Pagan Babies

“But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what the right is doing.”

—Jesus Christ

It was the first Friday in May, the month of Mary. The School Sisters of Notre Dame, our teachers encouraged the kids of our Catholic school to receive Communion during the morning Mass before classes on the first Friday of each month. They told us that special graces were bestowed on anyone who received Communion for nine First Fridays in a row. The sixth, seventh, and eighth grades were marched to the parish hall after the lunch recess one Friday afternoon. Chairs had been set up in rows and a podium with a projector and screen to one side were set up on the stage.

“Good afternoon children,” said a gray-haired missionary in a white cassock standing at the podium. “My name is Brother Mathew, and I’m here to talk to you about our mission in Africa.” The overhead lights dimmed and he turned on the projector.

Your reward in heaven will be great,”

“Here is our new church and a few of our converts in the Congo.” The church was a humble white-washed masonry structure that could have easily fit inside our church. Even its bell tower would not have touched the ceiling. Black men and women dressed in native garb smiled broadly, bright sunrays reflected off their dark shining faces. Half-clothed toddlers stood next to women.

“Our brave missionaries need your help to spread God’s gospel to these uneducated people. Without our help they will die unbaptized and be denied the glory of heaven.” The missionary had us in rapt attention, except for Armando. When I turned to look at him his eyes were closed and a drop of saliva was about to drip off his chin. He probably checked out once he saw that we weren’t going to be seeing half-naked native women like the ones in the National Geographic Magazine that our friend Kenny had sneaked to school once.     

Brother Mathew told of the righteous work the clergy did and for just two dollars a month, we could feed one of these people and teach them of the faith. “If you are so moved, for twenty-five dollars your class can sponsor a pagan baby. And as a thank-you, your class can give the pagan baby whatever Christian name that you choose.”

Oohs and aahs echoed in the hall; the missionary smiled. I looked to my brother. He stirred and yawned.

“I am sure you children have been instructed on the benefits of indulgences.”

Yes, we had. We were taught that one could earn indulgences in this life by doing good works. Indulgences could be redeemed upon death, lessening your time in purgatory. Purgatory was where Catholics who died with small to medium size sins on their souls were sent. There they suffered until their sins had been erased. Given my brother and my grades in conduct, we were pretty much shoo-ins for Purgatory.

Two eighth-grade boys were positioned on either side of the exit door after Brother’s talk. They were handing each student a “Missionary Donation Card” as we left the hall. On the front was a picture of Pope Paul VI sitting on a golden throne and wearing expensive looking vestments. It was a safe bet that he probably was never a pagan baby. His hand was raised like he was giving me a blessing.

When you  opened the card there were a series of quarter size slots, four to a side with a twenty-five cent symbol under each one. Filling the card meant that you were able to reach the two-dollar mark.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our class could raise enough quarters to sponsor an African baby, especially during this month of Mary?” said Sister Constance the school principal, Mother Superior of the nuns and also our eighth grade teacher. The matter was settled. All she needed to do was water the evangelical seeds the missionary had sown. The hearts of her students, except Armando’s, were aflame with the zealotry of prophets. I challenged myself to get my card filled.

“Ma, can I have a quarter?” I said as soon as got home from school.

“¿Por que?” (Why?)

“Our class wants to sponsor a pagan baby in Africa.”

“And who is going to sponsor us?” I took that as a no.

Undeterred, I canvassed our neighborhood convinced that by the end of the day I would have my card filled. I imagined myself handing in the card, scoring points with the principal and making a down payment against my purgatory time. An hour later I walked home with one measly quarter stunned that so many cheapskates lived on our street, but I persevered. The next day I walked to kindly Mrs. McCarthy’s house. She was a member of the Legion of Mary and a soft touch if ever there was one. She handed over two quarters.

“You’re a good boy, Fernando. I am sure Our Holy Mother will bless you.”

“Gee thanks, Mrs. McCarthy.”

The rest of her neighbors were as tight fisted as Ma. The next afternoon canvassing netted me one more coin. With my evangelical fire dampened I put the card on top of my dresser and resolved to get it filled before the end of May. After all, I only had to collect five more quarters. 

Armando was a better tactician than me. He didn’t walk door to door but hit up our well-heeled Aunt Helen who stopped by for a visit. Helen had a good paying job as a translator in the courts and she only had three kids to raise and two of them were out of her house, as opposed to our seven. She was at the kitchen table having a beer with Pa.

