I am Ashamed to be Catholic

This emotion first came to me when I was about 10. My mother considered herself to be a “devout” catholic which meant (in her eyes) someone who went to church every Sunday. That was it. As long as you went to church in nice clothes every week and behaved yourself during mass people would know you were a good Catholic. So every Sunday everyone except my father (who was Protestant) was forced to get out of bed early, put on “nice” clothes and go to church. For my sisters and me this meant sitting for an hour, daydreaming and looking at other people in church. All of us knew when to sit, stand, and kneel at the right time. We even knew the prayers said by everyone in church. But all of this meant absolutely nothing to any of us including my mother. We acted like robots. We didn’t listen to what was being preached and we definitely did not think about why we were there. But one Sunday I actually became aware of just how unconscious my family was in church. I looked at my mother during the Homily (adlib for the priest) and noticed her typical glazed-over look. She was in her own world and never heard a thing. The priest could have been talking about pedophilia for all she knew. All that she was concerned about was how she was perceived by other parishioners. According to her “you have to look nice, don’t be late, sit quietly, and take a quarter from her to put in the basket when it comes around.” God forbid if you forget to bring any money with you to church. That would be the worst thing anyone could do in church besides wearing jeans with holes in them, shorts, sneakers, or anything that shows cleavage. Although my mother zoned out for the entire mass she could always find something or someone to talk about. “Did you see so-and-so? She looked like shit. I can’t believe she wore that blouse. You could see everything.”