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a safer route. So, for practical rather than religious reasons, Dolores was enrolled in Saint Gregory’s third-grade class.
    I wasn’t the only non-Catholic child in school, but there weren’t many, and I sensed a difference, maybe that the kids who were Catholic had a feeling of security that I lacked. I used to hang on every word they said when they talked to each other about their family life. It was different from mine. And I was shy and embarrassed that my clothes weren’t as nice as the other kids’. Granny’s philosophy was if you’re dressed warmly enough, that’s all that mattered .
    The teachers were stricter than those in public school, expected more and, one way or another, got more. Sister Celine was my favorite. She took special care with me because I didn’t have the advantage of a Catholic background and she didn’t want me to fall behind the other students. She also considered me musical and thought I should play an instrument. I made up my mind on the harp, but Grandpa nixed it. He couldn’t see me lugging the thing all over town, and he sure wasn’t going to be my bearer. He made up his mind on the clarinet, so the clarinet it was .
    Classes in religion were part of the curriculum at Saint Gregory’s. Each child had a Baltimore Catechism, a little blue book with questions such as “Who is God?”, “How many Persons in God?” and answers such as “God made me to know Him, to love Him, to serve Him and to live with Him for all days and even unto eternity.” It was something a child memorized—like the Pledge of Allegiance .
    Harder for me to accept was the edict that if you weren’t Catholic you couldn’t go to Heaven when you died. As taught in parochial schools then, you went to Hell and lived in eternal damnation .
—When I heard those words, that non-Catholics couldn’t go to Heaven, I thought of Granny and Grandpa. It was a hard swallow .
    Students spent some time each day in the adjacent church, and I went along with them. I didn’t understand the Mass but did pretty much what they all did, copying their postures. When they would stand, I would stand; when they kneeled, I kneeled. I found these prayerful movements and the ritual of the service very appealing. In fact, I was finding most everything about the Catholic Church engaging, and I started to go into the chapel when no one else was there .
    As young as I was, I was taken by a special presence in the sanctuary, and I grew to understand that this presence came from the place where the candle was lighted and was holy. It made me feel secure. Although that feeling certainly contributed to my entering the Church, it wasn’t the main reason .
    When I began school, all the children who received Communion at Mass in the morning, and most of them did, fasted from midnight until they broke the fast with Communion. Then they would all have hot chocolate and sweet rolls for breakfast right there at school. Non-Catholic kids were supposed to eat before Mass and weren’t invited to breakfast. The sweet bread looked very good, so I asked one of the sisters if I could have bread with the other children. She thought I meant that I would like to receive the Eucharist and asked me if I wanted to become a Catholic. I said I would ask my grandmother .
    Granny didn’t care. She said whatever I wanted to do, I could do: “Just because we never found anything, that doesn’t mean we should deny you the right to try.” Mom gave me the same answer she always had as long as I could remember: “You should do what you know in your heart is right.” When I learned that I would be allowed to convert, I got down on my knees and said aloud all the Catholic prayers I had memorized .
    Dolores was entered in First Communion classes, a first step toward the conversion that began, not with a strong religious incentive, but two practical ones: don’t cross dangerous streets and have breakfast with the children.
    Sister Dolores Marie was ecstatic. Every