Read My Lips: I Will Become Catholic To Be A Godparent

I collect Mary statues, have the Lord's Prayer memorized and roll my skirts above the knee ANYWAY. Baby Chet, I GOT this.
Publish date:
July 5, 2011
babies, catholics, godparents

Holy mackerel! Could this really be a possibility? My husband the ear-bug-planter volunteered to be my word-of-mouth-campaign manager if I would consider running for Godmother of our future nephew, arriving Fall '11.

As GodFATHER to our niece, the older sister of this future King of King’s County, he possesses the stones to mount such a coup. No polling yet, but this MAY be my time. As a fresh face in the family myself, Aunt Rachey could be a real standout people’s candidate.

With great pride and a compulsion to preempt any controversy, I, Rachel McPadden, officially declare on this public platform of electronic media, not only my candidacy for Godmother of the future nephew we will henceforth in this document refer to as “Baby Chet” (not Baby Chet’s actual name, despite my other campaign), but also my willingness to become Catholic in order to properly qualify for this prestigious humbling position of power honor.

Your girl is no stranger to the Pope’s peeps. In fact, I’ve always borrowed from the Jewish edict and half-genuinely maintained that because my mother was reared Catholic, I was Catholic also. And we Catholics are all about The Mother, am I right? Speaking of, I’ve been attached to the iconography FOR-EV-ER. Way PRE-Ciccone-Madonna, seriously.

And how brutal and romantic are the saints? Poor ghoul-y virgin Saint Lucy with her eyes on that plate, or Carrie White’s favorite, hot earliest gay icon, Saint (and Martyr) Sebastian, all 95% birthday-suited, tied up and pierced with arrows. Sign me up. Or swear me in or whatever!

For tween and young teen me, few events pleased more than attending Mass with friends’ families; a nice five-o’clocker leading to a sleepover was popular with me. The cult-y theatrics, the “my blood” and “my body," the chanting: Amazing.

By the time I weaseled my way into a junior high-era parish lock-in that was CO-ED and involved watching horror movies all night (that actually sounds more like one of those Mormon tricks to get you married young, like the “how-many-laps-can-you-stack-up-in-a-closet game” I heard about and would still like to try), I was a true Catholophile, 4-LIFE. Not like THAT.

Catholic conversion research has begun, online of course. I found some pretty specific information. Being baptized, although in a non-Catholic church, allows me to jump forward a few steps, but as one who has “never been formed in the Christian life”, I move back 2 shameful spaces. The next action would be to press-the-flesh with a priest (c’mon, don’t be pervs) to discuss a course of study. Haunted by desire for a confirmation name since eighth grade, I would obviously lobby for that. How much of a “Veronica” am I??

Confession of all of my sins would be required, no small undertaking for a person 20 years into sin-filled adulthood, specifically me. I really freaked myself out trying to grasp mortal sins. The preparation for such a gut-spilling, I can barely fathom. My stomach is crawling up my throat just reading about Reconciliation.

Your priest grants Absolution for Confession, total forgiveness, an E-ZPass for the Highway to Heaven. And hopefully ice cream, or is that only for tonsillectomies? Ha! I’m already planning the gluttony that would get me back in the priest Tardis-thingy. Sorry, that was pandering. I don’t even like Dr. Who. Not bad, just not for me.

The fit, selfless elephant in the room remains the fully God, fully man King of the Cosmos Him-self. My feelings can be expressed in one fond memory. In my younger days, I was fortunate to share strong cocktails, heavy conversation and the majority of a marijuana cigarette over a naked-lady ashtray with two charming Jesuit priests, brilliant philosophers both. If you ask me if I believe what THEY do, I believe I do. Label it what you will. How’s that for a politico answer?

Baby Chet, Baby Chet, Baby Chet. Ask not what you can do for Aunt Rachey; ask what Aunt Rachey can do for you. If elected Godmother, I promise to love you unconditionally and make sure you are cared for and provided for always, feast or famine. Heck, I promise to do that anyway. Peace be with you, Baby Chet. And also, with YOU.