"He goes to Smith Memorial. The nuns teach him that stuff there."
Oh. Smith Memorial was a long ways from where we lived in North Port. It was in South Port. I didn't want to have to walk there every day. I was seven. I had other stuff to do after school.
Father Wilfred was going to teach us catechism - Saturday mornings until confirmation. I already had my saint name picked out - Saint Gerard. I heard he could communicate with animals and that was pretty neat. Plus Gerard was my brother Pat's middle name so that just fit perfectly.
I was kind of disappointed that Father Wilfred was the teacher. He was kind and gentle, but of the two priests, Father Siggy was the cool one; younger, louder, more hip, big fan of the Montreal Canadiens like me.
Day one we were given a special book: The St. Joseph Baltimore Catechism. We were told (very slowly and gravely) to not read ahead.
The book format was a kind of call and response; inside the cover the first page had a simple question. This was to spark thoughts and discussion. But not too much thought, this was, after all, the Catholic Church. Turn the page to see the (correct) answer on page two and the second question on page three. There were pictures.
Page one (Father Wilfred's tired voice): "Who made me?" Excellent Question. I think I had that one down. I was pretty sure Father Wilfred meant me and not him. I had no idea who made him nor was I too interested in finding out. Turn the page and discover...
"God made me." Oh. OK. Big picture of a bearded white-haired man with fluffy clouds all around.
I have to admit that one threw me off balance. I was hoping for a little more of a personal approach to finding out who made me. After all, this catechism thing was designed to help kids answer some pretty important questions.
Page three: (Father Wilfred's tired voice talking about the Father and the Creator and such and then - "How did God Make Me?"
Now there was a question! How did he do it? Pretty amazing work, if you ask me. How the heck did he do it? What's the secret? I couldn't wait to turn the page. But I resisted the temptation; at the core I was an obedient sort. I could whine with the best of them but in the end I always relented. Why fight the power?
Father Wilfred was giving us time to ponder. It didn't help me much. My mind was screaming. I had to know. How did God make me? What were his methods, his tools, his recipes? Come on Father Wilfred, Father Siggy wouldn't have made us wait so long.... Father Wilfred was talking, I was not listening.
At last the big reveal. When I turn this page I will know all! I will know God's secrets about how I was made. This was going to be good.
Tired voice, "Turn the page children."
Answer: "God made me in His image and likeness."
Ok hold on a minute.... I turned back to that picture on page two of the bearded white haired man in the clouds. Image and likeness? Likeness? Him? Me?
Where were the secret methods, the special tools?
My mind drifted. There were more questions, more answers. I don't remember any of them. I guess I could look them up if I wanted.
Speaking of putting that one back - any chance of hearing Bill tell the story of the magazine in the trunk of the car?
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