Chapter 18

The Saints and I had a close relationship. Being Catholic and all, it was understandable. My first bonding was with St. Dominic Savio.

I had long (a month or two) envied my oldest sister, Andrea, who had recently joined the Wright County Saddle Club. I grew up riding horses, and felt pretty strongly that eight was old enough to join the Club. But, Andrea insisted I was too young.

One day in my third grade class, Sister Christine asked if anyone would like to join the Saint Dominic Savio Club, which, of course, I heard as Wright County Saddle Club. So I shot up my hand (the only one in the class to do so). Sister was very pleased, and told me I would have to bring a dollar the next day in order to officially join.

I was so excited! I had completely circumvented my older sister and the age issue. I just needed that dollar. My dad kept a jar of change on the kitchen windowsill and we were allowed to take money out for important things, like this. So I snatched four quarters, brought them to school the next day, and officially joined the Club. The nun said I would get my Club Card (did Andrea have a Club Card? I don’t think so!) in the mail fairly soon.

Weeks went by, and finally one day Sister Christine said “Cindy your Club Card arrived.” She then handed me a packet with a card, a scapula with photos of Saint Dominic, and a little printed prayer. She said I would also get a monthly newsletter.

I was like WTF? (Well, we didn’t say that back then, but you get the general idea.) I kept thinking “Who is this guy in the pictures?” And what’s up with the prayer? So I gravitated to the long-awaited Club Card, and lo and behold I was now a proper member of the Saint Dominic Savio Club.

It turns out that Saint Dominic Savio was an Italian student studying to be a priest when he became ill and died at the age of 14 (he could have joined the saddle club!). He was canonised a Saint in1954. He was pretty cool, and very cute, so at least I had a picture of a cute guy I could get away with wearing around my neck. And I had the added benefit that Sister Christine now thought I was destined for sisterhood, so I often got a pat on my shoulder when she walked by.

At first I was a little embarrassed, and I wasn’t going to tell a soul, EVER!. But about fifteen minutes later we had recess, so I told my best friends Jane and Eileen. They just looked at me like I was speaking Latin. And then, that night at dinner I couldn’t help myself and spilled the entire story to my family who all laughed and laughed. Except

Andrea who said “Cindy, I told you, you are too young to ride in the Club and besides you don’t even have a horse!’ (Well, she did have a point there.)

I did get my newsletter every month, but honestly it wasn’t very interesting.

The following year, the nuns informed our fourth grade class that we would be going through Confirmation. Confirmation, in the Catholic Church, is when a baptized person affirms their belief and is admitted as a full member of the Church. Sister told us we would each have to pick a Patron Saint, who then becomes your “protector for life”. Wow. Sister went on to tell us all about the different Saints we might pick, such as St. Catherine, St. Agnes, and St. Margaret. I wasn’t much interested in this litany of Saints until she mentioned Joan of Arc. I mean, come on! who wouldn’t want a patron Saint that carried a sword? For those of you who don’t know, Joan of Arc is the patron saint of France, honored as a defender of the French nation for her role in the siege of Orléans. Claiming to be acting under divine guidance, she became a military leader who transcended gender roles and gained recognition as a savior of France. This was definitely the saint for me.

As confirmation day drew near everyone in my class had to learn a few lines about their patron saint. I practiced and practiced my lines, Linda helping me every step of the way. On the day before confirmation there would be a school gathering, parents invited of course, and our class would march up on stage in the gym. Each of us dressed like our patron saint (oh boy a sword!) and we would step forward and say “My patron Saint is Joan of Arc”… and then recite a few lines about who she was. And then we’d step back and the next person in line got to recite their lines.

Mother made me a robe out of an old sheet (it was common practice at our house: if you needed a costume Mother would make it out of an old sheet), and Daddy made me a little wooden sword to carry. The morning of our big stage show Mother gave me a shopping bag and told me I should pack my costume in there and take it with me to school.

Now, besides having this crush on Joan of Arc, I also had a penchant for what I called Can-Can Girls. In my mind, these were French girls who wore big, full skirts with crinolines under them and could get up on stage and kick their legs in the air. My oldest sister, Andrea, had several crinolines in her closet (it was the 1950’s and Poodle Skirts were high fashion). I thought since Joan of Arc was French, and Can-Can Girls were French, I should probably combine them. Besides, I really needed an excuse to wear Andrea’s crinolines. So I snuck into Andrea’s bedroom, stole her crinoline, stuffed it in the bag with my costum and sword, and headed off to school.

That afternoon we were all sent into our respective lavatories to get dressed in our costumes for our presentations. Of course I put on my crinoline (which probably hung all the way to the floor as I was a lot shorter than Andrea!), pulled on my robe, which now had a light, fluffy bounce to it (perfect!), grabbed my sword, and headed out into the hallway to line up for the show. (My friends Jane and Eileen thought I looked pretty good.)

I didn’t get very far.

Sister Martinella, who was easily the largest and meanest nun I had ever known, came up to me and asked to see under my robe. So I showed her, with great pride, my addition to Mother’s costume design. Needless to say she made me take it off, but I at least got to keep the sword.

At dinner that night, when we were all sharing stories, I told my crinoline tale. Mother was chagrined, Andrea was mad at me for going in her closet, and Daddy, of course, laughed. Linda was just happy that I remembered my lines.

To this day I still think Joan of Arc is the coolest Saint ever.