HELLO GOD, IT'S ME, LINDA - Part I

Religion was always a confusing subject for me as a child.  My mother and maternal grandmother were Irish Catholics; my father was an atheist and his mother was a Seventh Day Adventist. I should have known trouble lay ahead at my christening when the priest refused to baptize me Linda because it was not a saint's name and my Irish godfather, Clarkie Donnelly, passed out at 11 A.M. from too much alcohol. Clarkie was ignored by everyone and another gentleman stepped over his fallen friend to take his place.

Occasionally, I would spend the weekend with my grandmother, the Seventh Day Adventist, who duly took me to Sunday school on Saturday at her church where I learned Bible stories and was told not to report this to my Catholic mother.

"You see, dear," intoned Nana very seriously, "the Catholic Church is the Whore of Babylon and you must be protected."

Since I didn't know what Whore meant and I thought Babylon was a town in New Jersey, I did not feel my immortal soul was in danger. I immediately reported this news to my mother, Mary Catherine Theresa, who was outraged and immediately called her mother, who was even more outraged.  My father, the atheist, was not outraged; he thought it was funny and dared to laugh about it.  I was proud of myself for causing so much excitement in the family. Religious matters came to a head when I was briefly placed in Catholic school so I could make my First Holy Communion.

The little boys were to wear miniature suits and we little girls would wear white dresses.
On our heads we had to wear white veils we purchased from the the Church--no exceptions. 
When I brought mine home, my mother pronounced it "cheesy."

Dressed in my white
regalia, I entered the basement where we all were to assemble for the procession.  The last to enter was a very pretty child wearing a handmade
white dress and a breathtaking antique veil which I later learned had been passed down from her great-grandmother. Even I with my ignorance of fine things knew the veil was very special. We stared, wide-eyed, at her exquisite veil.   Sister Joan was furious. She crossed quickly to the child, snatched the veil from her head and threw it on the floor. I don't remember what Sister Joan said as she placed the "cheesy" church veil on the girl's head.  I remember nothing about actually receiving Communion.  I only remember the stricken, terrified face of the small girl. She was trembling and we were all too afraid to comfort her.