I grew up a little Catholic girl. Though looking back, Mom was just going through the motions. I don't remember her ever praying or even talking about God. She just made sure the little Bullock girls went to to church and got all those necessary sacraments.
Dad wasn't Catholic. He was Country Clubian - playing golf at Atlantic Golf and Country Club in the warm months and playing pitch in the bar of the Club when it was cold. It was very exciting for me when it (by it I do mean my father - we called him it for fun. Not really but I'm covering up a typo) did go to church on the rare occasion - usually midnight mass, once Betso was old enough to attend along with the rest of the gang.
My first memories of church are pre Vatican II. Kneeling on the rough wooden kneelers at the beautiful St. Peter and Paul church in Atlantic. My knees would get all bumpy and sore. Back then, we had to wear hats or doilies on our heads in church, the priest faced the altar saying mass and there was a wooden railing between the altar and the people. During communion, people would go up and kneel by the railing and the priest would walk along and give each one the holy Eucharist.
Mass seemed to go on forever back then! I would cringe when the priest would pick the longest option for the middle part of the mass. So I would begin to daydream. Our church had an elaborate altar - very tall and ornate. It had little openings like doors and windows, and places for statues. It was gilded. In my mind, little gnomes lived there, climbing to and fro to visit friends, gather food and water (holy of course). Ah what an imagination - or what ADD take your pick!
I think back about all the kids in my grade that attended the Catholic Church. I wonder how many of them go there now. Less than a third I'm betting. Maybe less than a tenth. Would I be Catholic now if I'd not married Paul Goldsmith? Hmmm I'm thinking no, but I'm not sure I'd have gone for another religion. Probably would just have dropped out, like my sis Cindo - who remains a very spiritual person, just not a church-goer.
For now, I'll continue to attend. It makes Pablo happy. And it is a ritual to me that I'm not totally ready to give up. The physical place - Holy Spirit is homey. I like being surrounded by people I have come to recognize, know and like through these past 23 years. The Mass - again the ritual is calming. We Catholics aren't known for kick ass music, but again I enjoy singing hymns and trying to harmonize when I was never really an Alto (thanks a lot Delma Wright of AHS for stifling my musical ego). During Mass I don't imagine little elves living in the altar, but it is a good time to reflect on my week and my actions.
Dad wasn't Catholic. He was Country Clubian - playing golf at Atlantic Golf and Country Club in the warm months and playing pitch in the bar of the Club when it was cold. It was very exciting for me when it (by it I do mean my father - we called him it for fun. Not really but I'm covering up a typo) did go to church on the rare occasion - usually midnight mass, once Betso was old enough to attend along with the rest of the gang.
My first memories of church are pre Vatican II. Kneeling on the rough wooden kneelers at the beautiful St. Peter and Paul church in Atlantic. My knees would get all bumpy and sore. Back then, we had to wear hats or doilies on our heads in church, the priest faced the altar saying mass and there was a wooden railing between the altar and the people. During communion, people would go up and kneel by the railing and the priest would walk along and give each one the holy Eucharist.
Mass seemed to go on forever back then! I would cringe when the priest would pick the longest option for the middle part of the mass. So I would begin to daydream. Our church had an elaborate altar - very tall and ornate. It had little openings like doors and windows, and places for statues. It was gilded. In my mind, little gnomes lived there, climbing to and fro to visit friends, gather food and water (holy of course). Ah what an imagination - or what ADD take your pick!
I think back about all the kids in my grade that attended the Catholic Church. I wonder how many of them go there now. Less than a third I'm betting. Maybe less than a tenth. Would I be Catholic now if I'd not married Paul Goldsmith? Hmmm I'm thinking no, but I'm not sure I'd have gone for another religion. Probably would just have dropped out, like my sis Cindo - who remains a very spiritual person, just not a church-goer.
For now, I'll continue to attend. It makes Pablo happy. And it is a ritual to me that I'm not totally ready to give up. The physical place - Holy Spirit is homey. I like being surrounded by people I have come to recognize, know and like through these past 23 years. The Mass - again the ritual is calming. We Catholics aren't known for kick ass music, but again I enjoy singing hymns and trying to harmonize when I was never really an Alto (thanks a lot Delma Wright of AHS for stifling my musical ego). During Mass I don't imagine little elves living in the altar, but it is a good time to reflect on my week and my actions.
2 comments:
The Lynams were Catholic up until my Great-grandfather, Barney. Thanks to ill will because of that I grew up believing Catholics were awful people.
Then in highschool, two of my best friends were Catholic. I still remember the first time I stayed over night with one of them and found her Rosary under the pillow. "What's this?" I asked. I don't know which of us was more embarrassed.
I read your Dad's religion as "Country Cuban". Ha!
did you mean to call grampa an "it"? (2nd paragraph.) if so, that was funny. if not, that was still funny.
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