I am a Catholic. In case of an accident ....

A "Cradle Catholic" is someone who has been born and raised Catholic rather than having converted into the religion later in life.  Having been baptized as an infant and attended Catholic elementary and high schools, I am the former rather than latter. 

I love my faith and try live a dedicated, spiritual life according to the church and its docrine.  When my children were younger, it was very important for me to teach them their faith.  I even volunteered to teach Catechism (religion) classes in my parish.

My high school identification card was recently discovered by my youngest daughter, a senior in a non-Catholic high school.  She was fascinated by the ID card on a multitude of levels, which intrigued and actually "creeped me out" that she was carrying it around in her wallet.  What the fascination was, I'll probably never know, but I suspect that unlike my current driver's license with the prison-shot photo, my high school picture didn't have the capacity to scare white-off-rice, which in her probable opinion was miraculous.   Additionally, on the back of the ID card, there was a statement that read: "I am a Catholic, in case of an accident, please call a priest."

Whle hanging out in the kitchen washing dishes while she watched, I could not ignore hyenia-like laughter from my daughter as she repeated over and over again "...in case of accident, please call a priest." 

"What's IS so funny?" I questioned her as she almost fell out of the chair laughing.

"I don't know..." she answered, "I just find it strange that someone is supposed to call a priest if you get hurt.  I mean, what are people 'supposed to do -- look up the phone number of a priest and tell them that you had to go to the emergency room to get stiches or something?"

It was at this very moment that any joy, pride or happiness at having passed along a shred of Catholic knowledge to my daughters was washed down the kitchen drain with the water from the dishes. 

"No, dufus (another loving motherly expression I frequently choose) it's in case of a life-threatening emergency so that you can recieve the Sacrament of the Sick; not if you scrape your knee to please call the priest and leave a message on his answering machine that you got hurt and then hang up.  Just keeping him "posted."

Ahhh, just another humbling moment in motherhood, the kind when you imagine someone saying, "Outta line, lady, you must be dreaming or something, you lose! Imagine a piece of loose-leaf with a big red grade "F".  Ouch!

As I write this, I realize it doesn't matter how she learned this Catholic lesson.  She learned it even though it was in some round-about dufus, hyenia laughing way.  I found the ID card on the kitchen counter the other day, picked it up and popped it into the big bucket marked "photo archive." 

Perhaps someday, even 50 years from now, she'll see it again and remember our conversation and smile.