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Chapter 3

Do Hang Out with All Kinds of People

SOMETIMES I THINK IT’S A LITTLE TOO EASY for us Catholics to hang out with only our Catholic friends. It’s natural to want to be bolstered by those who understand and share our values. I need such community as much as anyone, and there are huge benefits to finding and nurturing that kind of support, perhaps especially for converts such as Tom and me. It’s crucial to cultivate a Catholic culture in our lives and, more expansively, in our world.

At the same time, since we are called to be in the world but not of it, sometimes we have to enlarge our sphere of contact and open ourselves to the surprises the Lord has in store for us. I’m reminded of a passage from J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye:

I knew this one Catholic boy, Louis Shaney, when I was at the Whooton School … after a while, right in the middle of the … conversation, he asked me, “Did you happen to notice where the Catholic church is in town, by any chance?” The thing was, you could tell by the way he asked me that he was trying to find out if I was a Catholic. He really was. Not that he was prejudiced or anything, but he just wanted to know. He was enjoying the conversation about tennis and all, but you could tell he would’ve enjoyed it more if I was a Catholic and all.

That kind of stuff drives me crazy. I’m not saying it ruined our conversation or anything—it didn’t—but it sure as hell didn’t do it any good. That’s why I was glad those two nuns didn’t ask me if I was a Catholic. It wouldn’t have spoiled the conversation if they had, but it would’ve been different, probably. I’m not saying I blame Catholics. I don’t. I’d be the same way, probably, if I was a Catholic…. All I’m saying is that it’s no good for a nice conversation. That’s all I’m saying.¹²

I live in a small town. Our Catholic home-schooling group is microscopic. If we socialized only with other Catholic home-schoolers, my family would miss out on some amazing people. This is the story of one of the families we met, of a friend who made me glad my first question wasn’t, “Did you happen to notice where the Catholic church is in town, by any chance?”

Kindred Spirits

We are not a soccer family. My idea of a great sport is to see who gets to the couch first to grab a nap, but several years back we gave soccer a try at the local YMCA with my then eight-year-old. The weather that first morning was bracing, far chillier than I thought a Saturday in April ought to be. As I glanced around, shivering and mentally calculating how much of my daughter’s game I’d miss if I drove home to bundle up my two-year old, I realized the real soccer moms had brought blankets. I must have looked forlorn, and I assuredly looked cold, because the diminutive woman with bobbed black hair and a perpetual smile (Hey, isn’t she the one I keep seeing at the library with two children in tow?) appeared at my side, like a genie ready to grant my wish. She offered me a blanket as she glowed with good cheer.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she chirped. “I love a crisp morning!”

I am equal parts not a morning person and not a cold-weather person, so I was tempted to cock an eyebrow and snort that “crisp” didn’t describe the numbness in my toes. However, though I’m not a morning/cold-weather person, I am a polite one. I wrapped the much-appreciated blanket around my shivering two-year-old and thanked this sweet woman for whom I was very grateful.

I introduced myself, or maybe she introduced herself. We started chatting. Our daughters, it turned out, were on the same team. Her daughter, Laura, and my daughter, Lizzy, had already hit it off. Rose was a stay-at-home mom. So was I. We grabbed coffee from the concession stand and talked nonstop. Rose was delightful, sweet, intelligent. I was lucky to have been in need of a morning person’s extra blanket that day.

It wasn’t until we had gotten together a couple more times that we discovered we were both home-schooling moms. I thought Rose would fit in perfectly with some of my other friends, especially the moms in my Catholic home-schooling group. Except Rose wasn’t Catholic. No problem. I looked for activities that our children could do together.

What struck me about Rose was just how kind she was. She was also thoughtful, generous, respectful of everyone she met, and sensitive to the feelings of all those around her. She had a habit of referring to her favorite things as “Magical!” And when Rose said something was “Magical!” she had a way of making me believe it, too. Magic, in some form, always seemed perched on Rose’s shoulder.