7 Quick Takes

1.  One week until Helen is due and I am a nervous wreck. I don't know if we'll make it on time. Editing and formatting take time.  I am hopeful.  But I tend to always feel like Charlie Brown about to kick the football, except I just KNOW that she's going to swipe the thing away when I get to the point of actually kicking.   I am excited. I'm proud. I'm also working on Penelope and so I'm ready to see people enjoying Helen.  I also want to see how she all comes together. I've been editing her in pieces so I want to see the whole thing, to read it from cover to cover and experience her as if I'd discovered this book instead of written it.  

2.  There are so many movies I want to see. I've seen Iron Man 3 before, we're going to Into the Darkness tonight (Can't wait can't wait can't wait!) and then there's Now You See Me. That one looks slick and cool. 

3.  I am also considering three new viewing addictions that currently are popular.  Downtown Abby, Game of Thrones...and Dr. Who.  Yes. I'm aware that they are cult phenomena, every one of them. Yes I'm aware I'm late to the party. What I'd like to know is which one should I sink my teeth into next and why.  Sell me. Give me the pitch of why I should watch whichever one you think worth watching.  

4.  Next week, I go to the reunion at Saint Mary's. I hope to walk to Notre Dame and light a candle at the grotto. I'll get to see two of my favorite teachers for lunch on Friday.  It stuns me that this was my life, my whole life only 25 years ago.  The passage of time seems like nothing, and yet there is so much that has been crammed into these past many years.  It leaves me winded. 

5.  Does anyone else feel like the razor of the world is cutting deeper these days?  For me, the news has become a daily assault on my peace and sensibilities.  I think it is why the Church gave us Pope Francis, because his exhortations to be more than a museum piece Catholic, to go out and be salt and light to the world, well we knew this, but it is so heartening, so warming to be invited.  

6.  Two kids are done with school, one has exams next week.  Then we have two weeks before everyone gets out! SUMMER!!!!!!!!I believe I love it even more than they....and I hate their summer math books more too.  I was going to equivocate on that last bit but it's true. I hate those books. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate them.  I don't care that they are good for boosting math skills. They are evil and ruin summer that should be spent grilling, swimming, reading book after book after book, catching frogs and fireflies (not at the same time) and playing cards with your parents.   You know what's not on that list?  Math books.  There. I said it.  Bleah.

7.  There's a new post over on Facebook page for The Book of Helen.  It is an open page so anyone on Facebook can go over and read it. I would ask if you haven't yet, to please please please like the page.  My goal this week is to break 100 likes.  Next week, we'll work on getting to 200. 

Hey Beautiful*

*Originally ran on November 11, 2007.  Was written for Dad's birthday of that year.  

Dad always answers the phone to me, “Hey Beautiful.” It always makes me smile.

My dad reads German theologians for recreation. He also puns constantly and loves Notre Dame, the Astros, fishing, hunting and 99.9% of all classic English literature. He is Texan. He is Southern. He is Catholic.

When I was a kid and he was mad, even if I wasn’t the person who did anything, I went to my room and cleaned. The thundercloud would roll by and see a virtuous kid doing only right stuff. This was the image I strove to maintain. I had figured out it would keep me out of trouble. It did, and my parents got a clean room out of the bargain, by allowing me to think I was manipulating them.

I remember him teaching me how to do flips off the high board and how to drive. He taught me to rig a lure for fishing and retrains me when I forget. He didn’t yell when I wrecked the car again. He met all my dates. He made me watch Casablanca and The Quiet Man. He bought me a guitar and a silver bracelet. I can gut a fish, train a dog and make Coq au’Vin today because at some point, he taught me. I cannot do algebra. He tried to tutor me. I know something of Latin. He made me take it. I scream like a banshee at Notre Dame Football. He showed me the game and helped me come to obsess over it.

Dad drove me to get ice cream when I lost my wallet at Christmas. Dad took me out to lunch when I worked at his office. Dad asked me to paint some crabs on the fireplace at the beach house and helped reel in the 40+pound Red Fish I had hooked. Dad danced with me at the Debutante ball and I wished, oh how I wished, he was at the table with me, for my date was boring.

Senior year at Saint Mary’s College, he wasn’t coming to Father/Daughter weekend. I tried to be offhand about that, I wished he could be there but knew money was tight. The Sunday before the Father/Daughter weekend, my then boyfriend proposed. That Friday, Dad was on a plane.

As my roommate and I got dressed to go out to dinner with him, Dad was serving as her dad for the night too, I said, “Just watch, the first thing Dad’ll say is “Why do you want to marry my daughter?” Annie laughed and disagreed. “I’ve met your Dad, he won’t say that.”

