Parochial Days / Ch. 4 / Pt. 4 / This and Thats

Paula

My dreams spilled over into my daily reality. Dressing-up, had become an important aspect in my life. Some days I'd play "Movie Star" wearing, full makeup, long dresses, high heels, and old jewelry, all given to me by the neighborhood ladies. On other days, I'd dress like a nun with sheets draped all over me and rosary beads hanging by a belt, as I sternly taught an entire classroom of imaginary students. There was no way around it, I eventually decided to step out into the public with my nun habit and share my new occupation. My neighbors would pass me on the street with amused smiles.

"Why, good afternoon, Sister Paula! Lovely day isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is a beautiful day. Bless you." I would say, bowing my head as they passed.

These little costume charades, and my endeavors of maintaining as much perfection and order brought a sense of security to my life. I made endless lists of chores for myself, such as:

1. Fold sweaters, neatly

2. Clean closet and put shoes in order

3. Wipe perfume bottles and arrange like Annette's

(bottles contributed by the neighborhood ladies)

4. Put stuffed animals on bed like Annette's

5. Fold back bedspread after dinner, with pajamas on pillow

6. Group Jesus statues to the right of the saints

My father, meanwhile, had landed a job as a record distributor and since he was an ardent lover of music, it seemed that the job might last. Our den held at least two thousand 45's, 78's, and LP's. The sounds of Hank Williams Sr., Les Paul and Mary Ford, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Gene Autry, and many more artists, filled the house. Dad had his personal favorite songs that were constants, such as, "Shrimp Boats" and "Old Soldiers Never Die." Because of his new job, Dad knew which artists the record companies were plugging long before the public. As we grew older, we started thinking that Dad was a very hip guy . . . much to his amusement. Throughout the years, he predicted all the new heart throbs, like Bobby Rydell, Paul Anka, Frankie Avalon and Bobby Darin, even The Beatles. How did he do it?

Thanks to my father, there were phonographs in almost every room of our home and there was rarely a moment when music was not playing. Music assuaged our troubled household. I took pride in my vast knowledge of recording artists, especially for my age. I will admit though, that I screwed up on the "King." Of course, I knew of Elvis' hits, but I just hadn't seen him yet. That was going to change because he was about to make his debut on The Ed Sullivan Show.

On that unforgettable night, my older sister Geri, who was then, in her early teens, gave an over-night party for her girlfriends, to celebrate the occasion. I, not having been invited to the party, decided to set up spy headquarters behind a corner chair in the living room. Actually, I wasn't even supposed to be up, but I was willing to risk any punishment, so as not to miss a thing. There, they were, seven giddy, giggly girls, sitting in their pajamas, eating popcorn and hovering around the T.V. in taunt anticipation. The countdown began. The tension mounted. Somewhere between the screams and swoons, I heard Ed Sullivan announce that Elvis was going to be on, "Rrrrright after the commercial!" I figured it was a good time to sneak away unnoticed and grab some party chips and dip, in the breakfast room.

Hearing the commercial ending, I quickly slipped back to my spy headquarters. However, unbeknownst to me, the comedian Joe E. Lewis, was to appear before Elvis. As the girls were still in hysterics, shaking their heads, and hugging each other; I assumed that this wide-mouthed, apparition was the infamous, Elvis. "Yuk." I said aloud. My mouth dropped in disbelief. They're soooo stupid. I'm going to bed!

	scott Kenneth s cornwall	you just described my initial reaction to the Beatles...I was more into Roger Miller at the time. But then I heard the Stones do "Satisfaction" and everything changed...do you still have your father's records? I love old records. Dang Me. Posted by scott on Thursday, December 10, 2009 - 5:13 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	Scott, My father passed in 1984, while i was living in Mexico City. He gave a lot of his records away, but sold most. By then, his collection was so vast. He also just started giving them away. Some of my friends have some of them, and my brother. Many he sold. Sad now. I remember seeing The Beatles too. I loved George and Paul. OOOOOOooooooOOOOooooooo! The Stones seemed so bad boy then. Funny. It's like watching A Clockwork Orange, now. It is more like an art film, than anything. Thanks for you comment. Posted by Paula on Thursday, December 10, 2009 - 5:23 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	The Guard	This is absolutely perfect at capturing the essence of the times, as well as showing clearly the multiple influences on you as a child headed into the teenage years. Like this a lot! Posted by The Guard on Saturday, December 12, 2009 - 2:52 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Paula Paula Servetti

