Pansyiana: November 2003 Archives

Anne Rice is writing your life. Go you goth girl, go.



Which Author's Fiction are You?

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It is the year 1977. My family just moved from New York City to Trenton, New Jersey because of my father's new job with the New Jersey State Department of Education. Since we have only lived in the community one day, my parents are unfamiliar with the community and attend Sunday Mass at the closest, most visible Church. The name of the parish is St. Hedwig's. The Church is filled with marble, statues, the faint smell of incense and the life sized crucifix that looks as if you can actually see Our Lord's blood dripping down. The Church is also packed. While the Mass is clearly recognizable as the Mass, my parents are a bit embarressed about not responding because they did not realise the Mass would be said in Polish. After Mass I present my parents with a five dollar bill. My parents who are absolutely surprised ask where I got it from and I point to an elderly gentleman walking down the street who sat next to me in Church. They apologise to the man and try to return his five dollar bill. He refuses and states it was a present for me because I was such a sweet little girl. Even though St.Hedwig's ministered to the Polish community of Trenton, there was no sense that being Polish took precedence over Catholicism here. On the contrary my father said he has not stepped foot in such a catholic Church since his childhood.

Fast forward to the year 1989. I am sixteen and ticked off because my parents whisked me half way around the world to the Fiji Islands in the South Pacific. The past few days have been eventful, flying from Newark, to Hawaii, to Fiji. Then driving three hours around a volcanic island (in other words-hilly) to have a breakfast of curried vegetables. That was two days ago. Now we we had to find Mass in the middle of a Fijian village of all places. When we found it, Mass was being said by an Irish missionary priest. The villagers were dressed in their Sunday best-meaning shoes and pocket sulus. But I take notice because they do the oddest thing before Communion, they genuflect. After Mass the priest who we never laid on eyes on ever before stops my mother and says "I saw you come in. I was wondering what an Anglican is doing in our midst?" What did he say? How could he possibly have known my mother was Episcopalian?

A few months and some crash catechism lessons involving Peter Kreeft books assigned by the Colomban Father, my mother would receive her first Communion in LoMary, the place where the first Columban missionaries would set foot on Fiji. The Mass would be in Fijian and my mother would reply "Amen" when the Irish priest offers her The Bula Modrai, or roughly translated "Bread of Life" pronounced mm-BOO-luh MON-dry.

Jump ahead again to 2001, Diocese of Albany. I am sitting in a parish council meeting. Tonight are to discuss social justice and reaching out to the community in a Christian manner. Laughter is just dying down because that witty pastor made a remark (again) "and the Italians here all know what stubborn is because they are all married to Irish people. Ha ha!" No we are not. My father is organising a baby shower at the Church for people to donate to Community Maternity Services. One lady states that even though she knows what the Church teaches about contraception, we really need to teach these black people about safe sex because they just keep having babies in poverty. Other topics addressed are how we will no longer kneel during the Consecration as "we are waiting for Rome to catch up with the rest of the Church...", and reaching out to the Community. Sister states she wishes she knew Spanish so she could attract some of the Jamaican immigrants to the Food Pantry. Um, Jamiacans speak English. Someone else comes up with the great idea that we should publish the names of the families we help at the food pantry in the weekly bulletin.

The previous Sunday I am sitting downstairs with my neighbor. She is like me half black half white with a Puerto Rican significant other. Our children could be siblings. She is adopted though. Her mother is white and after she adopted her daughter, decided her mission in life would be to teach her about all things black. One of ways is to attend "The Black Catholic Apostolate" Sunday Service. It used to be called St. George's. She shows me pictures of the procession where they blow horns and beat on drums. My neighbor rolls her eyes because even though she is not a practicing Catholic, there is nothing about this Church that "seems real" to her, so she does not go. Her mother tells me I should go because "it is better" there. They learn lessons about black history for Sunday school. I suppose my family would feel right at home there because since I am black, I raised to beat drums and blow horns to announce the daily rosary. Get real.

I have heard of this Church. I have also heard of the Spanish Church because it seems everytime I am introduced to someone, they usually say "you know there is a Spanish Church. They have Mass in Spanish there and everything, you should check it out." I had to tell one priest four times "But I do not speak Spanish!!!" It would be so affectatious and pretentious to start fabricating ethnic customs that truly do not exist in my family in order to feel accepted in a parish on the other side of town.

My problem with ethnicty in a parish community is not when the community is simply of a certain ethnicity and that is reflected, as long as the focus of the Parish is to bring the Sacraments. My problem is when ethnicity overrides the Catholicism. In a diocese such as mine where formation is minimal and people really have no idea why they are at Church (or at least that is what someone said at an Parish Council meeting "I do not know why I am here, it is part of my culture or something I guess.") many Churches start to become meeting areas for people of similar ethnicities. I can pull out more stories, such as one where people looked at my family and said "what are they doing here, don't they know this is a private Mass?" Or the time I my family was sitting in the same Church, where I was on Parish Council and some middle aged women sat next to us and said to each other "oh look, a LA-TEEN-O family" and when we knelt during the Consecration they said "it's because thay have a language barrier." but I am hoping I illustrated the contrast and difference between the two.

Yep. And since we are city folk gone country, we did not purchase our pick-up truck snow plow combo yet, and we need to hire someone to plow our drive-way. For whatever reason we cannot seem to get people to return our calls. We think it is because we have not "established" ourselves yet in the community. Or a different sense of what "calling back" means.

I have had a bit of a mortality check recently becauseI have been experiencing chest pains. I went to the doctor on Friday and he told me they are intercostal muscle spasms brought on by stress. Deo Gratias. He told me I need to "destress", which unfortunately is not happening anytime soon. So before I went to the doctor, I figured I need to buckle down on my diet again. I could stand to drop a size and keep check of what I eat.

Ok, so Weight Watchers works by like this point system. I am not sure how you define a point because it is measured by calories, grams of fat and grams of fiber. For example, 1/4 cup of rolled oats is 1 point, one glass of skim milk is 2 points, one orange is 1 point. You get the picture. For someone my weight, I would be allotted 20 points a day, plus 35 of what they call "Flex-Points" for the week to use as you wish. However a nursing mother gets 30 points. This is mainly for a nursing newborn, not a 22 month old. I decided to try 30 points to start because I have a real problem with becoming lightheaded and dizzy between meals. To be honest, I am not sure how to survive on 20 points at this stage of my life without being lightheaded and dizzy all day long (no "dizzy" comments please). I lost .4 of a pound, so my husband thinks I should stick with the 30 points as long as I am losing and do not have much to lose. (I have no idea how much I should lose because I refused to look at my weight. I let my husband see and he said it was not much.)

I really wish the program was tailored a bit better to extended nursing Moms though. I think the concept is for Mom's who nurse little babies, and then stop early. It is hard to gauge how many calories or "points" a mother of a toddler who nurses constantly should be taking in.