After sixth grade my parents pulled me out of public school and enrolled me in a catholic school. We weren’t catholic, we were presbyterian, but I still attended the catholic masses and took communion. In the catholic church, you take a wafer or chunk of bread, eat it, and sip from the cup of wine. I did this dozens of times during my two years there. A few years passed and I was back in public school. It wasn’t a terrible school, but we sure as hell weren’t taking communion.
It must have been Easter. My mom dragged me out of bed. We were heading to our church –our presbyterian church. It comes time for communion and I get in line. The line was moving fairly quickly, and before I knew it I was up. Most of the church had already participated and were back in the pews waiting for the service to continue. I took my wafer, chewed it up, and went in for the blood. As I reached for the cup, the woman holding it gave me a smile and pulled it back. I smiled back and reached for it. As I grasped the cup, I felt resistance. She was still holding on. I pulled, she pulled back. The tug-of-war lasted for about five seconds before I finally gave one quick pull and held the cup to my self. I gave her a look and took a sip.
Walking back to my pew, which was situated in the far back, I noticed every eye in the church was on me. My dad was punishing me with his eyes.
“What?” I asked him.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, sternly. Very, very sternly.
You see, us presbyterians do things a bit differently. Oblivious as I was, I hadn’t noticed that everyone else was taking the wafer, stepping to the cup, dipping the wafer, and then eating it.
I felt ridiculous. I bowed my head, clasped my hands, and prayed for forgiveness.