Reconnecting With The Friends Of My Youth

Grams graduated from Corpus Christi's W. B. Ray High School in 1972. That means, next year my high school graduating class will hold its 40 year reunion. Now, I love the idea of a reunion. The thought of getting together with old friends and rehashing the way things used to be reminiscing appeals to me. But the reality of such a reunion just didn't work out for me. I've only been to one of my high school reunions. That was in 1982 when we gathered for our 10 year reunion. The class of '72 at Ray HS was huge -- several hundred students. I had few friends who were actually in my class. The few kids from school that I ran with were a year older than me, so they were not at the reunion that I attended. Very few of my friends were there.

The reunion committee did a great job planning activities for the entire weekend. The class met at a local barbecue place for dinner on Friday night, there was a family picnic at noon on Saturday, and then a dinner and dance on Saturday night. In 1982, Grandad and I had two small children and not much money. We spent what was at the time a significant amount of money to attend. About halfway through the weekend, I realized that I had wasted that money. These were not my friends. These were not the people I wanted to see again and I was not having a good time. I turned to my husband and said something like "I didn't even like these people in high school. What am I doing here?" Needless to say, we've never been back to another reunion.

When I realized that my 40 year reunion would be next year, I started thinking about it and realized that there is actually a group of people that I would like to see again. I was privileged to belong to a church youth group that was very active and very close. There was a core group of about 50 kids with another 25-50 who came and went over the years. These were the kids that I ran with.

I remember feeling like all most teenagers feel with the kids at school. You know the feelings -- not good enough, not smart enough, not wealthy enough, not pretty enough, and so on. But, with this large group of teenagers at church, I don't ever remember feeling that way. For the most part, we were all accepting of each other. We went to summer camp together, we hung out in the youth room at church several times a week, we dated each other, we took summer mission trips together, and generally we spent a lot of time together. I don't ever remember anyone being alienated, bullied, or treated badly. Everyone was welcomed with open arms.

Don't get me wrong, we were kids.We did the same things all kids do ... we rolled houses, we drove too fast, we went parking, we got into mischief, but the important thing is we liked each other and we were open and accepting to new kids in the group. Now, 40 years later, I realize how rare and wonderful that group was and how fortunate I was to belong to such a group.

This youth group was part of Morgan Avenue Baptist Church in Corpus Christi, Texas, which no longer exists. But thanks to Facebook, several of us have gotten back in touch. We started kicking around the idea of a reunion for the MABC Youth Group of the 1960s and 1970s. We spent a few months tracking down as many of our old friends as we could. Then last Saturday, we met in San Antonio for a 3 hour reunion. We ate, we talked, we reminisced, we took pictures and we even sang. It was a blessing. We were also delighted to be joined by Scotty & Thelda Jefferies who were two of our adult leaders. They are the couple seated on the front row.

We're making plans to get together again next year, possibly in Corpus Christi. In the meantime, we'll be working on tracking down a few more of the people from that youth group. Next year we're going to include the entire church membership in our reunion.

If you are a former member of Morgan Avenue Baptist Church, there is an alumni group on Facebook that you should join. The name of the group is Morgan Avenue Baptist Church alums. Nancy Kay Rodman Smith is the group moderator. Nancy also maintains an email distribution list for former members of MABC that is separate from Facebook. If you would like to be included on that list email Nancy at nkrsmith(at)gmail(dot)com.

I can truly say that the years I spent as part of the youth group at Morgan Avenue Baptist Church were wonderful. Every child should have friends like that and adults who care and set such a good example. These people helped make me the person I am today. I am so happy to once again be in touch with these old friends.

Morgan Avenue Baptist Church may no longer exist as a place or a building, but it is alive and well in the friends of my youth.

One of those subjects we should avoid ... Religion

Grams has spent several days writing and re-writing this post.  I realize that it will not be popular and will probably tick some people off to the extreme. But I'm going to publish it anyway, because sometimes you've just got to say what you've got to say. This is one of those times.

