SantaGate

So, right here at St. Attracta, we have a major Christmastide scandal underway.

Apparently, last week, the Spanish teacher was asked by some little darling in the fourth grade if she 'believed in Santa'.

This is the point at which, in a nice Catholic school, one is supposed to smile and say "Of course I do!" But Sra. is a devout apostolic evangelical of some sort, and apparently she went into some considerable detail about how not only did she not believe in Santa, but there is only one person whom one is supposed to show worship to and expect things from, and that Christmas is about Jesus, and that belief in Santa Claus is a form of idolatry.

Now, this gets into some deep theological divides in Christianity, having to do with the veneration of the saints, and toy shopping and such, but that's sort of beside the point. The point is that the fourth graders were traumatized, and they told their parents, and their parents called the principal, and it was all fairly insane for a few days.

So, Sra. was told that while she did not have to lie and say she did believe in Santa Claus, she should not lecture the children on the subject, or say that Santa was bad. Good enough.

Yesterday, my own sixth-graders had Spanish class, and I left to go have a cup of coffee. When I returned, some of the kids were polling one another about wehter they believed in Santa Claus, but since I didn't know about the fourth-grade episode, I thought little of it.

ANYWAY, today the principal shows up, and tells me that apparently one of MY little darlings, last night, at bedtime, turns to her mother and says, "Mom, something happened today, and Sra. said not to tell anyone she said it or we'd be in trouble, but I have to tell you. She said there's no Santa Claus!"

Now, I have to say that my own feeling is that a family in which a sixth-grader believes in Santa is perhaps in need of some sharp talk from a Spanish teacher, but anyway, there were more furious phone calls, and I had to pull kids out of class to give testimony about what was said. (The witness kid I called says they were NOT told to keep the whole thing secret, and that Sra. simply said no when asked if she was a Santa believer.)

Such is life in middle school, such is life at St. Attracta.

I have some more I need to tell you about what's going on, but that will have to wait for tomorrow. 

Forgive Me Father, I'm In The Second Grade

Tonight, the St. Colmcille kids and the kids from the local Spanish-language catechism classes fuse together into one big mob of 66 kids, and proceed to St. Colmcille Church for First Reconciliation (that's the Sacrament Formerly Known As Confession for those of you who have not been paying attention in catechism class). The kids are going to be reconciled with God and their own consciences. The St. Colmcille community is having to be reconciled with the fact that we didn't know that the kids from the Spanish-language classes were going to be there too. It's going to be a long ceremony, and thank goodness I'm skipping it.

Everyone will be reconciled in the end, but I'm worried about the priests. There are going to be two of them. Two priests. Sixty-six kids making their first confession. Can you imagine listening to the confession of and absolving thirty-three second graders in a row?

ForgivemeFatherforIhavesinnedthisismyfirstconfession. I hit my little sister. I was mean to my brother. I took my mom's lipstick and made a hopscotch on the sidewalk. I called my mom a bad name. I hit my little brother. I took my dad's keys and dropped them down the garbage disposal, and then I forgot I did it, and my mom turned the disposal on. I yelled at my best friend. I took another cupcake at a birthday part and lied and said it was my first cupcake. I broke my friend's pencil. I was really mad at my dad and talked back to him. I hit my cousin. I took a cookie without asking. I lost three jackets already this year, and my aunt says she's not made out of money. I called my teacher a bad name and stuck my tongue out. I accidentally told my grandmother that my father took out a second mortgage on our house, and now everyone is mad at me. I was mean to my sister. I talked back to my grandma. I accidentally killed my goldfish. I didn't do my homework. I hit my best friend. I wouldn't go to sleep when my babysitter said. I hit my sister. I lied about my homework. I said I hated the principal. I stole a condom from my uncle and unrolled it and put it in my teacher's desk because she made me stay in for lunch. I hit my big sister. I am very sorry for these and all my other sins that I can't remember, and you're hurting my feelings by giggling, Father, I worked hard on this confession with Mrs. Tierney.

I don't know how long it takes to confess thirty-three kids, but I know that they would have to take me to a locked ward afterward. Perhaps they train you for this in seminary, making you watch endless looped kid confessions in some kind of VR helmet?