This is in honor of my Mom, who passed away this year. I will always, always remember Lent.
My mother, Mildred, was a master at rooting out and punishing misdeeds. She was legendary among her children. She died when I was 38 and even at that age, I would not have considered talking back to my mother. I was terrified of her. But I also thank her because I know I will be able to scare the dickens out of my children. I look at my children and think, “Don’t cross me because I was trained by a master. If you get into trouble, I will punish you in a horrifying way.”
Lent was rough at our house every year. My mom was a hardcore Catholic and she took the Pope’s directives seriously. We didn’t have meat on Wednesdays or Fridays (ugh, so many fish sticks) and we had to fast between meals on those days. We went to all the required holy days during the Lenten season (there are a lot) and we had to give up something good for lent like chocolate, comic books or happiness. On Good Friday, the television and radio were off. We were supposed to reflect on the cross and we spent most of the day at church. Gah, I spent so much time at church when I was a teenager. This was probably a good call on my mom’s part but it seemed like an endless cycle of boredom to me. I can tell you that about 95% of the time, I was not thinking about whatever the priest was talking about.
One of her all time greatest punishments was what I liked to call “The Fish Stick Season of My Dismay.” One Lenten season, she decided to take it to the next level for me. I don’t know what specific thing I did to set her off. I hated everyone and everything when I was 13, so spending time with me was as pleasant as ripping off toenails. I assume my general attitude was Mom’s primary issue with me. Her remedy? Church – everyday, for the entire duration of lent. That’s six weeks of daily church attendance. I attended 42 individual masses that lent, each of which lasted at least 45 minutes which means I spent a bare minimum of 1,890 minutes in church that Lenten season and believe you me I remember every second of it.
I had 1,890 minutes to think about how much I resented my mother and how I would tell her – in detail – about how unbelievably unfair and stupid she was for inflicting this punishment on me. Not that I told her any such thing, I was way too afraid of her. I had 1,890 minutes to check out the rest of the daily mass attendees. There were a couple of unbelievably old people, a few mourners, and someone training to be a nun. Occasionally someone who looked really, really guilty floated in but not often enough. I was the only constant representative in my family. I also had time to read the missal from cover to cover and ruin any surprises in the upcoming mass for myself.
What did I learn? I learned that you can ask the Virgin Mary for favors. Some Catholics say special prayers to the Virgin Mary on Tuesdays, called novenas and they believe she will intercede for them. I read a little booklet about them. One woman wrote in to say that her son had married a divorced woman and she prayed that the Virgin Mary would convince her son to divorce this shameless hussy. And he did! Doesn’t that make him divorced now too?
I learned that 45 minutes can seem like an unbelievably long amount of time. I learned that once my mom decides on a course of action, there is no talking her out of it. I was seeing my sentence out, like it or not. I learned that if I ever had children that my greatest weapon would be my ability to create a punishment so annoying that my children would in fear of my ability to inspire my creativity.
Novena image Wikipedia.
