In Part I of my Paris-Ochial story, I spoke of a woman who suggested that I would need to covert to Catholicism if we had children.

The day after that was published, she sent me an email expressing her sadness about the story.  She said that I had misrepresented her, and that she had not actually asked me to convert to her religion but that our kids ought to be raised Catholic.

I truly try to never exaggerate or change the details of an anecdote.  I just have a terrible memory and I got it wrong.  Although, I don’t see the major difference even now.

This is the funny part of writing a blog about stuff that happens to you.  If you’re honest, you’re going to probably upset someone along the way.  In that story, for example, I went out of my way not to give any specific details of this woman, as to keep her anonymity.  But as of right now, she isn’t speaking to me (I think).

Either way, I would prefer not to raise my children (should I have some) nor convert to Catholicism.

It’s not so much a personal thing about Catholics, it’s just I don’t buy their beliefs.  (oh wait, that is sort of personal)  And why should I?  I wasn’t raised Catholic!

Let me give you a different example.  I score nearly 100% compatibility with Reform Judiasm when I go online to BeliefNet and take the quiz that matches up beliefs and religion.  But I’m probably not coverting to that either.  I’m a WASP goy.  I have to be true to that.

Also, I scored nearly 100% for Quakerism.  No shit!

Okay, on with the show…

Note: I don’t intend for these observations to be intentionally cruel or insensitive.   Nor am I trying to poop on an entire religion.   So lighten up (or, “en” lighten up – zing!)

The First Day Of School – Part II

There are two things about the first day of Catholic high school that are   prominent in my memory.  If you didn’t read the first one, click here.

The second was this whole business about praying.

My mom grew up Christian Science.  Now back in the earlier part of the 20th century, this was the new-agey religion.  If you’re not familiar, one of their more extreme beliefs is that Jesus can heal physical ailments through prayer.  Many of their members, even today, do not believe in medicine to treat illness.  This is unfortunate as many people die of things like cancer without going through treatment that can prolong their life.  But, aside from this part of the religion, the rest of the beliefs are pretty compatible with traditional Christianity.  My mom grew up going to doctors like normal.

As a child, my mother always would say to ask God for help with whatever you wanted.  If you needed courage or strength, just talk to God.  Made sense to me.

The first day of high school, in the first period, the teacher did something very unusual.  We stood and had a moment of prayer before studying algebra.  I found this very strange.  I was a public school kid.  The teachers weren’t permitted to make religious practice part of the syllabus.  In seventh grade I once saw my civics teacher take a piss next to me a urinal.  I remember thinking, “Mr. Dietrich doesn’t want to be here any more than me.  He looks depressed.”  Yep, nothing spiritual about public school.

But now I’m at Notre Dame High School.  In a shirt and tie.  So we stood up and bowed our heads, put our hands together, and looked at the floor.  Or maybe people closed their eyes.  All I could think about was how hard trig was going to be.

Then, in the next period, we did the same thing.  And so on.  For every class.  And it would often be suggested to keep the children of Biafra in mind for these prayers, or the troops in Iraq, or somebody’s grandmother who was sick.

Now, I have nothing against this practice.  It’s fine.  But even then I was a little suspicious of it’s effectiveness.

How is Joe’s grandmother going to benefit from me thinking about her dying?  I didn’t understand.  I mean, it’s a nice thought and all, but it’s not like we ever took a donation for starving children or anything.  Or nobody suggested we volunteer to hang out with the elderly.  It was just thirty seconds of thinking.

I came home that first day and told my mom, “You’re not going to believe this.  We prayed like eight times today!  It was so weird!”

She just laughed.

Now, obviously prayer is not a bad thing.  It’s fine.  Thinking about things, especially in compassionate terms, often leads to you taking action.  If I remember that a friend of mine is going through a tough divorce, I’m much more inclined to pick up the phone and see how he’s doing.

But thoughts also often don’t lead to action.

For example, I think about working out every day.  I rarely get myself to the gym.  I find myself in front of the tv with a McFlurry.

Where do they get those super-small M&Ms?  And why are those so much better than regular size M&Ms?

No, I need somebody who will kick my ass and not allow me to stay in bed instead of hitting the treadmill.  You know, like a trainer or coach.  Someone who propels you into action when you can’t seem to do it yourself.

And that was the big disconnect for me.  I didn’t know anything about Biafra except when I saw commercials with those children with distended bellies and a flies landing on their eyeballs.  When you see that, you either have to change the channel or pull out your pocketbook.

I just felt like all the time I spent thinking about things probably didn’t help much.  And, as a result, when someone needed something as an adult, I would tell them I would “keep them in my thoughts.”  And then go back to watching Joe Dirt on Comedy Central.

As somebody that just went through a divorce, when people told me they would keep me in their thoughts, I did feel grateful.  But I also appreciated when somebody would actually do something like take me out to dinner, or come over to listen.  Or write me a note.

For me, action trumps thought.  Maybe I’m unique that way, and don’t understand the whole prayer thing.

I’m going to go to my local Quaker recruiting center tonight and pick up some pamphlets.  Maybe they have answers.