| Another Chapter of Sister Monica by Kevin McKrell |
[Jan. 2nd, 2008|09:48 am] |
Due to the positive response i got from posting the last bit of my uncle Kevin's story here is another bit. Check out this story and his other work at :
http://kmckrell.com
http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/kevin-mckrell.html
http://www.myspace.com/themckrells
http://www.myspace.com/thehardroadcéilidhband
http://www.celticlounge.com
The Sacrament of Confession as it was known in the world of the
Catholic Church of the early 1960's was a bizarre and troubling event.
Keeping in mind now that the act of confession has changed
considerably in the years since that time. In this modern age of
enlightenment the Sacrament of Confession is observed in the full and
healing light of day with all the joy that forgiveness brings. But in
1962 in Sister Monica's class, it was done the old fashion way, in the
dark with all the fear that visions of eternal damnation can conjure.
Once a week we were marched up to the church to purge our immortal
souls of all of those horrible sins against God and man that we had
committed since last week. Although I am sure we were most certainly
well within the national average for murders, rapes and robberies
committed by grade school children, no chances were to be taken that
any sin should go un-confessed. Even now, the mere thought of
confession evokes those feelings so familiar to Catholic school
survivors: panic, fear, guilt, nausea and hunger. That last one, I
think, is due to the fact that we always seemed to go to confession
just before lunch.
For those of you unfamiliar with Catholicism, I will attempt to
explain this idiosyncratic neurosis generating religious oddity.
Imagine, if you will, you are eight years old and kneeling in a small
very dark closet that smells of old people, when directly in front of
your nose a one-foot by one-foot space of light suddenly appears with
a loud and frightening BANG! In this light is the silhouette of a head
of some one you have been taught to believe is a direct conduit to God
himself. And the way this silhouetted head is slumped, you're not real
sure if God's rep is having a bit of a snooze or perhaps reading the
Times. But nevertheless, you are now expected to tell this ear of God
almighty any and all sins that you have committed. God then hears
these sins through his earthly proxy and, if there is any real justice
in the universe, says, "Why are you bothering me with this? Can't you
see I'm busy? The kid is 8 years old, fer Christ's sake! Now leave me
alone! Go on, git!" However, you are then given prayers to say that
are supposed to be equivalent to the severity of the sins committed.
Sort of, let the punishment fit the crime. Your soul is now a clean
slate. Should you, God forbid, get hit by a truck on the way out of
church, technically speaking, you should be able to by pass all the
red tape and fast track it right through the pearly gates and on into
heaven. Unless, of course, you mutter the words, "Ah shit," just
before the truck flattens you. Then you have to do the whole damn
thing over.
So, there you are standing in line waiting your turn to have all
your sins forgiven. You would think one would welcome this
opportunity, even rejoice in the possibility, to have all one's
transgressions washed away, to begin anew. Well, the hell with that.
It was the same every time, waiting my turn, scripting out exactly
what I was going to say and how I would say it. For if you were to do
something as insane as to tell Sister Monica, "Hey Sister, gonna pass
on confession today, thanks, I'm good, maybe next week," you would
immediately become a target for The Flick. Or, if the good sister was
feeling particularly peevish, her vice grip like hand would lock onto
your earlobe. Wherewith you would be marched to the head of the line,
the confessional door knocked on and the priest told that he would
next be hearing from the grade school equivalent of Vlade the Impaler.
When one looks at a line of Catholic school children as they wait
to enter the confessional, looks of concentration, easily mistaken for
piety and prayer, are in fact a mind feverishly at work. For a
successful confession is a question of strategy and planning. The
following are a few simple but vital rules in making a good
confession. Always have a minimum of 4 strong sins that you are
comfortable with and can convincingly convey to the priest that you
did in fact commit these harmless and marginal offenses, thereby
distracting the priest from any real penance generating behavior. In
the game of confession, the winner gets two Our Fathers and 3 Hail
Marys. On a good day, these can easily be rattled off in 45 seconds.
"I lied to my mother," is a good steady working class sin. Always
have the lie ready to go. DO NOT ad lib. That's trouble. Keep the lie
harmless, such as, "my ma told me to brush my teeth and I told her I
did, when I didn't." This is an effective lie and one that will not
inspire any extra curricular activity such as the, "I told my ma I did
my homework when I didn't" lie. This lie will nine times out of ten
illicit a reaction from the priest that will entail 1000 words on why
lying about your homework will send you on a path of corruption and
evil with little or no chance of redemption. Stick with the brush your
teeth lie, as priests generally have very little interest in dental
hygiene. "Hit my sister," always a good one, hard to disprove, and
completely believable under any circumstances particularly if the
priest knows your sister. "Took a cookie," simple yet effective.
Involves stealing, which gives the priest the opportunity to use his
powers of forgiveness on a real sin but the item stolen is harmless
enough thereby bringing the penance time down to a manageable level.
Do not use the, "I stole some change from my father's dresser" lie.
This will always get you big penance time. Granted, on the outside it
seems a small sin, on the same level as the stolen cookie sin. There
is, however, a subtle difference as this lie involves money which in
the eyes of the church is the root of all evil, which always made me
wonder why they have so much of it ... Ah, well, another mystery of
faith. Always keep one sin in your pocket in case the priest is not
happy with the ones you've used. Or if he, for some reason, recognizes
your voice and cops on to the fact that you've confessed to the same
three sins every week for the past six months and that you are either
a desperate liar or have developed a serious Jones for cookies. And
remember, remember, remember!!! It is always one week since my last
confession, ALWAYS!!!! If you are to tell the priest that you did not
go to confession for your entire summer vacation, he will be expecting
a litany of villainous and satanic transgressions that will keep you
saying Hail Marys and Our Fathers until the cows come home.
Now once you actually enter the confessional box, do not panic. Do
not let the fact that it is really dark and stinky throw you off your
game. Do not try to anticipate the priest opening that little window
of his as this will only cause nervousness and will over time lead to
facial ticks and a fear of bright lights. Just focus on your lines and
concentrate on creating a flow, getting in the zone. "Bless me Father
for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last confession..."
From this point, sail right into the sins, don't pause, don't
hesitate, you're in control, create the flow, remember you are just
one of a hundred confessions this poor bastard is hearing today, so do
not give him any reason to come up out of his private reveries to
acknowledge you in any way. Get your 2 O.F.s your 3 H.M.s and get the
hell out of there. These are tried and true strategies that have come
down through the ages. There are, however, limits to the effectiveness
of these methods. For example, they do not work on Jesuits and should
you try it on a Christian Brother you will be wearing your ass for a
hat. So be careful. |
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