Birthrights of Many Kinds

My mom was raised Methodist and my dad Jewish. When they had kids, my mom's mom (Grand Nana) said, "I don't care what you raise them, just raise them something." This was actually remarkably open of Grand Nana, a woman born in 1916 in southern Virginia, who to this day sometimes says things so not politically correct that all her children and grandchildren wince at the same time. My parents went with no religion until I (the older child) was in fourth grade. My brother and I had been attending a Quaker school (Religious Society of Friends) since Pre-K and my parents finally decided to take the leap and become Quaker, my father's comment being that it was the only non-organized religion he had encountered and that worked for him. My brother informed his first grade teacher that he was "signing up to be Quaker." This was actually fairly accurate, as we each were given the right to choose whether we thought this was the right choice for us. Quakers sit in silent worship, believing that God speaks directly to each person and there is no need for the intercession of a priest or minister.

Emily was raised Catholic. She was passionate about her Catholicism, the way she is passionate about pretty much everything in her life. She memorized the prayers, the psalms, the ritual. She very much wanted to be a priest when she grew up. She says that this was clearly the beginning of the end for her as a Catholic. She continued to become more disillusioned with the church over the years. When we met in high school, I began taking her to meeting (what Quakers call church). By college, she had chosen to be a convinced Quaker. I love that instead of "converting" to Quakerism, one is "convinced". Before we were married under the care of Brook.lyn Meet.ing, I transferred my membership and she became a member. X, as the son of two members in good standing of the Religious Society of Friends, is what is called a "birthright Quaker". The first in either of our families.

I have very little understanding of the Catholic ritual, so Emily tends to explain bits of it when we attend services. Today, at Great Aunt C.'s funeral, we sat in the sound proofed children's room in the church (an interesting invention, allowing babies to have fits and not bother the other parishioners) and Emily told X, "Look, honey, now the priest in going to do magic." And to our birthright Quaker son, I think that must be what the Catholic service looks like, magic. A man in a robe sings and waves his hand and waves smoke making machines in the air and informs people he has changed water to wine and bread to flesh. But Catholicism is X's heritage, just as much as Judaism is, so I had better start learning about it, so I can help teach our son his past so that it can inform his future.