thought a rule wasn’t logical, I’d
find my way around it.
The rules about communion at
Friday mass, for example, made
absolutely no sense. We’d be in
there for an hour of kneeling,
standing, sitting, kneeling, standing,
sitting, kneeling, standing, sitting,
and by the end of it I’d be starving,
but I was never allowed to take
communion, because I wasn’t
Catholic. The other kids could eat
Jesus’s body and drink Jesus’s
blood, but I couldn’t. And Jesus’s
blood was grape juice. I loved grape
juice. Grape juice and crackers—
what more could a kid want? And