We picked up Marc, my fiancé at Notre Dame and drove to the restaurant, Dad, Marc, Annie and Me. No sooner were we all seated, then my father said, “Why did you ask my daughter to marry you?” Annie and I looked at each other and bust out laughing. Marc was left with two giggling girls and no help. He rallied. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Dinner was fun.

That summer I worked at his office. I went on walks with him sometimes when we were both dieting. We’d talk about food and how much we missed it. We’d argue over wedding plans, band vs. DJ, morning suits vs. Tuxes, receiving line vs. announcements by the band.

Eventually, My Dad sang the Notre Dame Fight song to me as I walked into the Church to get married. It helped me to stop shaking. I remember Dad’s smile as he walked towards me at my wedding reception to have our dance, but I do not remember the song.

Sometimes he sends me papers by his favorite theologian, Von Balthazar. I dutifully try to read the treatise, “Does Original Sin Exist?” but I want to scribble back a short post-it, “Yes. Next Question.”

Dad has had many heart surgeries, but the one I remember is the one in 2000. I arrived after the surgery had taken place, and sat in the living room with Danny and Joe and Jennifer and my newly crawling son, feeling how empty the house felt with Dad in the hospital. When we went to visit at the hospital, Joe and Danny attempted to move Dad by lifting the recliner he was in, and dropped the chair. I was terrified, but Dad was okay. He showed me the stitches that ranged all over his body. They had cut open his chest, taken out his heart, stopped it, cut away things and put everything back together and stitched him up. I looked at the long line of black threads on his legs and arms and it looked like a large black rosary to me had been carved onto his body. It hurt to look but he was alive and so I looked anyway. It was ugly and beautiful at the same time.

Just before we left, a former partner of Dad’s, dropped by to check on Dad. I had a long-standing dislike of the man ever since the firm restructured and Dad left it. I occasionally had called to jam up the 1-800 line at the firm but knowing this was childish, I had stopped. I had even thought of returning the wedding present he had given my husband and me, a dessert server, saying, “It leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” but again decided it was small minded. Seeing the man visit my Dad at the hospital, I thought, “Damn, now I’m going to have to forgive him.”

Dad held no grudges so I couldn’t either, much as I might sometimes want to…really. That ugly stuff still doesn’t matter. He still calls me and says, “Hey Beautiful.” because that’s how he sees me and how God sees each of us. “Hey Beautiful.”

And by saying that, over and over, eventually, we come closer to becoming it. 

Happy Father's Day Dad!

Jesus Said Both

It began at Notre Dame. The Observer refused to publish an article by law professor, Dr. Charles Rice. He has written a regular column for the student paper entitled, "Right or Wrong" since 1992. The piece not run addressed the recent protests of University anti-discrimination policy because it did not include sexual orientation as one of the groups granted protection. Dr. Rice laid out the reasons why a Catholic university could not engage in such behavior, as it would be recognizing formally through policy, sinful behavior as a legitimate lifestyle choice. (His article is linked in the title).

He quoted cannon law in making the distinction that the inclination to homosexual activity was not in and of it self, a sin, but the actionable behavior was. Dr. Rice further reminded the ostensibly Catholic readership that only in a sacramental union could sex find its proper moral context and thus bring the individuals in question closer to God. This is not popular or political opinion, it is Catholic teaching. The law professor put forth the radical notion that a university that professes to be Catholic should and in this case does practice its Catholicism in all of its actions and policies.

The Observer editor pretended it was about column space; a fact disputed by the Dr. by citing his prior 17 year history of articles that indicated this one was much shorter. I suspect in this scenario, the editor is young and fears the consequences of publically witnessing such an unpopular view; or that the editor is young and disagrees with the Church. In either case, publically shaming the paper and the editor by bringing down the righteous wrath of the blogosphere probably won’t persuade him to consider the Church’s position more favorably. Winning the case might still lose the jury and we want to make a compelling argument to all who would hear it.

Looking at the article itself, I felt frustrated; the public pressure on Notre Dame to change its policies is not small and many who still love the University and what she is supposed to stand for worry that political correctness and public mood will sway those who draft policy to do the publically safe and easy thing. Those who hold the Church and her teachings dear knew the essence of the Canon law before it was cited by Rice. Those who think the Church is wrong and should change will not find the citing of the law a compelling argument against their position. Right now, to move hearts, to get people to listen, we need poetry. Citing Canon law might move a heart set against it but it is not the most effective weapon in this fight. How would we win those who felt it was right to censure Dr. Rice because they thought his thinking backwards, wrong and indicative of a prurient obsession with sex and homophobia?

