I Confess

On Sunday’s my seven year old attends Sunday school. The time that it’s offered is very odd as it’s between mass times — starting just as one ends, and ending in the middle of another. Now, I admit, I’m not a very churchy person. Sometimes I don’t mind it, but for the most part, I prefer to stay at home and read the newspaper. In fact, before Zoe was born, and actually for a while after, each Sunday morning I’d take my newspaper to my nearest Einstein Bagels, enjoy a bagel and a lot of coffee, while immersing myself in my own private time. Sometimes I’d be there for hours. And by the time I was done, I was ready to socialize with others.

I’ve never been a morning person. Sure I can accomplish a lot in the mornings, more than I can in the evenings, but DO NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES talk to me until I’m ready to be talked to. Do not look at me, do not take my favorite cereal bowl, or (God forbid) my coffee cup either. Don’t be all sunshine-y and tell me that it’s time to get up. I’ll get up when I’m good and ready to get up, and yes I know that I’m pressing the snooze button every 4.5 minutes due to the fact that I have two alarm clocks going off simultaneously. THAT IS HOW I LIKE IT.

Anyhow, back to Sunday school. I don’t mind taking her to Sunday school because I drop her off, and then I go to Panera with my newspaper, order a coffee and a bagel, and enjoy my time alone until I have to pick her up. Sure, I only get about 40 minutes of alone time, but you know what? I look forward to those 40 minutes all week long. I look forward to my trip to the coffee shop where I get to decompress, relax, not talk to anyone, and enjoy the quiet.

Well this week Sunday I had a parent meeting to attend while Zoe was in class. She’s in 2nd grade and for some reason the Catholic Church feels that 2nd graders are old enough to have their first reconciliation. This will be interesting, because getting Zoe to talk when she’s remorseful is impossible! I don’t know how she’s going to make it through confession with a priest. That poor guy.

Now, keep in mind that me in the mornings does not equal fun, AND multiply that with me losing my alone time and you’ll find one very unhappy me.

So, I arrive at the meeting, gather all of the handouts, write a check for $35, and then take a seat at a table all by myself. Next thing I know they are passing out a sheet of paper and telling us ’single sitters’ to move to a table with others. Luckily, some guy came and sat at my table so then I did not have to move. I look down at what they’ve assigned us parents to do: Share an experience that you’ve had that involved reconciliation with another person, and then share an experience that involved reconciliation with yourself which allowed you to diminish guilt in your life.

Seriously? I’m not a bad person, but talking about this kind of stuff with strangers (in the morning, during what is supposed to be my alone time) makes me feel rather uneasy. I’m sure the look on my face was similar to a deer in headlights. The dad who sat with me was actually able to verbalize what I was thinking: Uh, I’m not sharing that with you — YOU STRANGER! I think he was one of my people, and I embraced that he sat at my table and did not spill his stories of guilt and reconciliation on me. And even more, I’m glad that he was cool with me not spilling mine on him.

Wouldn’t it have made you uneasy? Would you have shared?