Thank-you, Bobby, (I'm sure that most all know that you are The Guard), for sure. I can't help but compare my childhood, with what you wrote about yours. The different intricacies and hurdles, and hurts . . . Yours is so much more intense, than what I went though. Mine pales in comparison. What amazes me, is you were going through what you had to go through and me the same, and our paths crossed in life. I feel very fortunate. Luv, me/ Posted by Paula on Saturday, December 12, 2009 - 3:53 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Parochial Days / Ch. 4 /Pt. 3/ A Dream for the Night

Paula

At school, I strove for perfection in my studies, in sports, and religion and I excelled in all. In my religion, I was as steadfast as a little brown shirt. At school we had bomb drills once or twice a week. The Cold War was in full tilt, then. We kids really didn’t understand it, or why the priests held mock demonstrations, posing as communists and hurling questions and threats to see if we would denounce our faith under pressure.

“Are you children strong enough to defend your faith, even if you were hurt, even onto death?”

“Yes Father.” the class would answer, in unison. The Franciscans sternly lined up in front of the classroom, and hurled questions and simulated threats at each of us, just as the communist would most certainly do, if they took over our country.

“They will try to take our faith away by scaring or torturing us. Remember this, in the name of God the Father Almighty.”

“Yes Father.” We children countered the verbal attacks from the priests, usually, with one robotic refrain. "I am a Roman Catholic and I am willing to die for Jesus and my faith." To me, these episodes were very frightening. I knew words like Russia, Cold War, bomb shelters and such. My family kept a large stock of canned goods and water in our basement, just in case the Russians came. Once in a while we went down there when we heard a siren.

After a long day filled with eclectic activity at school, sleep was welcomed. Bed time, was at nine o’clock, sharp, unless, there was an abundance of homework. After my prayers, I would climb into bed and close my eyes, waiting for what would surely come. On a wave of midnight blue came the stars, swirling round and round, until, after a spell, came coalescing images of colorful toys, tiny planets, and clown's faces drifting about with the stars. Just as if Joan Miro and Vincent van Gogh were playing together in my imagination, ever so patient, until I made my decision on a dream for the night. That is, if, I stayed awake long enough.

I had two dreams that I chose from. The first dream was of me as a most beautiful singer up on a stage, with dramatic makeup, blond hair, and dressed in a bejeweled gown. I would sing in the purist soprano, as everyone applauded in adoration. However, I was not only the beautiful songstress. I was the camera filming her.

The second dream was my favorite. In it, I was the Christ child and I was very poor. My hair was a tousled dirty blond, and I wore a short course toga and wore no shoes. I lived in a small adobe house without windows, and surrounded by desert. My mother, Mary, wore a veil and was always in the kitchen and I would do tasks for her, like sweeping and fetching water. She would look upon me and smile. Either dream, lulled me into a deep, contented sleep.

	wolfwitch Wolf Witch	All I can say is ain't religion grand. Posted by wolfwitch on Saturday, December 05, 2009 - 4:37 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	It has it's moments. Posted by Paula on Saturday, December 05, 2009 - 8:46 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	of........ Posted by Paula on Saturday, December 05, 2009 - 8:48 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	scott Kenneth s cornwall	Cinderella to Cleopatra...prince to pauper... Posted by scott on Saturday, December 05, 2009 - 8:39 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Paula Paula Servetti

That was a good anaolgy, I liked that Scott! Posted by Paula on Saturday, December 05, 2009 - 8:43 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Parochial Days / Ch. 4 / Pt. 2/ A Mother like Donna Reed

Paula

The home, according to Jesus, was where the family prayed together and stayed together. In my home, my parents never kissed, and never hugged, much less prayed together. They never even laughed together and they certainly never slept together. Dad usually spent his nights on the couch in the den, or upstairs in the messy screened-in porch, on an old twin bed. In spite of that, my baby brother, Michael Jerome, came into the world, six years after me. It was a very exciting moment, especially when Dad came back late at night from the hospital and announced, "He's a little monkey all right!" My younger sister and I looked at each other with wide, sleepy eyes. Monkey?