The Pharisees could cite law, but Jesus taught the essence of the law using parables. Jesus told stories to move the hearts of those uncertain, strengthen the resolve of those who silently agreed but were fearful, and reprove those who willfully ignored or denied the essence of truth that gave birth to the many laws. He did not stone the adulterer, he did not condemn her, but he did say, "Go and sin no more." and that still matters as much as the "Judge not" part. Jesus said both. But I could see, everyone thinks the other side is the Pharasiee citing the law and holding the rocks; those citing Canon law and those citing the recent decisions in various states to have same sex marriages were both citing authorities to prove their case. 

These days, it's possible to envision a different story unfolding.

A group of outraged citizens indignant at a proselytizer for living a counter-cultural lifestyle and even publically proclaiming it to be true, declare him to be a homophobe promoting hate speech. They seize the offensive person who says such outlandish and outrageous things and bring him to the magistrate for judgment.

The trial is more of a formality really, as the various accusers who can prove the man said what he said and wrote what he wrote are already excoriating the defendant via twitters and blogs all over the internet. They'll expose his family to shame as a warning to others who engage in such behavior or believe such things and these viral scarlet letters will never be expunged. Society needs protection from people like him, and public virtual shredding seems as good a way as any to ensure justice is done as determined by the individual angry hearts in question. They will be satisfied.

A group of equally irritated righteous citizens lambast a University for failing to censure its students.  Their frustrations at seeing an instution they love perpetually stumble and seem lost in popular culture allows them to feel fully vindicated in seeing this senario as proof that the school has lost it's way and failed to hold true to the Church's teachings.   They cease donating, they call for resignations.  They prepare to encourage others via the internet. 

"Let Him who believes in God, not throw stones." is the verdict and all the bloggers hit send.

What is this about?

Let us consider why Catholicism holds that a man with a man and a woman with a woman and a man with a woman sans the sacrament are not equal to a sacramental union.

Catholicism can’t say all relationships are equal just because it is politically correct to do so. Catholicism is at its core about relationship, about Communion, about the Eucharist. We do not say it is only a symbol because the Eucharist is Christ present. We do not allow others to partake because they do not acknowledge this relationship or understand it to be authentic and true. They do not hold this great mystery to be real. Catholicism claims to be Truth, Universal Truth. Within that Truth is mercy, forgiveness, compassion, wisdom, and peace; and all of these are found through fidelity of the heart as rendered through service, obedience and love. We cannot say it is just bread or a symbol to make it more appealing or compelling or inclusive; the fact that it is not just bread or a symbol is WHY the Eucharist is compelling.

Just so, a Catholic University cannot morally shrug its shoulders and pretend that a non sacramental union regardless of orientation is the same as one consecrated just because popular sentiment would be appeased. A lay person is not the same as a priest; a single woman is not the same as a nun. A chaste relationship is not the same as an unchaste one. Simply put, Catholicism does not acknowledge truth as a relative concept, as being simply in the eye of the beholder. It does not accept the lie that all sexual behavior between consenting adults is equal and that God doesn’t care about such trivial animal matters amongst private individuals because God cares about every private individual and all of their relationships, thoughts, dreams and actions.

Catholicism holds to the radical notion that God cares about each of our souls individually, that each of us is the 100th sheep lost that needs to be found; that each of us is called to be in Communion with Christ. So we can't say we will support a sin with our policies, deliberately sanctioning a value we know places a soul at risk.  This is why this little matter between a professor and an editor is not so little; because the discussion needs to be had and right now, the atmosphere is so thick with the possibility of outrage, righteous and otherwise, that nothing can be heard and no hearts can be moved. We need to understand, but it is hard to bear the truth in our broken state; it is too hard even knowing our God is all loving. The landscape of the moral argument right now is not well known to the vast majority of Catholics and most of us are untrained for engaging in this discussion.

We will need Notre Dame to not simply hold to its values, but to be Catholic in all things, luminous and true, forgiving and instructive so that the Church body as a whole can have the Why's of the Canon law, rather than simply the Canon law itself. We need the "Allness" of the Eucharist to be revealed in this discussion, even though to some, it is obvious.  And we will all need to remember that each of us, is that 100th sheep, that adulterer caught by others in the act of sin, and the accuser poised with the stone; that we are everyone in every parable but the Good Shepherd, the Father of the Prodigal son, the owner of the vineyard who pays everyone with more generosity than they merit; those people in the story are God revealed in his love for us, and those people are who we are called to be. 

So in response to the controversy, perhaps the best we can do is to say "Neither do I condemn you." and  "Go and sin no more."  Bread and divinity, the Eucharist response is both.

And Now for a Catholic Commencement...

