Two days before the baptism of my Godson I am required to attend a session at the local church. There I will learn how to be a good God parent.
I arrive and no-one is there but one of the nuns, I am late but exactly on time even perhaps, as it seems, still a little early. The parents arrive finally too and gradually the pews around me fill up with groups of parents and god parents. Role call is taken. I realise I cannot remember my Godson’s surnames. It’s ok, I pass the test. The nun is rather Mumsy, she does not pick on me but rather saves me from the rigmarole of public speaking. A request is made by her for a donation of $5 or whatever you can give, “$20, $50, $100” she says. One by one people sheepishly hand over $5. There’s some psychology in this. If she’d just said whatever you can give I doubt she’d have ended up with $5 per child. But hey there’s enough there to pay the key note speaker at least.
Just settling down for 2 hours of teachings from the kind looking nun when she retreats to the back, introducing as she does a monster of a woman. This woman has presence and her presence is highlighted by a rosary in her right hand and a palm sized bible in her left. Little as I like to comment on people’s physical appearance, on this occasion it is unavoidable. She is an unattractive woman with an enormous pot belly dripping from her trousers. I’m quite sure if her smile and voice had radiated then the rest would have gone unnoticed.
However it appears she is quite angry with us. She is a recovered alcoholic but she found the church and hasn’t looked back since. She ‘talks’ to people and helps them learn from her experiences. She tells us she accepted being a God parent on numerous occasions caring more for the party that followed than the children. Apparently this is our fault. She is running on the premise that we are all sinners, and naturally do not a clue how to act responsibly with children. She walks up and down the aisles her voice rising and falling, her hands waving vigorously and as her voice rises to a crescendo she clutches both objects in her chest. She doesn’t appear to be speaking to her audience, she appears to be assuming an awful lot about us. It’s very difficult to listen to. She goes on and on and on. I am terrified to let my mind wonder lest she pounces on me with a question however I cannot help but imagine what I would love to say to this beast of woman if only she pushed me a little further. It seems after 45 minutes she’s had enough and is losing her audience, just as I am considering wrestling her to the ground with a wet fish.
Just to hammer it home and make us realise the significant importance of what is going to happen the next day, as if the past 45 minutes weren’t enough, we are greeted by the priest. His appearance resembles that of a caricature, he is short with an enormous nose and glasses and he is light hearted and joking. But this is all rather irrelevant when he’s telling us our children will be passed by and not saved by the great one if they are not baptised. ‘Will they be saved?’ he asks. “Yes” I think, surely there’s an exception for innocents. “No they will not”, he booms. Well that’s quite harsh, I think, I mean they’re innocent and everything, but no they will get nothing, the Great one will be too busy and will move right on over. I think despite the woman’s ranting managing to get alcoholism and baptism in the same sentence, I don’t think anyone is up for the fate the priest speaks of for their children.. so we all proceed to the baptism. A nice 2 hours of fear inducing Catholicism. Good good.
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