And These Thy Gifts...

In all the moving of chairs and flipping through folders I missed the name and the credentials of our invited guest speaker. Usually it is a priest. This guy spoke of teaching and of his wife, so I assumed Deacon. He could have been the Wood Shop teacher at the middle school for all I know. And all he knew.

For those of you who don’t speak publicly very often, understand these basic guiding principles:

People who have paid to hear you speak really want to gain something, so get right into it and don’t stop. Keep going until the final buzzer.

People who are there to hear you speak under duress want you to get into it and get it over with. Cut the small talk, the witty banter, the audience participation. You are on the clock on my dime and I don’t want to spend a nickel more than I have to. Get your jaws flapping, pronto.

This gentleman obviously had little valuable speaking experience and was off to a rocky start. His first mistake was to try to draw an analogy to real life. He described a retired military officer’s medals and accolades as confirmation of his life, and that confirmation is similar to my daughter’s Confirmation because…Exactly. It made no freakin’ sense.

So I took out my pen and began to fill out the reams of redundant forms in the folder, keeping one ear tuned to the guy bombing at the podium. Worse than amateur night at the comedy club. I squirmed for him.

And then for everyone.

For up on his soap box, for reasons that can not be reasonably be explained away, he began to poke fun at parents. Parents who think this or that, or endorse this or that questionable practice, or fail to embrace this or that tenet of our faith…all in colorful little anecdotal tales, intended to be humorous, but really not so, and all at some parent’s expense.

Laughing at the parents, and the kids, actually (nice!) who consider Confirmation graduation. This is a particularly direct slam at RES parents who would have to be nearing hospitalization-level insanity to partake in one more additional obligation beyond the point of Confirmation unless ordered by the high court to do so. It also assumes that the only meaningful teaching is going on at RES. Big assumption.

Laughing at a little story about two boys who “cursed out a nun.” (I would imagine that these same boys would curse out the Pope, the sitting President, the Queen Mum and Oprah Winfrey if given the opportunity.) And his story ended with the explanation that of course these boys cursed out a nun, because, as it turns out, their fathers curse at them. What an example he must be! (Hello, Einstein, did you ever think that the cursing was the least of the problems in these boys' homes? Maybe Daddy is also a crack-smoking scumbag who pimps out their sister!)

And then the parents who fail their children regularly by not going to Mass. Not going to Mass because they do not believe that the Bible instructs them to do so. And these parents he feels are not Confirming their children for the right reasons. He cited and criticized their excuses – work, obligations, dinner with a spouse – all frivolous in comparison to our moral obligation to not commit the mortal sin that is skipping Mass.

And I nearly raise my hand to argue that I do go to Mass, and that every Catholic who ever blows off a Sunday has a little internal argument with him or herself every time he or she does. And those that don’t are not going to have their minds changed by some stranger at a parents meeting on a Thursday night while they could be home praying with their children on bended knee for a big win for their baseball team.

But instead, I close my folder, recap my pen, uncross my legs and stand – hesitating for just a moment before I turn, and walk – no, strut – out of the gym, my fabulous boots clicking loudly as I go, hopefully attracting the attention of the other parents who are too afraid to do similarly.
On my way out I make a passing but very direct comment to Madame Church Lady who is standing like a sentry at the door. “ I can’t abide by one more minute of this discussion.”

And never once breaking stride, walk defiantly out the door to my car, still warm from the drive over.