If you want a funny alternative to my piece, I highly recommend:
http://ironiccatholic.blogspot.com/2009/05/ironic-catholic-alternate-notre-dame.html.
Otherwise...

My brain is fried from all of this, and I need to attend to the domestic church that is my home, instead of the ivory twin towers of academia and politics. But I do have an alternative suggestion for next year's commencement speaker.

First, we must discern what would constitute a good nationally prominent figure, known to all. The individual must be historic, life changing, a person who inspires real hope and real change.

Second, the person must be known for good works, dedication to the sick, the poor, and to ending injustice and suffering in general.

Third, the person must be a good speaker, with a riviting charismatic personality that speaks to both the rich and the poor, the educated and the simple.

Fourth, the commencement speaker must invite each gradutate to go out and be more loving, more humble and more grateful for the gifts they have received. The speaker must envoke the new graduates to go out and be lights to the world, to engage it with their wisdom, their service and all their hearts.

Fifth, the person's example as embodied in written and spoken words, actual work and whole life, must be perfect and subject to intense scrutiny. Personal character witnesses and testimony about these works, words and deeds must hold up and show that they have endured the test of time.

In light of all these qualities which must be non negotiable, there is only one candidate who could meet the entire criteria. Hold Commencement, and at the point where the speaker would get up, present the Blessed Sacrament.

Ask for prayerful sober reflection for the hour, and invite all to adore Him.

And let this be the tradition at Notre Dame and all Catholic institutions of Higher Learning from now on.

Once More Into The Breech

I'd let this go, but the argument came from a dear friend who holds that because President Obama is NOT Catholic, the 2004 United States Council of Bishop statement on Catholics and Political life, does not apply.

By this reasoning, the decree asking that Universities not give a platform or awards or honors to people in positions of leadership or power that advocate/vidicate or promote positions antithetical to the Catholic faith (like say, abortion, stem cell research, and other hot button issues), only applies to Catholics not being true to their Catholic faith.

Okay. Let's go with that interpretation. Then, we are saying, we shall not honor people being hypocritical to their professed Catholic faith, because it is the disengenuousness of the individual that hurts the Church if the Church via the University, validates their position.

But it's okay if we're hypocritical to our own Catholic faith via the University by honoring those who legitimately disagree? If the graver sin is disengenuousness...

So the bottom line by this thinking is, we can honor President Obama at the University of Notre Dame, we just couldn't honor Joe Biden.

Look. Abortion kills children, but it also destroys souls and I'm not talking about the unborn, I'm referring to the mortal peril caused by agreeing to or performing such a henious act upon the innocent. Giving a platform to this President, given his predilictions on this topic, and past policy decisions, both before the election and since, provides comfort to those who would say that abortion is simply a hard imperfect decision, and not a moral issue with grave consequences.

Pray the rosary. Ask Mary directly to ask her Son for a miracle. The Lord listens to his Mother.

If you are new to the blog, check out Perhaps Why, Why the Notre Dame/Obama Scandal Matters and Yes I'm Still Mad, and Notre Dame Choses between God and Country. I keep thinking I'm done with this, but it is so hard to bear.

Perhaps Why

The honoring of President Obama with a law degree at commencement has confounded those who love the ideals embodied by Notre Dame.

I have been pondering for several days, why would the President of the most celebrated Catholic University in America remain so resolute when so many people of the faith and leaders of the Church were counseling otherwise?

Through various websites like ndresponse.com and the Cardinal Newman Society and the Sycamore Project, over 350,000+ signatures were placed on Fr. Jenkin’s desk, alongside countless other letters, messages, emails, phone calls and specific recommendations by fellow priests and bishops, including the Bishop of SouthBend. The outcry was clear. It was passionate. It was prayerful, anguished and spontaneous. Still, Father Jenkins and the University persisted.

On April 27th, the response was then augmented and echoed by the slated recipient of the Laetare Medal, Mary Ann Glendon, when she opted to decline the opportunity in light of the pain this scandal has thus far brought.

So I wondered. Was Father Jenkins losing his faith? Was he beholden to an increasingly secular faculty? Was he hungry for recognition for a school that had not had a shining moment on the football field in a long time? Was it a personal weakness for power or fame? Was it a combination of some or all of these things?

In the most benevolent of interpretations of the events, Fr. Jenkins thought of his beloved university and saw the prestige of having another President come to speak at a commencement. He probably anticipated there would be some people upset by the invitation, but nothing more would come of it than that he might receive a few irritated phone calls, and some angry letters and emails.After all, the President of the United States was a popular President, who received more votes than any other candidate in history, and a majority of the Catholic vote.

