Man up (or woman up?)

Today I had to stand up and defend something that I say I believe. I didn't really want to have the conversation, but I was boxed into a corner and knew that if I didn't take the stand, no one would. So in the name of fighting relativism and "I'm okay, you're okay," I took the bait and I spoke up.

At our "mandatory" meeting with our rector this morning, after all the standard "we got a new bulletin board" and "don't forget to recycle" part of the meeting, our rector showed us a short film made by some former ND film students. The film was about a woman who wanted to be a Catholic priest. It was done in a documentary-style, but the supposed main character was filmed from the priest-side of an anonymous confessional, as if she were confessing her desire to be a priest as a sin. I don't think it's a sin to feel a call to serve the Church, so I was a little put off by the way that was done, cinematographically. I was glad to see that the woman’s take on it was at least one of deference to the Magisterium, and not one of starting a revolution or leaving the Church. She confessed to wanting to be able to administer sacraments and to be fully a priest, but that she remained in the Church, doing what she could as a married woman with an MDiv.

The film interviewed several people from the ND community, including my rector who is a consecrated religious, a CSC priest, and a history prof who focuses on women in the Catholic Church (happens to be my boss.) Though those interviewed had different perspectives on women in the church, as a whole, the film was clearly pushing an agenda.

After the film, we were asked to stand up and move to different sides of the room, depending on where we stood on the ordination of women in the Catholic Church. I made my way to the “I am opposed” corner. Almost everyone in the room was standing in the “I support women in the priesthood” or in the “I don’t know how I feel” category. Sister asked for us to voice opinions on the various view points, so a friend of mine offered her “I don’t know” opinion, then another friend voiced her “I’m all for it” opinion. Looking around, I could see that no one else was going to say anything. I didn’t want to get into it. But I KNEW that if I didn’t say anything, the true standpoint of the Catholic Church would be ignored and go unspoken, even by the Dominican sister. So I stepped up. I felt the eyes of a whole slew of women on me – all shocked that I was going to actually say what I said. Surprised or offended perhaps that I, a woman, would spout the party line that was (in their eyes) inherently sexist and unfair to women. I wish that I could have better prepared for that moment, or that I could go back and say what I really want to say that may have let them see it in the light of their feminist views.

When I finished what I had to say, the rector asked for a show of hands of people who went to churches where women were ordained or served as ministers. One girl raised her hand and said, “My grandma is a minister.” Of course I immediately felt like she had just said, “My mom is fat” after I made a fat joke. The rector’s final comment was that she was very glad to see a woman preaching the homily at a church she visited in CA. What kind of a message is she sending?

I was mostly offended that this was brought up and forced upon us in a “mandatory” meeting. What purpose will this serve? The Catholic Church has closed all discussion on the possibility of Ordination of Women. It won’t happen. It’s a moot point. No one will grow in their faith from this discussion. People will only be more confused about the Church’s attitude toward women because you didn’t provide a clear voice to present the position of the Church.

I was shocked that I was one of the only people in the room at this Catholic institution who took the Catholic position. But if I say I am a Catholic and live my faith in the public sphere as a leader and as a peer minister and a teacher, I supposed I should be ready to explain my faith and my Church. I was just disturbed that I felt somewhat ostracized for taking the Catholic position at the University of Notre Dame.

A few excerpts....

From The Deb's Dictionary, a favorite birthday gift of mine!
Alas: Early Victorian for "Oh HELL!"
Ambidextrous: Not letting your right hand know who is holding your left hand.
Belle: A Deb who never goes to bed the same day she gets up.
Calf: The attractive scenery that adorns the well-known peninsula south of the feminine knee.
Caress: An amiable gesture, between a kiss and a handshake.
Chivalry: The High Resolve of every man to protect every woman against every other man.
Fig Leaf: The coming-out dress of the First Debutante.
Fuss: Deplorable waste of adulation upon a Blonde, as observed by a Brunette (and vice versa).
Modesty: The gentle art of enhancing your charm by pretending not to be aware of it.
Myth: The idea that gentlemen prefer Blondes!
Osculate: To plant a rose-colored impression of your lips on the face of another.
Powder: What every woman nose.
Spoon: To cuddle closely, as one spoon to another. (I kid you not, it's in the 1931 book!)