As my family grew more confusing, I found solace in our RCA Victor T.V. Although I was only allowed to watch and hour a day, I was still heavily influenced. How I longed to be Mary Stone, whose mother was the calm and perfectly coiffed, Donna Reed. Running a close second, in a choice for a mother was, June Cleaver, so flawless in her shirtwaist dresses and cardigan sweaters. I wished that my father could be the boss of our family, like Robert Young on "Father Knows Best." It would be nice to have a home that was cheerful and have pretty furniture. Why couldn't my mom get up in the morning and fix us breakfast, and be nice? It was my father who would get up with us at times and make runny eggs. I know now, that he did the best that he could. But, back then, it made me sad, because most times, it was just me and my sisters slurping up cereal, as we read the back of the boxes. That wasn't how it was done on T.V. Something, was wrong.

It was a source of embarrassment for me that our family rarely attended church together on Sundays, like the other families. I could tell by the attitude from the nuns, that this, was beginning to set me apart. I suppose, that I liked myself and all of my family, well enough. But, I still longed to be someone different. When I wasn't dreaming of being St. Theresa of Avilla, or a young Jesus, I was dreaming of being the popular, Annette Funnicello, from “The Mickey Mouse Club,” or Sandra Dee, in “Gidget” . . . precious in every way, and loved by Moondoggie.

Fraudulence, and the constant lack of trust in tangible entities was what most threatened my spirit. Home was not a refuge where I could sort things out. The constant tension was like a vice constricting my mind. And, my school was slowly making me feel, made me feel, like the odd duck out. Something had to be done about it all, but just what, I didn't know.

	wolfwitch Wolf Witch	I think the TV was a problem. TV gave us impossible standards to compare ourselves, our families, & our situations to. I think most people felt "the odd duck out", but for all different reasons. I think a lot of people were hiding a lot of stuff, & a lot of people still do! Posted by wolfwitch on Sunday, November 29, 2009 - 4:16 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	This is the core, hiding and pretending. But, isn't this what society dictates? It seems that when someone is honest, or open, people try to find a way to change or criticize or fix things according to the mores of the day. Forcing conformity, to which is more or less obligatory; or customary law. Anyway, I feel that T.V. shows back and up to recent years, as recent years, (The Partride family, The Waltons', ad naseum . . . cause some damage. In many ways, the mom and apple pie illusions of post WW ll, laid way for the stirrings of the anti-establishment movement. As you say, many felt the odd duck out. Not a good way to feel, without a fight. Posted by Paula on Monday, November 30, 2009 - 10:46 AM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	However, I would like to add right here, and put emphasis upon the fact, that most of the families that I came into contact with, were like those T.V. families. They would talk together, and the mother would bake, and smile and say sweet things to her children and wear proper dresses, would never cuss; and parents would kiss and go to church, and, well, you get the picture. Posted by Paula on Sunday, November 29, 2009 - 11:36 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	MusicDiva Music Lover	Very interesting! It's amazing what each person remembers from their childhood...have you ever compared views with your siblings? Gosh, it sounds like you were like a beautiful and sensitive 'bird in a cage', trapped by school & church & family ideology and brainwashing. TV was - and still is - a popular mode of escape, looking for anything different, something better. Unfortunately, rarely does reality live up to fantasy. Wonderful writing, kiddo! Your power of recall is superb! Posted by MusicDiva on Sunday, November 29, 2009 - 10:14 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	This is a note from my sister Lonie (Alona) she is two years ounger than me which makes her 32 years old. Dear Music Diva, I thought I would post this for you as my sister, is not on Myspace, nor any of my other siblings. Here is what she wrote: *I made it through another chapter of Parochial Days. Pretty funny, you wrote in comments my sister is reading this very closely. Your writing is very good and entertaining. I have to go back and read the chapters more objectively, cuz at first reading it evokes many memories. I'll never forget how disappointed I was, when I saw a human baby, I was really excited about having a monkey in the house. Seriously. Talk to you later Posted by Paula on Tuesday, December 01, 2009 - 10:30 AM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Paula Paula Servetti

