I HAVE A DEEP, DARK SECRET

In 1992, when a Catholic priest (the actual cousin of Guido Sarducci of Saturday Night Live fame) wished me well at our end of the school year luncheon, the other teachers, one by one, approached me. They pretty much said the same thing, “I didn’t know you were leaving.”

“Neither did I,” I replied. “I think I was let go.” Let go, at the time, seemed much nicer, had less sting, then saying, “Hey, I just got fired by a Catholic priest.” I can’t say I was shocked. Father Novelly and I never really did get along. I don’t think he really understood me, where I was coming from.

I remember taking my seventh grade class to the Saint Matthew’s Church for confession. This took valuable time away from instruction in the classroom, so I would count it toward the one hour of religion per week requirement forced upon me. I had asked another staff person, a teacher/nun why she couldn’t teach the religion class. She said, “Don’t you think I get enough religion?” I told her I hadn’t been to church in years, which only reinforced her beliefs that I was the right man for the job. Earlier in the school year I had surveyed my students. “How many of you are Catholic?” Seven hands reached skyward out of twenty-six. That meant nineteen of my students would have to sit in the pews, while seven others went to confession. It didn’t seem right to me. As my last student, Johnny, left the confessional booth (I had learned that the divider no longer existed, sinner and priest sat face to face) he said to me, “Father Novelly told me to tell you it’s your turn.”

I panicked. I’ll admit it. I hadn’t confessed my sins in at least a decade. I said to Johnny, “Tell Father Novelly that I’m not comfortable with the arrangement, afterall, he signs my paycheck.” The rest of the class started laughing. They got a kick out of my statement. Johnny entered the confessional, quickly came back out, and said, “Father Novelly said that’s okay.”

“What do you mean—okay? No, it’s not okay.” I said.

“For you to go in there,” Johnny said reassuringly, nodding toward the curtained booth.

I sent Johnny back into the confessional again. He didn’t come out right away. I sat with my students, wondering what was going on. Johnny reappeared after what seemed like eternity. He looked at me, and said, “Are we going back to the classroom?”

Yes. Yes we are. At least for the time being.