Reader’s Note: Having relived this story a few hundred times over the years, I still laugh every time. Then a question arises, given that the big sin had already been committed, the big sin of being late to God’s House (because that sneaky god had tested us with perfect snow). The question arises what could I have done? I could have told the truth, but of course, that would have put Ray at the mercy of this terrifying black lagoon creature, in effect ‘ratting him out.’ There was some code of honor amongst us big church liars, so that really wasn’t an option. I could have said “No excuse, Sister,” and taken the punishment that was certain. In retrospect, of course, I made a poor choice, but remembering it always elevates my spirits. While I have honestly tried to remember any punishment that might have been earned, I cannot. And to be honest, I don’t think the monster, known as Sister Catherine ever did actually ‘deal with me later.’ There is something special about being raised as a Catholic. Good or Bad, not my call, but different for sure. There must be three or four million funny stories. I’ve been involved in only three or four. SO … HERE IS MY LITTLE STORY:
TELLING LIES IN THE HOUSE OF GOD
Raised in an Italian Roman Catholic household. My mother was a devout Catholic and my father thought the entire church thing (didn’t matter which religion) was a big farce and that any “man of the cloth” was at the least, a scam artist, and probably worse than that. But still, I was a holy kid for a few years. This had to have happened when I was nine years old, in fourth grade of elementary school, not Catholic school, public school. At the time (late 1940’s) kids in Connecticut public schools had one hour of “religious instruction” per week. They would leave the school one hour early, travel to the church of their respective religion and get their holy time in. The Catholic Church was a two-minute walk from our school. One sunny Wednesday afternoon, after a good snowfall, Ray Arrondel and I started our walk to the church. I gathered up a handful of snow, quickly formed a snowball and hit him squarely in the back of the head, some of the snow dropping down into his collar. The snow was perfect, absolutely perfect for snowball fabrication. And oh, the two of us did fabricate and the snowball war was on. Great time, but it had to end and we knew we’d be a half-hour late to our Religious Education session at the church, where the nun, the evil, foul-tempered dragon, awaited us. At the door of the church, before we went in, we agreed that we’d have to dream up some excuse, an individual excuse, for being late. Kids who were raised as Catholics in those times will understand the terror that we faced. The nuns were more to be feared than the Police or the School Principal. These nuns were the new-age inquisitors. Ray and I took a minute or two, prepared our ridiculous stories, went into the church, used the holy water to bless ourselves, and while I never thought Ray was exceptionally bright, he neatly outmaneuvered me as we walked down the aisle, putting me up to bat first. Understand that the nun was totally pissed off at me from weeks before because I hadn’t studied my Catechism. So she breathed some fire toward me, and said very slowly, and very dis-tinct-ly, “Master Ro-sa-no (that’s the title they used, Master), explain why you are late arriving at God’s House!” And thoughts are traveling through my head like rockets on the 4th of July … oh god what a stupid story, oh man she’ll never believe me, oh shit I’m going to hell for sure, etc. But I had to plow onward. Pushing my knee against the side of the pew to stop the tremors, I spoke. “I’m so sorry, Sister Catherine, I thought there was enough time to run home and let our cat, Mittens, out of our house. But when I tried to grab her, she thought I was playing and ran under the bed and it took so long to catch her, and that’s why I’m so late. Whew! The story was out, and we both knew I was telling a big lie right here in front of Jesus and right here in God’s House. She looked at me silently for a very painful five seconds, each of which felt like a decade. Then the black-robed executioner vowed “I will deal with you later.” Then she uncoiled slightly and hissed, “Ssssit down!” At least this time, I was eager to comply. “Master Ar-ron-del, What is your story?” Ray, of course, had let me take the nun’s first flames, and jets of steam, and the death ray vision, as he hid behind me. Now it was his turn. Safely seated, I was anxious to hear his story. Let’s see if he could beat my ‘cat under the bed’ story. Ray cleared his throat and said “Same thing for me, sister, only it was my dog.”
