Growing Up Catholic - Part 3

So we continued in this pattern of the kids going to church, and the parents staying at home. I think mom may have gone with us occasionally. In third grade I started going to catechism. This was cool because every kid who went to catechism got to leave school early. We would walk to the church a few blocks from the school. Third grade was when you started taking communion, and catechism was to prepare you for your first communion, which was a big deal with the Catholics, as least back then. They would have a special service for the newbies, where you would dress your best and family and friends would attend to witness it. You also go congratulatory cards from people, usually with gifts, mostly cash. Cha-ching!

Fourth grade was another year of catechism. (I do not recall if it was the full year, I really don't think it was, but I cannot say how many weeks it went. This time they were preparing you for confirmation, another big deal for the Catholics. Confirmation was to be in May. By January, I was already in classes for it. Then something happened that changed things. My grandmother on my mom's side was planning to come over from Germany to attend my confirmation. This would have been her first trip to the states. But that never happened. The January prior to that May she had a stroke and passed away. As I recall, I came home one day to mom crying. She had gotten a telegram with the news. That was how mom and dad found out about the passing of a relative back then. I don't think they ever got a telegram that had good news.

Shortly after grandma's passing, mom came to me and asked me me if I would mind waiting until the next year to participate in confirmation, that doing it so soon after grandma's passing would be hard on her. No problem, not a big deal for me since I still wasn't sure what it all meant. Soon after that, they stopped sending us to church, and the subject was not mentioned much again. I did not participate in catechism or my confirmation that next year.

My mom and dad were good people. They drank, as Germans do, but I never saw them drunk. They didn't curse, well, dad did let one slip a time or two and made me promise not to tell mom. They were good at taking care of us, dad worked hard and mom kept a clean house. And so on. I remember dad saying something once about how even though we didn't attend church, that did not mean that we did not believe in God. I just accepted that. And life went on.