Oh, Mary!

I attended a Catholic elementary school here in SoCal back in the 70's. My parents were quite economically challenged at the time, and we literally lived in a rental home behind two businesses and next to a bar and a liquor store.  I didn't grow up with any kids or families around me, just adults parking in our "yard" to go to one of the businesses and me scheming constantly to locate spare coins so I could furtively purchase Abba Zabbas and Funyuns from the liquor store. 

Because of the rich tapestry that is Southern California, the Catholic school I attended at the time was transitioning from what I assume was mostly white (based on the priests and nuns) to what the Catholic Church is today in California, majority Hispanic, with the majority being of Mexican heritage. I never thought about it growing up, really.  I didn't realize it until much later that the majority of my class was Hispanic. I am not going to use Latinx because I have heard from so many of the people that I know with this heritage they feel this is an academic term that sort of erases their background and culture and was made up by non-Hispanic people, so forgive me if I have committed a horrible breach. I will absolutely use it with people who indicate that is their preferred term. 

Anyway, the point is, that rightly or wrongly, as a kid, I never really thought about the racial makeup of my school and class. My classmates were my friends (or in some cases, not my friends, as it were) and I just enjoyed learning all the curse words in Spanish and savoring hideously unhealthy, yet so hot and so delicious chicharrones that a vendor would sell outside the school once or twice a week.  Hmmm, I am seeing a food theme here, even though that wasn't my intention with this post. Not surprising, really. If you saw me, you would know what I'm talking about. 

I don't even remember the month, but at some point, it was some sort of Feast, or something that the school decided that they were going to have a procession in honor of Mary.  I was in 8th grade at the time.  Ok, great, wonderful.  The best thing about all of these religious celebrations was that it got us out of class. I mean, we went to Mass, we went to confession, we had hymns, we practiced readings for school Masses, we practiced religious plays and such, we did all kinds of things, it was a blessing. Turns out they wanted to do some kind of big procession around the school playground with the school following Mary around and then some kind of Mass. 

I was definitely my 8th grade teacher's pet, and I don't blame her. I was the class Vice President.  I got straight A's except for Math. I was an excellent reader and up until the last part of 8th grade when my social reputation completely imploded, I was an example and leader. But still, much to my surprise, I was chosen as Mary to lead the entire school in some sort of enforced march around our very large playground.  And when I say playground, it really was just a really huge concrete parking lot. I mean, maybe because I was young it seemed much bigger to me than it actually was, but I really do think it was pretty darn big. It had plenty of parking for the entire Church and we had a yearly large carnival on it with rides and everything. 

So, the day arrives where I am to lead the procession. I have smuggled makeup into my school backpack to apply surreptitiously in the school bathroom after my mother drops me off. I believe we did put curlers in my hair. My mother did not take off work for this type of thing, I think I probably downplayed it as just something to do with having to take part in Mass, which I did often, so that was nothing she was going to ask for a day off to see. They hustle me in to some kind of blue robe and some kind of crown/tiara thing, hand me a large-ish wooden(?) cross, which I just now learn I am to hold up over my head THE ENTIRE TIME I am walking so that everyone can see it, of course. 

And honestly, looking back on it, I cringe at the optics. Here is some white girl with blonde hair in a crown, holding a cross and leading a large group of majority Hispanic people around the Church parking lot. And then INTO THE CHURCH like some sort of Catholic recruiting exercise gone wrong. Just. Terrible. I know it was a different time and all, but still. Not something I'm pleased to have been a part of. I am sure that the teacher has long since passed away, but Mrs. Dee, what were you thinking? Maybe she was only thinking that due to me being one of the tallest girls in the class and that I played volleyball, I was the best choice for holding up a wooden cross for a long time?  We'll never know.