The Haunted Heritage

Two-1

Two

ONE OF THINGS THAT I have been both looking forward to and dreading since the beginning of the new school year is meeting with this year’s group of First Communicants. These kids, generally going into second grade, will spend the coming school year preparing to receive First Holy Communion in the spring.

Normally, I would not meet with them until sometime during Lent. Their initial instruction would come from Saint Clare’s Director of Religious Education, and I’d only come in to talk to each child individually near the designated time.

But we hardly have a normal situation this year. I have not yet hired a Director of Religious Education to replace the crazy woman who shot Helen a few months ago. I’ve managed to resist Anna’s best efforts to get me to advertise in the Archdioceses of Baltimore and Washington for a new DRE, since I’m reluctant to take any chances hiring another person who turns out to be a lunatic. There’s always the possibility we’d wind up with an actual serial killer instead of simply the daughter of one.

I have put in a request, through the Archdiocese, to the Nashville Dominicans for a qualified sister to serve as the DRE. But it’s one of hundreds of similar requests from this order of teaching nuns—one of the most rapidly growing religious communities in the country, with young women eager to serve God and His people—and the likelihood of receiving one in my lifetime is small. But I’m hopeful.

So, because of my determination—or stubbornness, depending on who you ask—I am taking on the responsibility of leading the children, and their parents, through the first steps. That is why, at 9:15 a.m., I’m seated on a child-size chair in the first grade classroom, surrounded by about a dozen inquisitive looking youngsters and their obviously nervous parents.

Technically, not all the parents are nervous. Alan Trent, who was just made chair of the Department of Philosophy and Theology at Myer College, and is arguably better qualified than I am to teach this class, is here with his youngest, Betty. She is the ninth—and last—Trent child to prepare to receive her first sacraments at Saint Clare’s

Louise Harrell is there with Martin Maycord’s two older nieces, Lucy and Sophie—the latter, at eight, being the oldest child in the group. I’m gratified to see them here. Since their father was imprisoned for various crimes ranging from drug trafficking to being an accessory to murder, they’ve made remarkable progress, thanks to both the stability provided by their uncle and the counseling provided by their therapist—and Martin’s girlfriend—Mae Trent. The girls are still shy, but Louise more than makes up for their awkwardness with her warm, encouraging smile and helpful comments.

Miriam Conway, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to throw up. Now, that may or may not be related to her very obvious pregnancy. She is in her seventh month and due in late-December. Both she and Dan are hoping for a girl to, as Dan says, “help civilize the three hooligans”—his affectionate term for his twin boys, Max and JP, and their brother Andrew.

Sitting next to Miriam is their daughter, Catherine, who is not quite seven. If it were any child other than her, I’d wonder if she were ready for her first sacraments. But it seems appropriate that Saint Clare’s little seer should be spiritually precocious. Of course, wondering what her daughter might say is probably contributing to Miriam’s nausea.

I know the other parents and children less well, but all are regular attendees at Mass and have been in religious education before, so I don’t foresee any problems.

My optimism will be the death of me.

I’m about to start when Helen slips in the back and takes a seat by Miriam. She gives the mother of her godchild-to-be a hug and blows a kiss to Catherine. She catches my eye and gives me a smile and a wink.

“OK, boys and girls,” I say with what I hope is a friendly smile. “In church, we always begin everything with a prayer. So, let’s start by saying the Lord’s Prayer.”

After making the sign of the cross—and noticing my first job will be to teach a few of the children the proper way to make the sign of the cross—I begin the prayer by saying “Our Father.” From there, the children all join in, some more than others, including one little boy with a very short hair cut who seems to think that God will hear him better if he yells.

“Very good, very good,” I say, encouraged that most of them at least seemed familiar with a prayer we say at every single Mass. “OK, so, who here knows who I am?”

Several hands go up, and I call on a little blond girl who says, “You’re Father Tom.”

“That’s right,” I say.

I think, This is going to be easier than I thought. “And what is your name?”

“Emily,” she says pleasantly. “Father Tom, I have a question.”

“OK, sure” I say, happy to meet such an enthusiastic student.

