A Witch Trying to be a Catholic Mom.   

So, here's what. I was raised with no religion. None. My mother believed in everything and my father believed in nothing. My mother believed in reincarnation, energies, esp, clairvoyance, ghosts and hauntings, and the superior intellect and sensory perception of animals. Me, too.

So, my son was born. His dad didn't visit him much and my son had some behavioral issues. It was just my son and me. I'm not known for being an authoritarian type of person. I have rules and all but, not many. How to raise this child? How to find some authority that worked with this child? Hmmm. . . 

I went shopping for churches. I thought I had hit paydirt with the Catholic religion. It was known world wide. Good. It was the strictest of all Christian religions. Good. It instilled guilt and accountability. Good. It was designed to make you feel like a big booga-booga god was following your every move and was gonna stomp you if you were screwing around. Good. You had to show a tremendous amount of respect when entering a Catholic church. Good. OK. This is what I'm looking for in a religion for my son. 

So, I did what I do: I read the Christian Bible. Check. I bought and read Canon's Law. Check. (very dry. . . I don't recommend it for the bookclub). I went to classes for six months with a priest. I immediately noted that the number of inconsistencies were somewhat alarming. Shrugged it off--this was for my son's behavioral and emotional stability--and kept truckin'. I memorized every prayer, creed, mantra, chant, and whatever-the-fuck else they were slinging. Yup. I was a Hail Marying, Creed chanting, holy water carrying Catholic mama.

Except, I wasn't. 

I am a pagan. Period. Been practicing and believing in MY religion since I was 15. 

But, it's very difficult to raise a son in the pagan light without said son getting the shit kicked out of him in school. Thus, the church shopping. The church selection. And finally, the church immersion. 

Every night after I had read my son a book, we went through his prayers. All of them. By the time he was 5 years old, he could recite the Nicene Creed, the Apostle's Creed, the Queen Mary, the Hail Mary, and the Our Father. Done. By the time he was 6, I could hear him reciting the MASS in its entirety. Very impressive. 

Chanting/praying. . . what's the difference, right? I mean, I got this. 

Until he started asking questions. 

Therein was a minefield that was 100% contrary to MY belief system. Well, shit. 

"Mom, why does the church say not to masturbate. You said there's nothing wrong with it."son

"There isn't. It's healthy and normal as long as it's done privately and no one is hurt."me

"But. . . the church says--" son

"I know what the church says. They're wrong." me

"Mom, the church says everyone is going to hell if they don't follow the rules. . . I'm scared." son

"Don't be. There is no hell. Think about it, sweety. How can you burn if  you have no body? It's just something they say to scare kids and make them behave. Ignore it." me

"But the church says--"son

"They're wrong."me

"Mom, what's gay?"son

"It's when two boys or two girls love each other like your daddy and I did. That kind of love."me

"My friends in catechism told me that gay people are going to hell."son

(me gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles are white)

"Well, your friends in catechism are wrong."me

"But, I told them there was no hell. They said there is and told the priest."son

(long pause on my part. I'm not contemplating, I'm calming myself)

"Listen, hon. There is no hell. And god likes it when people fall in love. He doesn't give a shit if you love someone who's a boy or a girl--he just wants you happy and for no one to get hurt or sad." me

"But--" son

"Ignore it. Loving someone and wanting to be with them is not a sin."me

"Mom! Mom! Why did they bury people in front of the church?!" son

"%$&@$%!!!!" me responding as I look at the church lawn, covered with over a hundred small, foot high, white crosses.

"Son, no one is buried here. They're making a political statement against abortion." me

"What's abortion?" son

"A surgery women have if they don't want to have a baby. There are no bodies under these crosses, love." me

"Then why--" son

"Because the church doesn't give a FUCK about the constitutional boundary between church and state, that's why." me

"What?" son

(me giving a long-suffering sigh)

"Just ignore it. It's about grown-up, political stuff." me

And on and on it went. Oh, I did all the THINGS a catholic mom is supposed to do. Lent. Ash-Wednesday. Stations of the Cross. Holy Friday. Mass every Sunday. Prayers at night. Bible stories. It was the QUESTIONS that made for epic belly-flops of the charade. Still, my son seemed to believe in some of what the priests were telling him. However, I had the catholic church on a VERY tight leash. No one was going to feed hate to my son--not without going through me. There were a lot of discussions after mass, in particular if it was a mass condemning a certain activity or culture or belief system. Yeah. He knew his prayers. But, I wasn't going to let that institution hose my son down with hate. Fuuuuck THAT. So, I intervened when necessary.

To my credit, my son DID lean on the church and pray when he felt the need. And, when he died, he was buried with a full Catholic Mass in the very church that I had him baptized in. He requested it. 

For myself, when he died, I went straight back to my Celtic pagan goddess and pantheon whom I had never left. It had been a tough, tough decision to not raise my son pagan but, I had determined that it would not work out well for him in school and with friends. I will still occasionally go to mass. It makes me feel closer to my son. Do I think there's a nameless, omnipotent, hell-fire god in that building? No. No, I do not. I never have. But, it makes me feel closer to my son so, occasionally, every couple of years, I'll go and remember all of our times together in mass. But, when I want to commune with a bigger, all-knowing energy that I DO believe in, I make a campfire and scry into it. My goddess is always there to greet me. When real shit is going down, like when my brother was activated to go fight in Afghanistan, I cast my ass off. I've seen shit, felt shit, taken pictures and videos of shit, and been told shit. Yeah. I'm 100% pagan. I 100% believe in my goddess and the Celtic pantheon. There is no doubt. 

Now, fast forward 11 years. I met my husband. A Columbian, recovering Catholic. Yeah. He started telling me stories of how a REAL catholic family from Columbia raises their kids. Wow. Just. . . wow. I wasn't even close. My husband had never HEARD of Canon's law but had a belief that if you put your purse on the floor you were inviting poverty. What?

He was taught other peculiar things that are NO where in Canon's law. Where did this shit COME from??? 

"If you see a snake, the devil is watching you." husband

"You're fucking with me right?" me

"I fuck with you not." husband

Wow. . . 

"Whenever I scraped my knee as a kid, my mom told me it was because god saw what I had done even though SHE hadn't and had punished me accordingly." husband.

"Holy shit. . ." me

"Yup. I'd go around scared for my life that I had a punishment from god coming. I got stomach aches..." husband

"Wooow. . . that's some voodoo shit, that-there." me

"When I was really screwing around, my mom would tell me that she's going to pray with the priest for me. Then I knew god was really gonna hammer me. I used to start crying and grab her purse so she wouldn't leave to tell the priest who was going to tell god. I was scared he would make me get hit by a car or something. . ."

"What the HELL! That sounds terrifying. . . and ABUSIVE!!"

"No. It's called being Catholic."

"Daaaamn!" 

I then told my husband how I had raised my son. He laughed and laughed. He said I missed the whole "Fear of God" mark by a mile. He was glad I did miss that part. He became pagan about a decade ago, ignoring his entire family's plea for his soul. . . But, you know what? They came to our pagan wedding. They said not a word about my black wedding dress, the tying of the hands, or the jumping over the broom. . .

I have found the answer. Apply free booze and no one gives a shit what religion you are.

Catholic, Hindu, Muslim, pagan. . . whatever makes y'all happy. You do you. I'll do me. This is just a little peak over my fence to let you know how the hell a witch can raise a catholic kid. Had I to do it over, would I have raised my son Catholic? No. No, I would not. I would have just kept my damn mouth shut about all of it like my parents did with me. 

"Let her sort it out when she's older."

Why don't we EVER listen to our parents?