Surely people wouldn’t demand that he rescind the invitation to the President of the United States; this was their president too. This was a commencement, not a campaign. The moment would not be an endorsement or a plug for any particular position. It was an honor for the school and would showcase Notre Dame as being a place for both parties, in case any prospective students with liberal or democratic tendencies were put off by the misconception that only red meat Republicans attended.

Additionally, Notre Dame had a long and storied history of supporting civil rights and here was part of the fruit of the school and its students’ labors in that struggle. The first African American president of this country that had once held slaves, segregated children and denied equal opportunity to people because of the color of their skin, was coming to speak.

The President had shown he was willing to be a moral voice for good. He had declared torture to be always wrong. Saying something that obviously morally correct and yet controversial, took courage. There was much about the President and the current party sitting in power, both in the executive and legislative branch that fit with Catholic social teaching. Service to the poor, healthcare for the sick, room in the inn for the immigrant, all of these causes reflected issues that should transcend the parties’ labels of “R” and “D” in the individual lives of Americans, of Catholics and the whole body of Christ. The vast plurality of Congress reflected the general public’s desire to champion these worthy causes.

So I could almost see how Fr. Jenkins came to think that inviting this particular President to speak was an acceptable action.

Almost.

But then I went and reread the United States Council of Catholic Bishops’ 2004 statement concerning “Catholics in Political Life,” and Fr. Jenkin’s interpretation of that statement. Fr. Jenkins’ defense parsed cannon law to indicate that honoring someone who was not Catholic who acted in defiance Catholic teaching was not a violation.And then I thought about what this President has actually done in a few short weeks not withstanding his dulcet tones. And I remembered how the confluence of executive orders, the shift in power in the legislative branch, and current events have created an environment hostile to the unborn, and thus to the moral teachings of the Church. Fr. Jenkin’s interpretation of USCCB law could not be interpreted by the public or by the faithful as anything but spin.

So although I can sympathize a little bit with how lonely it must feel now for Fr. Jenkins to be so scourged by his own school’s people, the alumni, and no small number of the Catholic community at large, I still come back to the firm reality that the University created in honor of the most holy woman on Heaven and Earth, is giving applause and a stage and an award to a man who advocates the very opposite of Mary’s humble “yes.”

Notre Dame shall honor a man whose policies demand that the faithful “Render unto Caesar” money that will be used by organizations to promote abortions abroad and finance experimentation on frozen embryos at home.

Fr. Jenkins should have used better judgment.

These days, the unborn have only tangential representation in the form of a few outspoken legislators. They live in limbo. They are created and then frozen. Some are sentenced to await experimentation and then death. Others are simply sentenced to wait. The unborn are burned with acid. They are dismembered. They are destroyed within their mother’s womb by the thousands. They stockpile outside of any womb, waiting. The unborn remain the poorest of the poor, without refuge save the grace accepted by each individual woman who imitates Mary by saying “Yes.”

So it is now that institutions like the University of Notre Dame must be the fiercest advocates for the unborn. It is now that those in power must be reminded daily of their duty to all citizens, including the most defenseless, most voiceless, the most vulnerable. The University of Notre Dame is an institution of higher learning; but it must also be a light to the world. That is what all Catholics and therefore, all Catholic institutions are called to be.

Fr. Jenkins may be the University President, but he should also be God's man first.

Notre Dame may be a University, but it should be Mary's first.

And thus I come back to “WHY?”

It may be only a coincidence but ND1, the Notre Dame plane used to woo coaches and others, filed a flight plan to and from Washington DC on April 22nd. The University said Fr. Jenkins did not go there to meet with the President, but it also has not said why the plane went to Washington. If it had been to recruit a hot prospect in the off season, this would probably have been made public.

Just a few short days later, on April 29th, the SouthBend Tribune ran a story that the University of Notre Dame will be one of the recipients of funds from the stimulus bill for research “on elements that are the basis of nuclear energy.”The funding for the Energy Frontier Research Center is between 2 and 5 million per year for five years. There are sixteen schools that received such grants from the U.S. Department of Energy through the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act.

Could it be that simple?

It may be that all of this scandal was simply about following the money and obeying those who control the purse strings. Ten to twenty-five million dollars might have influenced the decision to hold fast on granting the current leader of the free world an honorary degree.

In Robert Bolt’s “A Man for All Seasons,” there is a moment, when Richard Rich reveals to Sir Thomas More that he has been given the position of Attorney General of Wales as a reward for his perjured testimony that helped convict More. The saint responds, "Richard, it profits a man nothing to trade his soul for the whole world; but for Wales?"

Whatever the reason, it remains a very expensive degree to grant for all concerned. Whatever the profit for the University of Notre Dame by the grant of this award, the cost was too high.

