No, We'll Call You

The repercussion for me having a theological bent as a youthful youngster was not any reproach from my nuns, but instead their encouragement, which was slightly worse.

I liked thinking and talking about this other world they had a bead on.

But this innocent proclivity turned out to be a topic in a parent-teacher conference, which my mother recounted to me.

- Sister says you ask a lot of questions in Religion class.

Now, if I say anything to my mother at this point, rather than just raising my eyebrows, I am making a tactical mistake. Not a serious one, just slight, but I try to do my best around my mother, who is skilled in debate.

- In a good way, Sister told me. Not being disrespectful. The opposite. Paying attention. Thinking about things.

- Yes, I say.

This is a good stalling response, lacking anything stronger.

- She says she thinks you might have a calling. Do you know what that means?

- No, I say.

- It means a vocation. That's a bigger word, that means the same thing. A calling comes from God to us. To some of us. Special people, who God wants and needs to do his work. It comes to nuns and priests. It's how they know they should become nuns and priests, in the first place. God calls them.

- How does He call them?, I ask.

- Well, in different ways, my mother says. - I guess. It never happened to me, of course, so I don't exactly know. But Sister does, of course. And she is wondering. If you feel anything you would like to talk about.

- Well, I say. - I don't want to be a priest, if that's what you mean.

- That's okay, my mother says. - But can you tell me why you feel that?

- Well. They don't do anything all day, do they?

- Of course they do, don't be silly. They take care of the parish and the people. They pray. They perform the sacraments.

- I guess. But they don't go anywhere to work, like Dad. They stay in the rectory and live together there. I wouldn't like that. I would want - like here, to be married and have kids and eat dinner together.

My mother seemed to relax a little. Maybe because of the way we were talking as much as for what we were saying. Well, maybe both. In those days it was considered pretty reputable, even prestigious, for a son to become a priest. But that was changing, and I think my mother was among the changed.

- Well, she said. - I hope I haven't worried you or made you nervous talking like this. I do it because I care about you. So does Sister.

- Okay.

- So what is it you would like to be when you grow up? Have you ever thought about that?

- A baseball player, I said.

- That's good, she said. I know you like baseball.

- And an airplane pilot.

- Both, she said.

- Baseball players have to have a job for the winter, I said.

I wasn't really a uniform type of person, so it is sheer conicidence that my two jobs of choice involved uniforms. At least they were snazzy. I wasn't stupid enough to mention to my mother how opposed I was to the dingey, same clothes on the priests, day in and out. I wish I had taken the chance, though, to make her laugh.