From today's TIMES and NEWS-STAR
What
I know about Catholicism you could wrap up easily in a rosary bead. On a
descending knowledge scale in my brain, Catholicism comes right between ice
hockey and atom splitting.
This
could be because I am a stupid person, but it could be because my dad was a
Baptist preacher and because I was raised in South Carolina, where Catholics were
rare. They might be standing wall-to-wall from Clemson to Myrtle Beach today,
but back then, if Dillon County were Mercury, the Vatican was Pluto. You could
find a Yale graduate or a moon rock in our neck of the woods before you could
find a Catholic church in the Piedmont.
Not
counting television shots of the Pope or all those people in “The Godfather,” I
was a teenager before I even saw, to my knowledge, a real, live Catholic
person. It was weird; they were sort of just like me.
So
I was as surprised as anyone when I ended up as the invited token Protestant at
Loyola College Prep’s 2014 Hall of Honor Banquet recently at East Ridge Country
Club in Shreveport. Whoa…I was hungry, and they fed me. Just like the Baptists I
grew up with! What a break!
By
luck of the draw, I have become in my “adult” life knee-deep in friends who are
Catholic. We don’t go to church together, but we’ve played ball together, gone
to funerals together, worked together, eaten together, raised children
together, fought together and played golf together for more than 30 years.
A
while ago I even dated Catholic girls, and learned that they were just like
Protestant girls in most ways – this is a very good thing – and that I did not,
after going to mass a few times, have either the rhythm or stamina to convert.
(I also learned that while we Protestants have them beat in music, they have
hit the tape first in the edifice category, and it’s not even close. They have
much more depth at statue and marble, and in candle, than we do.)
For
the most part, Catholics have Protestants beaten at proper names, too. I don’t
usually sit in the same pew with Baptists if their name sounds foreign or has
too many vowels. But among my Catholic friends are Tony Rinaudo and Johnny
LeBlanc. Tony Catanese and Wade Gautreau. Pous and Cordaros. People with names
from a European phone book. Vowels and whatnot. Lyrical. And some of my
favorite people in the whole world.
Because
of faithfulness and willingness and dedication, and because of a willingness to
compromise and check egos at the door and serve the common good, Loyola Prep
has survived and thrived through the years when other Catholic schools in the
area did not. It has a family feel to it, something you can’t deny if you have
developed friendships with its supporters and alumni. I have, so I wouldn’t
have missed the banquet, even though there was a baseball postseason game on
television; that’s how much I love the Flyers. (Note: Catholics are not any
better at scheduling special events than Protestants.)
Many
congratulations to Glenda Erwin, Robert McGowen, John James Marshall, Camille
Meehan and Keith Todaro, the Class of 2014. I’m lucky to know each of them a
bit and some of them really well. Robert and John James and I got to coach our
Little League boys at the same time, and Camille should be in the Hall of Honor
just for the yeast rolls she makes. Like me, Glenda is a non-graduate of the
school; unlike me, she has given years to its support. Todaro’s experience is
an example of how a thread runs through the best organizations and binds families
together, whether they are related by blood or faith or education or by all of
those.
Their
secret? The Flyers are well grounded. So while I’ll never be a Flyer, I’ll
always be a fan.
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