Well that was fun.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present Hauncher

You know that feeling on Christmas when all the presents have been opened and you've been being nice to your family for about 36 hours straight and you are tired of being on your best behavior? For many years, my family has solved this problem by saving up all of our wrapping paper tubes in anticipation of the high point of everyone's Christmas. Hauncher. (NB: some spell it Honcher.) The premise is simple: Eat a lot of rich, heavy Christmas dinner. A few glasses of wine will help in your preparation. When the table is clear and everyone has run out of conversation, distribute the Hauncher sticks, then proceed to the back yard. After establishing the rules (no face or head hits, no sucker punches, most intact stick "wins"...), on the count of three, Hauncher!


Commence beating each other with the Hauncher tubes. Don't worry if the tubes start to unravel and become limp in the warm, humid December air. More flexible Haunchers provide a more satisfying "thwap" upon the hiney of your opponent. Beat each other until a) someone cries b) all Haunchers are unraveled and/or torn c) someone vomits due to unnecessary excitement following a huge Christmas dinner.

The winner is to be determined by an impartial judge. The judging is based on the integrity of the Hauncher stick, though through the years, it has been determined that the integrity of the stick is inversely proportional to the amount of fun had. Therefore, a "winning" stick actually indicates that the owner had less fun than anyone else. Making a younger sibling/niece/nephew cry is automatic grounds for losing and a stern talking-to from Mom.

This game is sure to be a hit with your family next Christmas. Pun intended.

Happy 22.

Keep your eyes on your own plate

6:10 am my cell phone buzzed beside my bed to wake me up. From time to time, my dad will offer to take any of his children who are home to Waffle House before school/work. In anticipation of this glorious gustatory event, I rolled out of bed, stepped into yesterday's jeans, tugged a bra on underneath my pajama shirt, and stumbled to the bathroom. Squinting in the bright light, I twirled my hair into a sloppy half-bun, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs to meet the rest of my family.

On most mornings, I spend upwards of an hour getting dressed before I ever leave my house, or my room at school. The usual routine involves shower, clothes, blow dryer, curling iron, makeup, jewelry, etc. It is important to me to be neatly dressed and attractively groomed, as a general rule. I don't obsess over my appearance, but it is important to me. I guess it's just the way I was brought up. But sometimes it's just a little too early for all that.

As we walked into the WaHo, with me in all my 6:30 glory, I immediately felt the eyes of 2 or 3 gentlemen of the trucker-type on me. They watched me from their booth, their eyes following as my brother, my dad, and I slid into the table. I buried my face in my menu, though I knew exactly what I wanted. I could still feel them looking at me and I hated it.

I hated it not because I didn't look pretty. I hated it because I felt dirty. I felt like they didn't have any right to look at me that way. I'm not used to that feeling. I can't think of a time when I ever felt that way at school. But the irony hit me -- when I get dressed usually, there is the subconscious thought, "Do I look good enough? Do I look pleasing? Will someone else find me attractive, as I look right now?" And here I was, in WaHo, having had an affirmative answer to my question , and I hated it.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, to all the guys who have treated me or any woman with respect, even in the most subtle way, thank you. It's not that I don't want to be pleasing and attractive. I do want to be those things, if only for my own self-confidence. If I look nice, please, let me know, but use your words and your smile, not your eyes.

I'm not making this up

One of Mobile's finest traditions is to shoot your gun in the air to celebrate the New Year. In that vein, may I present to you, the first amazing story from the Mobile Press Register for 2008:

Stray bullet strikes woman

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

By GEORGE R. ALTMAN

Staff Reporter

A woman inside a Prichard church was shot in the side of her face shortly after midnight on Tuesday, police said, apparently as a result of New Year's gunfire.