Grams was raised in the Southern Baptist Church. When I say that I mean, if the church-house was open, we were there. We went to Sunday School and church services on Sunday morning. We went to training union and evening services on Sunday night. And we went to prayer meeting on Wednesday night. As teenagers our entire social life was centered on the church. We had youth group on Tuesday and sometimes Thursday nights, youth choir on Sunday afternoons, and youth fellowship on Sunday nights. We went to church camp in the summer and usually one or two weekend retreats during the year. Most of my friends were from the church and virtually everyone I ever dated I met at church. By the time I was in high school, I started teaching Sunday School.

Grandad was the only guy I ever dated who was not Baptist. Grandad is Roman Catholic. He never misses mass on Sunday or on Holy Days.  He goes to confession regularly and has, at various times, served as a lay minister and director of several parish programs. He even went to the minor seminary with the intent of becoming a priest. Basically, he's as Catholic as I was Baptist.

After we married, we tried attending both churches but it was short-lived. Honestly, every time Grandad walked into a Baptist Church, he acted like he was about to be struck by lightning. After a couple of years, I realized that the basics are the same, it's the trappings that are different. Baptist churches are generally plain and unadorned, Catholic churches are ornate and highly decorated. Catholic priests wear vestments, Baptist ministers wear suits.

As a young bride and before we had children, Grams converted to Catholicism. I just couldn't see trying to raise kids in both churches. I think religion is confusing enough if you're getting the same message all the time. Trying to teach both to a kid ... that's just too much. So after a few months of instruction from a priest, I was confirmed in the Catholic Church on Palm Sunday in 1978.

I said all that to say this, I have spent my life around people who profess faith in God. Most of my friends and acquaintances are self-professed Christians. But I can't help but wonder if they really believe what they claim to believe. Do they practice their religion because that's how they were raised or have they really thought about what they believe and why they believe it?

For example, Catholics believe in "transubstantiation." That means they believe that when the bread and wine are blessed by the priest during mass, they actually become the body and blood of Christ. Let me be clear, they don't believe it represents the body and blood, they believe it becomes the body and blood. But, it has long been my contention that most Catholics don't really believe in transubstantiation. I think that if they really believed that transubstantiation was real, churches would not hold everyone who would want to receive communion. If the faithful really believed that they could receive the actual body and blood of Christ, they would not be able to stay away.

With the exception of about a year in 2003-2004, there has never been a time in my life when I didn't attend Sunday services of some type every single week. Over the past several years, I've come to realize that I'm a product of both my birth and my circumstance. I worship as I do because that's what I've been taught and where I've been, not because of my own investigation or understanding.

I know there are many other religious groups who believe many things and follow different doctrines ... some I agree with and some I don't. But, what I have come to believe in recent years is that modern religion is mostly designed as a control mechanism. It's all about someone controlling someone else. Whether it's birth control, abortion, dancing, or any of a plethora of other subjects, it really is about control.

I'm trying to become more conscious of my own beliefs and my own thoughts. You see ... the bottom line is that I have my own brain and my own conscience and I can think for myself. I don't need the church or anyone else telling me that I have to do this or not do that. Maybe I'm just burned out on church ... or maybe I'm just moving on to the next step. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I've lost my faith, but I'd willingly lose my religion!

I Hate Bra Straps

Grams can't stand it any more. I just have to finally say it. I hate it when women deliberately show their bra straps. I'm not talking about the occasional, stray strap peaking out now and then. I'm talking about blouses, tanks and dresses that are clearly meant to be worn with a strapless or T-back bra, yet women just go ahead and wear their regular bras and let the straps just show. I've noticed that young girls even seem to wear contrasting or matching colors. I hate it!

Grams tries to be tolerant, really I do. If you're just hanging out at the park or maybe even the mall, I'll just look the other way. But, if you're going to church, come on people, show a little respect.

As I've told you before, I was raised in the Southern Baptist Church. I know it's different now, but in my youth we didn't even wear pant suits to church. Dresses were the only acceptable attire for church. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was okay to wear slacks when I started attending the Catholic Church.

The church we attend now is in a very small farming community. Casual attire is very acceptable and we often wear blue jeans to church. But, this morning there was a young woman seated about three rows in front of me who was wearing a blouse that had deep vees cut into the armholes on both sides of the back creating kind of an X-back and baring almost all of the upper part of her back. She had two sets of straps in two different colors showing. I assume what I was seeing was a bra strap and a camisole strap. It was all I could do not to take off my sweater and drape it over her shoulders and back.

