Today I'll talk about raising a teenaged boy, well, specifically my teenaged boy.
We have been mightily blessed with a wonderful, Godly boy, Teddy (who now prefers to be called the more mature "Ted"), who will be 17 in a few weeks. He attends a good Catholic high school and attended an orthodox independent Catholic school for grades 6-8. He made good friends with many of the students there, and those friendships, for the most part, have continued into high school.
Teddy saved my soul.
My Catholic Upbringing
I was raised in a devout Catholic home, the youngest of six children. We attended Mass weekly (often more frequently), recited the Rosary as a family, observed all of the Catholic traditions. My oldest brother became a Jesuit priest. He eventually left the priesthood to marry (and is a wonderful and loving husband and father to six children himself -- but I'll write about that in another post some time). We attended Catholic schools from kindergarten through high school, and many of us continued through Catholic university (and I ventured into Catholic law school, but dropped out after suffering a miscarriage).
You'd think that with such a devout upbringing I'd never waver from the path. Well, this was in the upheaval after Vatican II -- so many things were changing, and liberal Catholics found that they could easily co-opt the documents of Vatican II to further their own heterodoxical agendas.
Beginning To Go Astray
The all-girls Catholic high school I attended was influenced greatly by the popular liberal theologians of the day, particularly Karl Rahner. Rather than study our Catholic faith using Church documents and the Catechism, we had "rap sessions" discussing liberation theology and the possibility of women as priests and other such "relevant" current events.
Ah, women as priests. Back then we were also in the throes of nascent feminism. Being an all-girls school, a large contingent (backed by many of the nuns, recently liberated from their habits) followed the gospels of Friedan and Greer.
Add to this a dollop of ecological awareness (Earth Day was instituted while I was in high school) and anti-war hippieness. We were a gaggle of confused pubescent girls, seeking guidance in a world of turmoil.
How Music Led Me Astray, Sort Of
When I was 11 I began to play guitar. My oldest brother (the one who became a priest) was a classical guitarist, and he taught me to play. I had already had three years of piano and was singing in a children's choir, so I had a pretty good musical base. I eventually took off on my own and learned a technique called fingerstyle guitar, and I used this to accompany my singing.
In the late 1960s the Mass was changed to the vernacular, and church music changed to become -- I don't know -- more relevant? More singable? Jazzier? Who knows. But I was in the right place at the right time, and at age 12 I began playing and singing at Mass, both at school and at my parish church. I played the music of Ray Repp, for the most part. Sons of God, Here We Are, Shout From the Highest Mountain... My ego was growing -- I loved singing at Mass, but to be honest, I was filled with pride and I loved the attention it garnered me.
Because of my lax theological education, and priests who either didn't care or who had just given up, I sang all sorts of groovy (and terribly inappropriate, sometimes egregiously so) songs at Mass. Sweet Baby James, Suzanne, Blowin' in the Wind, Imagine (!). I blush when I think of those years! People ate it up, and my ego grew and grew. It's a wonder I could walk through the church doors with my swelled head.
How did music lead me stray? It got so that if I wasn't being paid to sing at Mass, I rarely went. Oh, I still put on a good show for my parents -- I went to Mass with them (but remember, I was singing at my parish and being paid for it!). If I was out of town, I usually didn't bother. Sleeping in was more important to me.
After college I took a job in Washington D.C., and while there I attended Mass twice, one of those days being Christmas. I remember calling my local parish (the eminent Saint Matthew Cathedral in D.C.), offering my guitar and folksinging skills. The choir director, in no uncertain terms, informed me that they used only "appropriate" music at Mass. That should have made me think, but all it did was drive me further from the Church.
The "Lazy Catholic" Years
When my then-fiance wasn't accepted at any law schools near Washington D.C., I returned home. I attended Mass half-heartedly with my family (just for show), and then got married. As usual, after I was married, unless I was being paid to sing, I rarely attended Mass. And with no parents in the house to monitor my attendance, it was easy to just sleep in. Ah, but I still considered myself a "good" Catholic.
These lazy years lasted until Teddy was about six years old (17 years into our marriage!). When he was ready for school we joined a Catholic parish (outside of our boundaries -- we needed easy day care, so we opted for my husband's parents' parish). Teddy started kindergarten at a Catholic school. And was promptly kicked out. (OK, that leads me to another post -- the discovery of Teddy's "special needs" -- but I'll write about that another time.)
Needing to find a kindergarten that would deal with Teddy's special needs, we found a lovely (and credentialed) woman, the wife of a non-denominational pastor. She tutored him privately through a kindergarten curriculum.
One day after a year or so of study with Mrs. Severance, Teddy came home from school and asked me, in his straightforward manner, "Mama, why don't we go to church?" (I imagine that Pastor and Mrs. Severance were, in their gentle way, trying to recruit us into their congregation.)
Indeed. Out of the mouths of babes.
That next Sunday we joined our local parish, Saint Anthony's in Belleville, Michigan, and I jumped right into the fray of parish involvement. I've never looked back. Saint Anthony's is home to us now, and our wonderful pastor is Teddy's spiritual director.
Had Teddy not asked me that simple question, chances are I'd still be sleeping in on Sunday mornings, doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. Now I wait at least until after Mass to do it!
So, yes, Teddy did save my soul. Actually in more ways than I've posted here, but some things are just too private to share with you.
'thann