What I Should Have Said

Homilies are a time for the parish to connect with the Pastoral leader. On a college campus, the priest presiding over a mass has the once a week opportunity to instruct young adults on how to conduct themselves the other six days of the week, such that they live lives of moral clarity and value.

The priest at my campus took his job seriously. He worried about being accessible to the infinitely distractible 18-21 year olds who were newly away from home. Diligently, he sought inspiration from the world around him, to link scriptural passages to modern day life; to make the muddled brains of possibly beer fogged co-eds see the relevance of God’s spoken word to life in the 21st century.

Because the mass was held just five doors down from my room, it was ridiculously easy for me to make it on time, and to celebrate with more than a plurality of people I liked. It seemed an ideal arrangement.

The first week. After reading the Gospel, our priest, Fr. T. started talking about walking about the Notre Dame campus and approaching the Athletic Convention Center, affectionately known as the ACC. A concert was planned for that Saturday and he had watched the workmen unloading speakers and lights and staging equipment.

“You know…, Life’s kind of like that, we are preparing for the big event. And all of our preparations lead up to that moment.”

“Okay. Yeah…” I went back to my room and diligently checked off in my head…went to mass, fulfilled weekly obligation.

The next week. I just had to give this mass a chance I told myself. There were people here who I knew had rock solid faith lives. We were at a university dedicated to Our Lady for crying out loud.

The homily began. “I was walking along the campus the other day. I saw a car packed up with suitcases.”

I waited for the line of relevance between the Gospel and the sermon. “…You know, life’s kind of like that. We pack up our stuff and carry it around with us, like that overloaded Volkswagen beetle.”

The image of our sins being loaded into a car for our cosmic road trip through life…it was a bit of a stretch. Maybe homilies weren’t his strong suit I told myself. To be fair, I’d give it a month.

The next week. Some liturgy students thought that perhaps we needed some jazzing up of the mass and so they tried “Clown ministry.” When the girl welcomed us to mass wearing a red rubber nose, it took restraint not to physically recoil.

When the priest tried to explain that her attire was a sign of her faith and willingness to be a fool for Christ, I struggled morally to keep from screaming. But my friends were here and singing in the mass so I told myself, the liturgy is the liturgy and “This I Believe,” and that the Eucharist mattered more than any of the window dressing. I also wondered if I had to go to confession for the mocking commentary that kept popping into my head.

Three weeks had been, while memorable and I will grant, the homilies have stuck with me now for 24 YEARS, like subsisting on Dominos Pizzas spiritually speaking. The priest even had me doing it…equating everything in my entire college experience with spiritual merit, real or otherwise.

This time, I dragged my non-church going at the time boyfriend (now husband who makes sure we get there on time no matter what and even use the envelopes that match the actual date) as an independent observer to determine if I was being overly critical. I prayed desperately there would be no people wearing extraordinarily oversized red shoes and ball noses to greet us.

Mass began with a Latin hymn this time, and I wondered if the ultra traditional beginning was in response to perhaps congregational psychological distress over the inclusion of circus attire for ushers. Maybe the priest was trying a potpourri approach to liturgy, trying to hit all different levels of spirituality by having each Sunday a different style of mass. My brain came up with multiple explanations to mollify and explain away the first three weeks. I convinced myself it was all a hyper over reaction in my head.

Until the homily.

“I was walking on campus the other day…”

Oh no.

“And I saw a little squirrel.”

No. No. Please no.

“And I had a few peanuts in my pocket.”

Bring back the clowns…trapeze artists…Volkswagens…anything…

“And the squirrel was hesitant. He came forward a bit, and then he held back. You know…we’re kind of like that. Life’s kind of like that. Life’s kind of like that squirrel…”

I know I stayed for the rest of the mass. I even shook his hand at the end and thanked him for saying mass. But I went to a different liturgy from then on, opting to frontload by taking care of it on Saturday night after football games or putting it off until 10pm on Sunday when I’d need a study break.

Two dozen years later, I finally know what I should have said at the end of the mass to Fr. T.

“Have you considered taking a road trip?”

If The Cubbies Win it All, Will Baseball Still Matter to Me?

For years, ever since I went to school in Southbend, I have been a closet Cub fan. I never memorized stats or line ups although my husband shrewdly figured out I thought Mark Grace in his prime was cute, but I loved watching the team on TV.

I think the pleasure began when I opted to skip a class where the poet Denise Levetov was coming to speak in favor of an afternoon game Senior year. We had seen her the day before in a special lecture where she proceeded to insult virtually everyone including my favorite teacher. I decided I didn’t want a second helping from the lady who critiqued my poetry thusly, “I’m very surprised, I almost believed this.” So, I went to the game instead.