Thank- you again, for your compliments. My siblings and I share many of these memories. My one sister is reading this very closely (Hi Loni!) We were all different ages and therefore gauged certain situations differently, but in certain things, we have identical recollect. I reacted in a very singular way, and had a certain personality, where I was effected as my imaginings went deeper. Actually we were only allowed one hour of T.V. per night, as we had homework and chores, and a strict bedtime. Posted by Paula on Sunday, November 29, 2009 - 10:40 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Parochial Days /Ch. 4 / Pt. 1/ Age of Reason

Paula

By the second grade, having reached the age of reason, it was time for my First Holy Communion. To the nun's delight I had become an extremely obedient and pious child. It became the utmost of importance to me that I excel in every endeavor. I could recite, from memory, the entire Baltimore Catechism, which was the book by which Catholic children studied their faith. It erased any individual thoughts that could possibly lead to sin. Sin. As in, missing church on Sunday, or eating meat on Friday. Those actions were mortal sins! If I committed either of those sins and then died before I confessed those transgressions to a priest . . . I’d go straight to the DEVIL. If I committed a lesser or venial sin, and died, well, I'd go to a place called purgatory. There, you waited around and prayed for other souls to enter heaven, until it was your turn for glory. I still didn't like any of it, but, had acquiesced to the reality that it was of no consequence, what I liked or didn't like.

The nun's were relentless in their teachings of discipline, scholastics, sports and self denial. These were all essential components in the making of a proper Catholic. I had finally succumbed to the demands with a passion that bordered upon fanaticism. One might have equated my fervor to The Stockholm Syndrome. Our elaborate Church processions, fully steeped in pomp and circumstance, created a sense of inner peace, a sense of grace and a righteous sense of entitlement. We were the chosen ones. Special. We were Roman Catholic . . . one, holy and apostolic. At each procession we schoolgirls wore long white dresses and floral wreaths. We walked the church’s long isle in purity, under a myriad of arches smothered in fresh flowers, held by the school boys, dressed in little black suits. They held onto the arches steadfastly, until all the girls had passed. Then, they carefully put down the arches and filled the first two pews opposite the girls. Then, and only then, could the rest of the congregation sit. Slightly high from the incense, my hands would clasped together in prayer, while visions of sainthood filled my thoughts. I joined the others in our parish song.

Oh Virgin Mother, Lady of Good Counsel

Sweetest picture an artist ever drew.

In all doubts, I fly to thee for guidance

Mother tell me, what am I to do.

However, at that same time, of such holiness, my life at home, was like living in a war zone.