My brother approached her. “Hey Tia, If I can raise enough money I can name a pagan baby and I’ll use your name. Just think, Tia, there could be a little Helen walking around Africa because you donated.” Her eyes perked up. He went in for the kill. “It will earn you a lot of indulgences.” Aunt Helen didn’t go to Mass on Sundays or even on Easter or Christmas and if that wasn’t bad enough, she was living in sin with Bergie, a bail bondsman. My brother explained indulgences to her and bingo. She dug into her purse and handed him four quarters.

Life just wasn’t fair to me.   

The last Friday of May came and my good intentions went unfulfilled but I figured that handing in three quarters were better than none. I took my card up from the dresser and opened it hoping somehow an extra quarter I had forgotten about would bring my total up to a dollar. Not only was there not an extra quarter but there were only two and a small slip of paper in the slot of the missing coin. I took out the slip and opened it. In my brother’s unmistakable handwriting was a note saying, “IOU twenty-five cents.”

What the heck, I thought and ran to the living room where he was watching TV “Hey, what’s this?” I said showing him the note.

“It’s an IOU,” he said.

“What’s and IOU?”

“Martha told me that if you borrow money, you give the person an IOU note. That way you and the person know that you owe them that amount of money.”

“Here, look at my card,” my brother said opening it. I saw three slips of paper tucked in the slots where Aunt Helen’s indulgences had been.

“You mean you’re only going to turn in one quarter?”

“No, stupid, you’re not getting it. It’s like there are four because the IOUs means that I will be giving the money.”

“O-h-h, I get it.” I said, and if Martha said it, then I knew it was legit. Suddenly I understood how my brother was able to buy ice creams at lunch lately. I hadn’t asked any questions when he offered to buy me one.

“But if we’re supposed to hand in the money tomorrow, then how’re you going to get the rest of the money to Sister in time?”

“I’ll take it to her next year.”

“But we’ll be in high school next year.”

“I’m sure Sister Constance will be happy to take my money anytime.” His reasoning seemed solid enough.

 Before going out to the morning recess I sneaked my brother’s card from his desk, opened it, took the last quarter, and slipped in an IOU. I would be able to have ice cream for the next two days and still have a nickel left over.

We were encouraged to turn in our cards back anonymously. “Let us not be like the boastful Pharisees,” Sister had said at the beginning of our campaign. “They have already collected their reward on earth, your reward will be in heaven.”

Anonymity turned out to be of great advantage for my brother and me. Sister designated the first student in each row to collect the cards and place them on her desk.

 “I know Jesus is very proud of you,” Sister said. “Now, we need to come up with a name. Are there any suggestions?” She rose and turned to the blackboard.

John raised his hand, “How about Jonathon?”

“That’s a nice name,” she said and wrote it on the chalkboard “Any ideas?”

Terry raise her hand, “How about Theresa?”

“Another good Christian name,” Sister wrote Theresa below Jonathon.

Mike raised his hand. “How about Michael?”

She stopped taking suggestions after Judy suggested Judith. “Well, thank you, these are all very good names.” She paused then set the bait. Looking wistful she said, “As a nun I sacrificed my motherhood, and I will never have children. Sometimes at night as I lay in my bed after I say my prayers. I so wish I could have been able to have a namesake but that is the sacrifice I have chosen.” Her dog eyes looked pathetic. Her not-so-subtle suggestion bore her fruit. Katy Williams raised her hand. “Yes, Katy?”

“How about Mary Constance?” Sister added it to the names writing it in larger letters. When the secret ballot was held Mary Constance edged out a win. I rolled my eyes. Little doubt Constance would flaunt our freewill decision to the nuns in the convent.  

During recess my brother railed against the vote with our friends. “I want another vote.”

“You got a name in mind?” John asked.

“Yeah, I do. What do you guys think about Dip Shit?” A roar erupted. I nearly dropped my Drumstick ice cream cone.

Monday Sister began class with a dire warning. “Be assured that anyone who misuses money meant for the poor will have to face the consequences in the next life.”

“I think Sister knew the IOUs were from us,” my brother said on the walk home.

“But how could she?” I said. “It was anonymous.”

“She was staring really hard at me and you after she talked about misusing money. But I didn’t misuse the money. I’m gonna pay it back.”

“Yeah? How?”

“Well,” my brother said, “I can become a missionary and come to school and get kids to fill out a bunch of the Missionary Collection Cards. And there will be a whole lot of quarters.”

His reasoning seemed solid enough.