We left a note for Harry Carey as he had a soft spot for Notre Dame and Saint Mary’s. “Our Dates came for the Sr. Formal, but we came for the Cubs.” It didn’t matter that the four of us who signed it were each other’s dates, I knew Harry would like the sentiment. He read it and our names on the air.

That Monday, my Creative Writing teacher and head of the department, a die-hard Chicago true Cubs fan called me into his office. “Sherry…we missed you on Friday. You weren’t by any chance at a Cubs game were you?”

Now I hadn’t missed or skipped an English class in four years, even when sick or having pulled an all nighter. This was my first time ever to blow off a class. “Yes.” I answered meekly.

“Good for you. I heard your name on the radio.” He smiled. I’d forgotten he tuned into every game, and this was before IPods and downloading and TiVo were possible.

While that may have been the genesis of my interest in the perennial bottom dwelling little bears from the windy place, I realized over the years, it was more of a devotion to Greek Tragedy. Being in love with a losing team that never gets to the top is similar to loving unconditionally and requires a special willingness to pour out one’s heart. It is a state close to grace in the sports world. Being the Charlie Brown who never kicks the football and tries anyway is Sisyphean, Homeric, epic in nature. I have to consider if it’s the Cubs or the relentless yearly story of constant struggle and disappointment that I enjoy.

And thus I wonder as the Cubs continue to rank first in the NL Central, if the Cubs win it all, if the happy ending for the longest suffering fans in all of America occurs, will we then become soccerphiles like the rest of the world? Will we then only seek to sate our sports desires with winning teams and no longer derive pleasure from loving organizations that do not love us back via success? Will watching a Cubs game post a World Series Winning matter to me or anyone else?

And then I remember, Notre Dame hasn’t won a championship since 1988! I get mad at them even when they’re winning if they aren’t winning beautifully. I want no penalties and no close calls and there are always tons of both to drive me nuts.

Thank God for the Irish!

Oh and, Go Cubbies!

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Today's Four Horsemen of Notre Dame

Yesterday, I took my oldest four to see Pope Benedict XVI at Washington National Park. It was a profound moment to be part of a mass with 46 thousand faithful and the pontiff.

The only issue, leaving the stadium, there were protesting evangelists who had six feet tall banners declaring "IF YOU BELIEVE THE POPE, YOU ARE GOING TO HELL" and "WHERE IN THE BIBLE DO YOU FIND PRAYING TO MARY, PURGATORY, INDULGENCES? YOU HAVE BEEN LIED TO!" While I was irritated to be accosted instantly upon leaving a beautiful mass, I explained to my children, this was part of the beauty of the country we lived in, anyone could say and believe anything.

I would have been content with the live and let live benevolence if the man had not then produced a bullhorn and started accosting anyone wearing a pro-Pope Benedict t-shirt...including small children. My small children were home with their father, but I growled that a grown man thought a five year old was a fair target for his vitriol. Still, I had to be an example. My oldest was fifteen. He saw the incident and wanted to take the man on, "He's spouting inaccuracies..." he would attack on substance, toe to toe. I told him "No."

The densely packed street made movement slow, allowing the man to shout and shout and shout, wearing down my goodwill and willingness to be charitable. "The Church wanted to Kill Martin Luther..."

My son shot back, "He died of natural causes." The man didn't know who said it, but felt called to call us "Sheep." The kids looked to me...I pointed out that in the parable, Jesus separated the sheep from the goats --sheep were good things. They looked mollified...slightly.

My oldest two took out their papal flags and waved them deliberately, starting something of a silent cascade behind them in protest of yellow banners. The man grew bolder in his assertions of our foolishness.

Finally, I growled to the man next to me...if he attacks my children, I'm going Old Testament. Wrath of God..." The man had been talking to me about the music, he was part of the choir. "But we're supposed to turn the other cheek."

"Yes," I countered, "But luckily, we're Catholic so if we don't, there's always confession..."

Looking at the man now pointing at teens and saying, "You're on the wrong path. This pope lies."

The man nodded his head. "I wonder if I could find a priest..." he asked aloud.
...the kids laughed..."Of course, there's the little problem with remorse...that might take a few days." The choir now was laughing.

We were almost past the very angry man when he started in on Mary, Mother of God. Other women and men in the choir were debating what to do, discussing what was the holy response. I did like the answer by someone, "Just punch him." I had to agree, it seemed the most effective or at least emotionally satisfying.

The kids were clearly troubled by this new attack, so as a group, we huddled and said a vocal "Hail Mary, followed by Notre Dame Our Mother, Pray for Him." Go Irish!

