Losing through Religion

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    Some people lose their parents through death, some through Alzheimer’s, and some through a brutal separation caused by war or violence. I lost Mom and Dad through religion. It happened after we moved to Mexico, New York in 1965. The purchased of the apple orchard opened up new adventures for us kids. Our house stood on top of a hill (thus the term, “house on the hill”), which offered us beautiful views of the orchard, the river, and the sunrises and sunsets. I rode Blacky all over the property, and though I didn’t love working the orchard year-round, I became accustomed to it. Most of our time outdoors was spent exploring our property or doing the many daily chores. Life seemed the best ever. 

    With so much to keep us occupied, I never noticed the change between my parents. It started with little things. First, we began praying the rosary nightly. Then we began attending daily Mass during Lent, and my brother became an altar server. In 1969, we joined a radical group in Quebec called Vers Demain. They promoted disobedience to local government, the wearing of long skirts by women at all times, and celibacy among married couples. I was unaware of their philosophy and the damage it was doing to my little family. Externally, we seemed to be on another adventure. 

    Initially, I enjoyed going to church every evening in Lent and our nightly recitation of the mysteries of the rosary deepened my sense of God, my ability to pray, and my appreciation of my faith. I never let my doubts about my faith disturb me, doubts about how weird it was that I was born into the “one true faith” or that our church was the only church who contained the “truth.” I accepted this as God’s way and focused on learning the mysteries of the Bible as were contemplated in the mysteries of the rosary. I’d had a children’s Bible since confirmation, a gift from my paternal grandmother. As an avid reader, I found the stories fascinating and grew in the belief that with God, there were no “chances” or “misfortunes.” All worked out in marvelous ways: David overcoming Goliath and becoming King, Joseph being sold into slavery only to save his people years later, the prophets dying for speaking the truth, but in fact, they were foretelling the coming of Jesus. 

    I began to question only when we were changing so much that my family seemed to be dying. Why do we have to wear skirts so long? It makes us weird, no one in school wears them to their knees. I’m becoming a freak. Why can’t I wear pants? Everyone wears pants. Why is it considered inappropriate now? 

    In school, I’d hoped to get my letters in sports. I planned to major in music. I could see both being an integral part of my future. I’d just begun to find my voice, begun debating with teachers over topics and beliefs I held dear. After years being carefree and enjoying socializing more than study, I’d decided I’d be serious in high school (I often skipped homework in seventh and eighth grade, partly because my teachers rarely asked for it and partly because I didn’t want to seem too studious). Mom had been my biggest cheerleader for school, and as eighth grade drew to a close, she encouraged me to request the regent courses as my older sisters had done. I was preparing for college. 

    The summer before ninth grade, Mom voiced a desire to remove us from the public-school system and teach us at home. She was very influenced by three families of the Vers Demain group that had removed their children from school in Canada, citing corrupt teaching as the reason, and quoting a document from Pope Leo XIII which stated that parents were the primary educators of their children. Her words troubled me. How could I to go to college if I didn’t finish high school? How would I ever learn to be the musician or writer I dreamed of? I fretted over her words. I could hear Mom and Dad arguing the matter late into the night that summer. Mom convinced this was the right thing to do, Dad feared he would end up in jail or lose his job. 

    As I listened to the dispute, I kept my anxiety inside. I feared voicing my opposition.



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