Communion Catastrophe

Middle school was a hard time for me growing up. The whole going through puberty, trying to discover my independence, and the craziness of realizing that boys weren’t icky but rather cute, just didn’t sit well with me.

Anyway, if all those changing, confusing times weren’t enough, my parents thought it would be best to confuse me a little more and send my Baptist raised-self to a Catholic School! Yep, why not add to the already perplexing time in a pre-teen's life.

So, my dazed-and-confused-self entered into Mass on the first day of school with absolutely no clue if I should sit, kneel, stand-up or lay down. I sat dumbfounded when every other kid was reciting prayers and doing multiple hand motions. I was so not prepared for this event.

After what seemed like years, it was time for communion. Alright…now I know what communion is…I can participate in this part of the mass! So I wait in line for my cracker and juice, once returning to my seat, I reverently place the cracker in my mouth. My dear and precious friend sitting next to me, who was a life long Catholic, quietly whispered to me that since I wasn’t Catholic, I wasn’t allowed to take the communion. So I do what any normal non-Catholic chick would do… I promptly spit out my communion and hold it, half-chewed, in my hand until the end of the mass.

After exiting the church, I casually throw my half chewed communion on the ground…I figure no one would see me and it would be no big deal. Boy was I wrong. Next thing I know, I am being called into Sister Esther’s office. She then proceeds to reprimand me for being disrespectful to the body of Christ. We then head out to the parking lot, where I disposed of my cracker, and together we pray and ask for forgiveness. Let’s just say that wasn’t the special start I was hoping for at a new school. I don’t think those precious Sisters will ever forget my name.

Just when I think my first day of school couldn’t get any worse, my dad decides it would be appropriate to drive by the common area at recess and holler out to me, “ASHLEE…OVER HERE, IT'S DADDY…HOW IS YOUR FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, SWEETIE?”

Yes…I have come to the conclusion that my parents hated me.