The woman, whom police did not name, was hit by a bullet that entered through the sanctuary roof at the Showers of Blessings Church of God in Christ, according to Prichard police Maj. Marvin Whitfield.

Yeah, it doesn't get much more poetic than that.

Cheese Wagons and Other Things I Have Feared

When I was four, my mom dropped me off at a babysitter's house. I told her that I didn't want to see the babysitter's dad because I was afraid of him. He was a man, and he had a beard. Double danger. (She dropped me off any way and told Mr. Coleman that if Laura's dad was around, I didn't want to see him. Yeah, Mom. I'm not stupid.)

My new neighbor had four English Springer Spaniels when we moved in. For a girl who would hyperventilate and go stiff at the sight of one dog, four was quite an ordeal for me.

I loved field trips as a kid, but when I got to Kindergarten, we started to take the Cheese Wagon on our field trips. You know, the big, yellow bus. It's loud and smells of diesel, and that weird funky smell inside, and the fake-leather seats burn my bottom, and when we get in the inevitable car crash we won't have seat belts. Field trip day? Here comes the quivering bottom lip.

I used to not be able to fall asleep at night because I had a gut feeling that this was the night the house would burn down. But if I stay awake and vigilant long enough, I can protect my family. That soon translated into deathly fear of all things fire: Fire men (of course -- two points if they had facial hair), Fire trucks, Fire drills, and Fire. In Kindergarten, Mrs. Lapeze used to scold me for crying at fire drills. By second grade, I found a sympathetic heart in Miss Moreman. She'd always warn me when we were going to have a fire drill, and let me hold her hand on the way out. I even went to talk to the counselor about it. She asked me to point to the face that showed how I felt when the fire alarm rang. (Come on, lady. I'm 7 years old. I can read the words "happy," "tired," "scared" at the bottom of the faces. I don't need to point. -- Side note, the same counselor moved to my high school and became my college counselor. She was quite ticked when she found out that I applied to ND without her help and wasn't interested in Pensacola Junior College.)

There was a fire early one morning in a candle closet at St. Pius X Church. When I got to school, the fire trucks were still there, setting up big fans to suck the smoke out of the sanctuary. When it looked like I was going to sit petrified in the back seat, my dad kindly handed me a quarter that I could use to call him at his office if there was another fire. He would come get me if I needed him. I bought it.

There were all kinds of other fears through the years -- fears that the Virgin Mary would appear and try to talk to me, like she did to Bernadette; fear of talking to boys -- or more accurately, fear of a boy I liked finding out I liked him; 9/11 brought a whole new slew of fears; I would wake up in sweats after the repeated dream that my dad died.

Then there was college. I think the only thing I've really been afraid of in college is drunk people. Freshman year, I was convinced that drunk people were out to get me. They knew I was sober, and they were going to MAKE me drink, or they were going to make fun of me for not drinking.

My fears have shifted now to things like fear of not fulfilling my potential, or fear of disappointing someone I respect. I fear being alone -- not in the "I need someone with me at all times" way, but in the "I don't have any intimate friends" way. I fear not getting a job and simultaneously fear getting a job and leaving the bubble. My brother and I were laughing at some of my silly childhood fears this morning, and in retrospect they are quite hilarious. But at the time, they were important and serious to me. I don't miss being paralyzed by fear, but I do miss having fears as simple as riding the Cheese Wagon. It was a very logical fear, and it was something I saw a clear answer to. Mom, you're just going to have to drive me to the Strawberry Farm in the Station Wagon. I sometimes wish the answers to my fears now were that simple.


EDIT: I was redeeming my gift card at Bebo's carwash and I remembered that I was petrified of going through carwashes. Those giant brushes coming at you, shaking the car -- you can't see anything and it's really loud -- oh man. Major issue.