Aside from the inappropriateness of the blouse and exposed straps, the weather was cool this morning; cool enough that I had a sweater over my blouse. It is highly unlikely that she was not uncomfortably chilly. But most of all, it was just not proper attire for church. My mother would have described it as "trailer park trash" and I would have been sent to my room to dress properly. To borrow a phrase from Bill Cosby, "Come on people!"

I do want to point out that there is no photo to accompany this post. I resisted the urge to snap a picture with my cell phone for two reasons. One, because it would have been inappropriate behavior for church and, two, because my mother-in-law was sitting right next to me. See, I know how to behave.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Church

Grams and Grandad are in Houston this weekend dog-sitting for our Grand-dogs while Nick and Marie are in San Antonio. They live in northeast Houston, very close to Humble.  We decided that we would drive over to Kingwood for mass this Mother's Day at St. Martha's Catholic Church.  We had driven past it before and thought it would be nice.  We didn't remember exactly where it was so I "googled" the address, punched it into my Tom-Tom, and headed for church.  As usual, we were running on a very tight schedule.

We hurried the ten or so miles following the directions step by step.  As we made the last turn onto Woodland Hills Drive, there was a huge church on our right.  I thought to myself that the church was bigger than I remembered.  We turned into the driveway, ready to rush in just in time for the service to start.  The parking lot was full and there were cars parked along the side of the road.  We noticed a big sign in the parking lot that said "Free Valet Parking."  I must admit that I found that a little odd.  But again to myself, I thought that, given how crowded it seemed, valet parking was a great idea.  We were greeted by two very friendly "parishioners" who were dressed in khakis and golf shirts.  One of them drove off to park our car while to other one pointed us towards the "sanctuary."

As we turned to head towards the church I saw it ... a small sign that said "Welcome to Kingwood Baptist Church."

I quietly tugged on Grandad's arm, he leaned over and I whispered in his ear, "This is a Baptist church." The look of shock on his face was priceless.  He turned to the one remaining valet attendant and explained to him that we were at the wrong church.  I stood by quietly beginning to laugh.  The attendant jumped into a handy golf cart and chased down our car.  They were very gracious and invited us to stay for services at their church even suggesting that we could be "Southern Baptist for the day."  I jokingly told them that I was raised Southern Baptist, but I used to tell my Mother that I overcame it.  They didn't laugh.

As soon as we got in the car, I started laughing maniacally.  I got a huge kick out of almost getting Grandad into the Baptist Church for the day.  He didn't think it was as funny as I did, although he did seem mildly amused.

We made it to St. Martha's just in time for the opening hymn.  It was a special treat, because it was first communion Sunday at St. Martha's.  There is nothing sweeter than second graders dressed up for their first communion.  I'm happy to report that St. Martha's was just as crowded and just as friendly as Kingwood Baptist seemed.  The service was a lovely celebration of first communion and Mother's Day.  They have a fabulous choir, friendly people, an entertaining and interesting priest.   I really enjoyed being there.

However, I can't help but think that my Mother (God rest her soul) had a hand in guiding us to Kingwood Baptist Church for Mother's Day.  Some people never give up!

The Catechism of Kids and Candy

Grams was raised in the Southern Baptist Church.  As an adult, I converted to Catholicism because that's what Grandad practices and I reasoned that I can serve God where ever he put me.  Since I know many who read my blog are not Catholic, I'm going to give you a little bit of background on the Catholic sacrament of First Holy Communion and the rites and traditions that surround it.

May is First Holy Communion season in the Catholic church.  Picture angelic little children ... girls dressed in white dresses and veils, boys dressed in dark trousers with white shirts and wearing their first-ever neckties.  (Those are my children on the right.)

In our diocese, children must complete at least two years of religious education (formerly known as CCD) by attending weekly classes.  It's traditional to make your First Holy Communion  in the second grade, so that makes the kids about 7-8 years old.

There are numerous horror stories where overzealous priests and/or bishops quiz kids about their Catechism or ask them to recite prayers aloud during Mass.  As you might imagine, these stories usually include kids who freeze up and can't answer said questions or recite a even single Hail Mary. Most modern priests have long since abandoned this practice and, if they do question the communicants or make them recite prayers, they do it before the Mass in one of the religious-education classes.

