mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary
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Catholicism�s Big Mistake - Not Hiring A Chef to Prepare The Scooby Snacks
I was going through some photos last night and one thing became very apparent. My family loves a good Communion. I have more pictures of people receiving this damn (opps) sacrament than I do of them enjoying life. Seriously, I must have fifty photos of various family members (from the 1920's on up) becoming indoctrinated to the Host.
In case you're not familiar with the Catholic Church and all it's little rituals, Communion is the presentation of the body of Christ in the form of a wafer and the first time you get to enjoy this delicacy is a big ass deal. For years you have to go to mass and just watch as others devour this tasty treat. You wait breathlessly for your turn, envying those around you as they feast on this dainty morsel while you literally go hungry (back in my day you had to fast from 8:00 PM the night before till after mass - hey Catholics, is this still the rule?).
For years I dreamed of my turn - the day I too would enjoy this culinary delight. I drooled as my mother chewed away on Jesus' flesh. I memorized my Hail Mary's and Our Father's and a bunch of other stuff I didn't know the meaning of (someone please let me in on what "Hosanna in the highest" means). Finally my time arrived. My grandmother curled my hair so that I looked adequately stupid, someone stuck me in a poofy white dress and silly veil, my mother hung a gold cross around my neck and my Jewish father looked on in horror. I figured he was just jealous since he'd never get to taste the host. Now I realize it was horror, plain and simple.
I stood in line with a bunch of other brides of Christ and waited my turn. We'd practiced and I knew the most important thing was not to drop my Jesus wafer. I focused. Soon all that fleshy goodness would be mine. Would he taste like an Oreo or a chocolate bunny from Easter? Perhaps he'd be more like a Swedish Fish, all chewy and sweet. My mouth began to water!
I made it to the front of the line quickly. I was after all the second shortest girl in the class. Lori Martini was first in line and as she passed me I tried to read the look on her face. She seemed, well, a bit disgusted. Her face was screwed up and she looked like she might be having trouble swallowing. Well what could you expect from Lori Martini anyway? It was clear she had an undeveloped palate what with all those liverwurst and mayonaisse sandwiches she ate for lunch. I decided to ignore her expression and prepare for scrumptiousness!
Father O'Reilly reached out and we did a little rehearsed chant, something that ended with "amen" if I recall correctly, and he then laid the wafer on my tongue. Good God Almighty! Talk about foulness and disappointment. It was so stale and dry I thought I might gag. This is what I had waited eight long years for? This is what I had dreamed about Sunday after Sunday while singing all those dorky hymns (my mom insisted we attend the "fun" folk mass)? You have got to be kidding! I spun around on my feet and proceeded down the line past the waiting minions, a sour look on my face the whole way. One by one, others made their way back down the aisle, each looking more deflated than the last. It would be several years before I got to try the cheap Boones Farm swill that they call Christ's Blood but by then my fate had been sealed. I would not be sticking it out with the Catholics. My tastes were a bit to finicky for their fare.
8:54 p.m. - 2003-11-13
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