The Sounding Fury of an English Tutor

Every time I’ve ever considered myself competent in English, someone has come along to set the record straight.

Back in high school, I took regular English instead of Honors freshman year. The kid next to me was blonde and blue eyed, just like the teacher. She asked him to look up, she called him “Son.” Being a literal child, I took this to mean there was a genetic or at least custodial relationship between the two of them. A few minutes later, I saw him write in large letters on a page of loose leaf, “I HATE YOU MOTHER….” I’ll let you fill in the blank, this is a family blog.

I said in shock, “That’s not a very nice thing to say about your mother.”
The boy, now convinced that perhaps I should have been held back further still, shook his head incredulously. “She’s not my mom.” We did not speak again the entire four years.

At college, I took my major seriously. I had learned poetry, read Shakespeare, I knew my 19th century fiction and could trace the development of the sonnet over the entire Renaissance period, I could even write sonnets, not that there was much demand for that sort of thing.

There was one author that thwarted me, Faulkner. I read the book. I reread the book. I read the cliffs. I reread the cliffs. I flunked the quiz. Zero. I had understood nothing. The teacher thought I had blown off the assignment and was just being funny, so he read my quiz aloud in class as a compliment. I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. After that, I avoided all literature born in the New World.

Then I entered the work force as a teacher.

My teaching assistant was at a community college and struggling with her English required course. I offered to help as a means of sealing a bond between me and her. She had to look at two poems, compare and pick the “best one.” Struggling with the criteria to pick a “best poem,” I gamely took a gander at the two choices and discussed it with my TA. We went through the pros and cons of both. I did have an opinion. I explained it. She went with it. The poem I didn't pick... the teacher described in her notes as "Faulkneresque."

The teacher said she had picked the wrong poem.

One would think I would have learned not to mess around with English classes to which I do not belong, but no, I am stubborn and remember, I wasn’t in the Honors class.

Enter my poor son. He is in Honors English. Faulkner. He read the book. He had me read the book. We discussed the book. We researched together and discussed his paper. He wrote. I make him rewrite. He wrote again. I make him rewrite again. Five days of pure English Major boot camp Faulkner Sound and Fury hell produced a beautiful paper ready for submission right under the wire.

I won’t tell you his grade but I’m now restricting my tutoring to math.

First Impressions

When I first saw my future husband across a crowded room at a Notre Dame Freshman mixer, I decided not to introduce myself. He was too serious. Glancing at my outfit, which I thought I projected cool (Actually, it screamed stuck-in-the-early-eighties, saw-and-liked-Xanadu) he thought to himself, “Look at that girl in the silly hat. Bet she’s pretty superficial.”

We were both right.

In graduate school, my advisor called me into his office to discuss the beginning of my program.

“You’re from Texas.” He said, looking at my papers.

“Yes.”

“Well, I heard all the women down there are beautiful and tall. What happened to you?”

I stood up as tall as my five foot two inches would allow and said, “Well that’s true. Down in Texas I’m pretty average, but up here in Boston, I’m stunning.”

I became his assistant. In retrospect, I'm not sure it was a reward.

Meeting my future father-in-law for the first time, my luggage had made the decision to spend the evening at O’Hare. I had to beg and borrow from girls in my dorm to put together an outfit that did not smell like a three hour bus ride. One friend offered to do my hair and gave me sideburns that matched hers and three inch high curled bangs. I’m still recovering.

Interviewing in New York City for a teaching position, there was a carnival going on that day on the playground. The person scheduled to paint faces had not shown and I had just finished talking with the vice principal. For the next two hours, my fingers were covered in grease paint and cold cream. The principal came by the school grounds to put in an appearance. “Who’s that over there?” he asked the vice principal.

I got the job.

When we moved to Maryland, it was the dead of winter and the roads were coated with ice and the grey snow that always grips February. Alone in our rented townhome, I spied a woman walking with a child close to my then one year old son’s age. They were just following the sidewalk. Running out onto the snow barefoot, desperate to make a connection with someone in the area, I must have been a frighteningly mad sight as I screamed. “Hey! Hello! I’d like to meet you!”

We became friends despite that rough intro.

And speaking of introductions....

Hi. My name is Sherry Antonetti and I’m a freelance writer.

While my background is special education and English literature, I currently stay home and help shepherd our eight children through their various stages of development. I also write. Why? It provides my offspring with an edited version of their childhood that is as honest as those multi-hued elegantly pasted scrapbooks. These stories are mythic in that they reveal truth without being completely factual.

It is also loads of fun for me.

Pass the fuchsia curly cue scissors please.

Thank you for considering my voice amongst a sea of bloggers and I hope I made you laugh.