Mass usually begins with a procession down the main aisle of the church.  The procession is led by a "cross-bearer" who carries a large crucifix, followed by altar servers, the lector, Eucharistic lay ministers, and the priest.  On First Communion Sunday, the First Communicants join this procession, following right behind the alter servers.  It's a very serious and stately procession.  The religious education teachers have carefully instructed their students to walk with their hands folded prayerfully.  When the procession begins, the congregation stands and the choir sings.  Moms, Dads and Grandparents lean into the aisle and snap photos of their little angels walking in the procession.

The Communicants then sit together, right up at the front of the church, with their families and loved ones right behind them.  When it's time for communion, these First Communicants go first.  Again, many photos are snapped; although some churches prohibit photography during the actual Communion.

Grams and Grandad attend a very small rural church.  In fact, it's so small that most years we only have one or two kids making their first communion.  This year's class was huge.  There were five First Communicants.

To say that our priest is "old school" would be an understatement of epic proportions.  He's a very pious, serious and old-fashioned priest who has been elevated to the honorary position of Monsignor.   Most people his age would be retired, but given the shortage of priests, he's been moved to our small parish which is as close to retirement as you can get.  He still celebrates Mass every day for our tiny little parish.  And while I appreciate his service, I have noticed that the "old school" part of him can't quite give up many of the old ways.

This morning's Mass and First Communion went very well right up until the end.  It was clear that the CCD teachers, parents and students had all done their jobs admirably. The kids were well behaved and well prepared. 

After Communion, while the Eucharistic Ministers where clearing the altar, I noticed that one of the First Communicants got up and went to the back of the church, presumably to the bathroom.  Before the young man returned, Monsignor got up from his seat, came down off of the altar, and stood right in front of the kids.  For a moment I thought he was going to shake hands with the First Communicants and congratulate them.  But, alas, the "old school" part of him felt the need for one more lesson about the importance of attending church regularly.  It went something like this.

He started by saying in his loud and stately voice, "What and have we already lost one of our children?"  The congregation chuckled.

He continued "Well children, now that you've received Jesus through Holy Communion, it's your responsibility to attend church every Sunday or Saturday night.  But, since you're only 7 years old, it's your parents' responsibility to make sure you get to church every Sunday.  Because if someone saw a child your age walking down the street alone you could get picked up."  (At this point the voice in my head went "Huh?")

He continued by asking "Do you know your multiplication yet?"  A little voice responded "I know some."

Monsignor quizzed "Whats 24 x 7?"  I couldn't hear the response but, obviously, it was something that included "No, that's too hard." or some variation of that.

Monsignor decided to take a different tack.  "How many hours in a week?"  Again some inaudible response from one of the little people that indicated that the answer was above their education and ability. 

As Monsignor continued, the "missing" child came out of the bathroom and realized he might be missing something important.  This led him to dash full speed down the center aisle only to skid to a stop and slip, not so quietly, into the front row of seats.  (I, along with several other parishioners, stifled a giggle.)

Undaunted by the interruption, Monsignor decided to answer his own question.  "There are 168 hours in a week and Jesus only asks for one of those hours."  (Again, the voice in my head with the "Huh?" and I thought to myself "that's not exactly what he means.") 

Clearly these kids were not getting the point to Monsignor's satisfaction.  He decided an illustration was in order.  "If you had 168 pieces of candy and your friend asked for one, would you give it to him?"  A little voice answered clearly and firmly "No!"

Monsignor rephrased and directed the question to another child "If you had 168 pieces of candy and your brother asked for one, you'd give it to him.  Wouldn't you?"  Again, the answer is an emphatic "No!  He never shares with me."  The entire congregation busted out laughing uproariously.  

At this point Monsignor abandoned the question and answer part of the program and made his point that these children have reached the "age of accountability" and must now attend church to satisfy their Sunday obligation and, until they're big enough to get there on their own, it's their parents responsibility to get them there.  He then returned to the altar, gave his final blessing and followed the recession out of the church.

We left the church with everyone talking about the refreshing honesty of children.  Even the stoic and serious Monsignor was smiling with a twinkle in his eye as we filed out and shook his hand.