“Why don’t you have heat in your house?” she says with perfect seriousness.

“What?” I ask, obviously caught off guard.

“My Daddy says that you're a priest and if you're cold at night, you should get a blanket, not a wife.”

There are a few stifled chuckles from the adults—including Helen, bless her heart—and I see Emily’s mother lunging for the child from the back row. I wave her back to her seat with what I hope is an understanding smile.

I then turn my attention back to Emily and say, “Oh, Emily, thank you for asking. I do have heat in my house but I haven’t had to use it in a while because it's been summer time. But now the fall is coming and it's time to start talking about Sacraments. Who knows what a sacrament is?”

The boy with the short hair, whose name tag reads “Daniel,” waves his hand.

“Yes, Daniel,” I say.

Standing up, he belts out, “They are the divine helps which God gives us to enable us to believe the truths of faith, live according to God’s moral code, and grow in the gift of divine life.”

“That’s very good, Daniel,” I say, as his mother beams with pride. “So a sacrament is something that God has given us to help us be closer to him. There are Seven Sacraments. The first is one that you’ve all had, right after you were born. Does anyone know what that was?”

A little boy named “Pio” raises his hand, and when I call on him says confidently, “Circumcision.”

“No,” I say as the parents in the room try desperately not to laugh. “This involves water and usually a baby wears a white outfit for it.”

At this the entire class erupts with “baptism” and I smile on them beatifically as I say, “Right. Baptism is the first sacrament you receive and the second is called reconciliation. Now, does anyone know what reconciliation is?”

A little girl named Alice raises her hand and says, “It's when a husband leaves the w***e he’s been shacking up with and moves back in with his wife.”

There are a few audible gasps, and I wonder if the sun has gone behind a cloud or if I am about to pass out, when a deep voice from the back corner of the room commands, “Alice Elisabeth McDermott, you need to shut your mouth!”

Wanting to defend little Alice, who looks about to cry, I say, “That’s sort of right. It is when two people who have not been getting along say they’re sorry and become friends again. With the sacrament of reconciliation, we admit that we’ve done some things that are wrong and have kept us away from God so that we can be close to him again. We do this in Confession. Who knows what Confession is?”

Catherine Conway throws her hand up confidently. “Yes, Catherine,” I say, noticing too late the look of horror on Miriam’s face.

I soon understand why.

“Father Tom,” Catherine says authoritatively, “a confession is when a perp admits he is guilty, but sometimes you have to beat it out of him.”

Helen almost bursts out laughing. Miriam looks like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her. Around Catherine, little boys and girls are expressing horror.

“No, no, Catherine,” I say quickly, trying to maintain a smiling countenance, “that’s not—”

“But Father Tom,” she continues with surprising dignity, “you will not have to beat a confession out of me. Mommy has made me keep a list of all the things I’ve done wrong ever since I could spell ‘hit’ and ‘bit’.”

“That’s good, Catherine,” I say weakly as Miriam struggles to remain upright in her chair.

“Father Tom!” Daniel yells, “Are you going to beat us?”

“No, of course not,” I say hastily. “Catherine—”

“No, Father Tom’s not going to beat us,” Emily says. “He’s nice.”

“Thank you, Emily,” I say, thinking things have turned a corner.

“He’ll get Miss Helen to do it,” she goes on. “She’s a cop.”

From the back of the room, I hear Helen begin to laugh uncontrollably. She stands up and exits swiftly.

“Daddy will do it for you,” Catherine says, “if Miss Helen can’t. I’ve heard Mommy and Daddy say—.”

“OK,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster, “We’re out of time. Miss Helen has some treats for you in the other room. I need a minute or two to talk with your mommies and daddies and then we’ll come in there, too.”

As soon as the last child has cleared the door, I look at these desperate parents and say calmly, “I assure you that I treat all comments that come to my ears with the utmost charity and encourage all of you to do likewise. Please check your email Tuesday morning for a set of printable worksheets that the children can complete at home in the coming week. I will go over the material with them during next week’s session. Obviously, the Socratic method is for the birds. Class dismissed.”

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