	wolfwitch Wolf Witch	I look forward to the next one. Spellbinding writing Paula. Self denial has lasting reverberation, doesn't it? The Stockholm Syndrome is right! Posted by wolfwitch on Tuesday, November 24, 2009 - 9:02 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	Ah, yes, self denial. That is a subject in itself, thanks for sticking with my tale. Posted by Paula on Tuesday, November 24, 2009 - 11:58 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Mad Butterfly Divine Madness	A few of my girlfriends went to Alverno Catholic high school for girls. I, and my girlfriend, Suzi Portilla, on the other hand, were allowed to do as we saw fit, within the boundaries of our status, and I exercised my status as a public school, peasant rebel waif for all it was worth! Oh, but the stories about the nuns at Alverno, geez loise, made me glad to have emerged from the lower echelons of Pasadena society, even if only for the purpose of the avoidance of a nun's wrath on me! The stories sounded so dreadful... Posted by Mad Butterfly on Tuesday, November 24, 2009 - 11:49 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	Yea, I did't go to a Catholic high school either, or Junior high, Madamoiselle from Armentieres! Posted by Paula on Tuesday, November 24, 2009 - 11:55 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	MusicDiva Music Lover	Ahhh...your words take me back to my long-forgotten days in parochial jail school...Sister Mary Theresa Ann and her ruler would snap me out of my daydream (usually involving me on a horse!) with a quick rap to whatever part of my anatomy she could reach. You have an amazing gift of recall and detail...kudos! Posted by MusicDiva on Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - 2:17 AM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	Seems it is a universal disease, having been taught by nuns. I recall those things that left the biggest impressions.) I was overly sensitive, which at times put me in zone that somehow my thinking capacity took over, as I went somewhere else, but the computing remained. It is a weird thing to explain. Thank-you for reading. . .So, you love horses! I imagine they were and it looks like are, a coping technique for you. (funny, everyone mentions a ruler, but I never saw one used on anyone, even the boys. Posted by Paula on Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - 11:11 AM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	I don't know if "coping technique" was conveyed properly by me . . . such as, a love or passion for something, helps us cope with the more difficult aspects of life. Posted by Paula on Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - 1:45 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	MusicDiva Music Lover	Actually, 'coping technique' is pretty accurate, in the sense that it allowed me to escape certain situations both mentally and, at times, physically. Paula, I've gone back and read your entire blog, and I must say it's fascinating. You have a real gift for bringing the past alive for the rest of us. As Patricia noted, your writing makes us feel like we are in that moment with you. Great job....you're a natural! Posted by MusicDiva on Thursday, November 26, 2009 - 11:43 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	scott Kenneth s cornwall	speaking of catholic girls...here's one of my favorites, her modeling work is outrageously bizarre and original. (actually, I have no clue if she's catholic; all I know is, she's originally from Milan and likes to be a bit shocking) Wrapped in plastic for public consumption. Posted by scott on Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - 11:32 AM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	I don't really know how to reply to this, Scott. Is this a fantasy that you are sharing? Yuk. Yuk. Posted by Paula on Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - 12:23 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	scott Kenneth s cornwall	When I first saw Nana's myspace I was a little shocked, then fascinated. The work she did with Saturno Butto in particular has religious overtones and is thought provoking. It made me think of how the church outlawed medical research in the dark ages, for example. A lot of the ideas are those of the model, not the photographer. My sister wore a back brace during high school...there are photos in there of Nana in a back brace, and it reminded me of my sister and the standing joke her boyfriend at the time made..."are you going out tonight, Polly?" and her boyfriend would clue us in..."I'm bringing my toolbox" he would say. I told Polly of this and she dug the brace out of the basement. She's thinking of making a floor lamp or something out of it. She wore that brace 23 hours a day. When she walked, she looked like a penguin. Posted by scott on Wednesday, November 25, 2009 - 5:34 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	BettyLuvs2rock	The biggest impression made by (the ruler) is something my husband Mike remembers well! He attented Catholic school until the eighth grade! He was always a bad boy and his Dad was forever being called to come to the school! Not much has changed! Posted by BettyLuvs2rock on Saturday, November 28, 2009 - 10:10 AM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	Paula Paula Servetti	Well, he is living proof of THE RULER! Discipline was such a big thing. It really sucked! Posted by Paula on Sunday, November 29, 2009 - 1:10 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

	BettyLuvs2rock	One more event to add after I spoke to Mike and asked him one thing he remembers most! He was an alter boy in 7th and 8th grade. One day the class was singing and the Nun told Mike he wasn't singing on key (Mind you, he can't carry a tune anyway!) so, she walked up to him and slapped him across the face! Once again, his Dad had to come to the class and praised the Nun, but when Mike got home he received a whipping by his Mom! He never forgave his Dad for not standing up for him. Posted by BettyLuvs2rock on Saturday, December 12, 2009 - 1:39 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]

Paula Paula Servetti

Wow! It seems that nuns don't like men. That was one of my main reasons for quitting the idea of becoming a nun. Men! Or, should I say boys. In fifth grade, I grew to like them too much! Your husband has some lousy memories too! Thanks for sharing them, Betts! Posted by Paula on Saturday, December 12, 2009 - 1:50 PM [Reply to this] [Remove] [Block User]