am so honored to be your blog star of the day! My mom is going to get a kick out of this. I can hear her laughter already. I was kicked out of Catechism once, but never a church fish fry! (Oh, I was kicked out of Catechism for talking too much if you can believe it?) PS: Matt read your blog and insists that you submit some writings to magazines. YES - you ARE that good!
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