As I leaned over to reach for the rolls, I heard the troubling words. I closed my eyes for a second trying to think of how she knew and immediately realized it was because of my appearance or, rather, my tank- top which exposed the symbol I wore.
The words she spoke were, "Excuse me sir, are you a Christian?"
I responded, despite the alarm bells going off in my head, "Well, yes I am." But then I added, "I was raised Catholic."
The small gold cross I was wearing had slipped out of my tank top. The cross was my mother's which she gave me prior to her passing.
She looked at me in a way best described as 'sadly' and offered, "Catholic? Really?" She added, "I'm Christian".
Her face was grandmotherly but her eyes said, "J'accuse!"
The alarm bells were getting louder. I struggled with whether to make a quick exit or to defend my being raised a Catholic due to circumstance and later reaffirming that accident of birth while taking many of the best things of all religions to heart.
She spoke again, "We had some Catholics live near us. They were very nice".
'They'?
4 letters translated into a verbal punch. I wondered if she realized she had just called me a 'they'.
I decided to leave it alone and simply dismiss it by blaming my religion on my ancestry, "Well, I'm of Slavic descent and Catholicism is something I grew up with. I think it's still part of the Christian family- isn't it?"
She quickly responded with, "Oh, we had some Slavs- I think they were Polish- that lived next to us before we moved here." She then got a look on her face that one associates with the initial smell of stench and followed up with, "Nice people but you could smell their food all around the neighborhood when they cooked."
'They' and 'but smell their food'? Verbal punches number two and three.
My ancestry, my studies, and my belief of the sanctity of holding religion private were all being pilloried by this knowing or unknowing conveyance of intolerance.
Although I'm not Polish, I share something in common with Poles (and with certain other select groups of people). We were a favorite choice for the 'eugenics' movement (the U.S. and Germany- circa 1930-45 come to mind) by those who spoke as she did.
Sensing it was time to disengage, I replied, "Thank you for the help with the toilet paper."
The words she spoke were, "Excuse me sir, are you a Christian?"
I responded, despite the alarm bells going off in my head, "Well, yes I am." But then I added, "I was raised Catholic."
The small gold cross I was wearing had slipped out of my tank top. The cross was my mother's which she gave me prior to her passing.
Her face was grandmotherly but her eyes said, "J'accuse!"
The alarm bells were getting louder. I struggled with whether to make a quick exit or to defend my being raised a Catholic due to circumstance and later reaffirming that accident of birth while taking many of the best things of all religions to heart.
She spoke again, "We had some Catholics live near us. They were very nice".
'They'?
4 letters translated into a verbal punch. I wondered if she realized she had just called me a 'they'.
I decided to leave it alone and simply dismiss it by blaming my religion on my ancestry, "Well, I'm of Slavic descent and Catholicism is something I grew up with. I think it's still part of the Christian family- isn't it?"
She quickly responded with, "Oh, we had some Slavs- I think they were Polish- that lived next to us before we moved here." She then got a look on her face that one associates with the initial smell of stench and followed up with, "Nice people but you could smell their food all around the neighborhood when they cooked."
'They' and 'but smell their food'? Verbal punches number two and three.
My ancestry, my studies, and my belief of the sanctity of holding religion private were all being pilloried by this knowing or unknowing conveyance of intolerance.
Although I'm not Polish, I share something in common with Poles (and with certain other select groups of people). We were a favorite choice for the 'eugenics' movement (the U.S. and Germany- circa 1930-45 come to mind) by those who spoke as she did.
Sensing it was time to disengage, I replied, "Thank you for the help with the toilet paper."
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