How it Feels To Be Catholic Me



I am a catholic, a predisposition given to me at birth with my name inspired from the archangel Gabriel.  Inevitably, dressed in a precious little dress as white as snow, I was baptized into the catholic church and washed from my ‘original sin.’
The catholic influenced is derived solely from my mother’s side of the family. My grandparents are deacons of the church, and my mother and her younger siblings all attended catholic schools. Tradition and maintaining a respectable image are expected by my grandparents. As it happens, my mother got pregnant out of wedlock at the age of 21 with her first born, me. In effort to mend the tainted image of my family, it was vital that I attended a catholic school and completed all the holy sacraments.
St. Josephs Catholic School, home of the Jayhawks, and myself for much of my young existence from pre-k to 8th grade.  It was this school that I was molded into the obedient and sheltered child I was.  I learned from an early age the do’s and don’ts to be a good catholic child. Do pray before every meal. Don’t dishonor your parents. Do Confess all your sins to the lord. Don’t covet thy neighbors’ belongings.  
The first time I felt doubt in my faith, in 7th grade where the Religion was expanded to Theology, they gave us a tiny glimpse into other religions of the world. I remember being intrigued by other religions and had more questions for my instructors, questions that were not only unexpected but in the words of my principal “distracting and unnecessary.” Consequently, I was reprimanded with 2 days of Reflection time in which I would be set to pray the rosary for most of my school day. I never did ask any more questions in class, but within myself I began to wonder why my teachers where so against us growing an interest or questioning certain aspects of religion. Didn’t they want us to make an informed decision on whether we wanted to be confirmed? Was it even my decision to make?
My little sister has always had the soul of a wild mustang. From a young age she challenged the traditions that were set before her. She had learning disabilities and needed extra attention, the sort of attention St. Joseph’s wasn’t able to offer her. She was expelled and sent to public school in our hometown West Point, Utah. This meant Saturday catechism for her at our local church where she completed her first holy communion.  When it came time for her confirmation, this little firecracker replied “I am not getting confirmed, I don’t want to confirm anything! I don’t know if I want to be catholic yet, I don’t want to just do it because everyone else is. “  That moment will remain unforgettable for me, I looked at her envious of her courage to stand up for what she wanted. I didn’t even know we could say no, she inspired me to start thinking for myself.
Reconciliation is the opportunity to confess your sins to a priest who will give you absolution from them and assign your penance. Penance is how you mend the harm done from your sins, usually coming in the form of prayer. Growing up I went to confessionals regularly and I will never forget completing my penance feeling light as a feather, free from the guilt I carried from talking back to my mom and other childlike sins I carried on my shoulders.  The whole process really imbedded in my mind that there are repercussions to all my actions.
Today, I am a Catholic, as a product of my upbringing. I go to church on major holidays, not as often as I should. Needless to say,  I am a good person who leads a life of love.  I catch myself dissecting my Catholic Upbringing in hopes to separate the conformities from the enlightenments.


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