Confessions of a Wayward Catholic

by Frank Scoblete

Overview

Confessions of a Wayward Catholic is a hilarious yet insightful account of Frank Scoblete's years from kindergarten through grandparenthood as a confused, wayward, seemingly ever-sinning Catholic. Join Frank for a possibly hell-bound ride as he attempts to understand what God and religion are all about. Will Frank reach the pearly gates or be banished to eternal damnation?

"I love my husband but there is stuff in this book that is disgraceful and should never have been written!" - Alene Scoblete, wife

"Francis Scoblete has been a major sinner ever since he came to elementary school. I watched him closely at the dances." - Sister Jerome Blake, in charge of making sure girls and boys slow danced a foot apart.

"I don't know why Jewish kids went to a Catholic school but I'm proud they did well in religion." - Chief Rabbi Sol Bernstein

"I believe that you should love your neighbor as yourself. Luckily, Frank lives in another town and is not my neighbor." - Jesus Christ

"Scoblete says I have no sense of humor. I will afflict him with boils and sores over his whole body, just like I did Job." - God

"Frank Scoblete has been wayward for over six decades. He's my main man!" - Satan

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781491824269
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	11/26/2013
Pages:	216
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.49(d)

Read an Excerpt

Confessions of a Wayward Catholic

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By FRANK SCOBLETE

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2013 Frank Scoblete
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4918-2426-9

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CHAPTER 1

Mary Louise Roncallo

Bless me father for I have sinned. I showed disgust for a fellow human being.

My first day of school at five years old. I wasn't nervous. I also wasn't all that interested. A lot of things my parents got excited about had no impact on me although if it were supposed to have a big impact on me I could pretend it did. The act of pretending I had learned so far back I couldn't remember when. I was what I pretended. The memory of a five-year old is as cloudy as the memory of anyone. As a five-year old, being four years old was 20 percent of my life ago. Hard to remember all of that.

"Now Frankie," said my mother, "I know you are nervous but kindergarten is your first step into the world of adulthood. Everything will be just fine."

"Yes," I said

We were living on 3rd Avenue and 70th Street (called Ovington Avenue) because my parents couldn't take the dirty fruit-man in the store below our old apartment on 62nd Street and 4th Avenue anymore. I didn't like that old apartment anyway because two rooms were not heated in the winter. My parents called it a "cold water flat."

I would be going to the local Catholic school, Our Lady of Angels on 74th Street between 3rd and 4th avenues. My mother dressed me in the standard Catholic blue knickers and a white shirt which had OLA lettered on it.

"Are you ready Frankie?" asked my father.

"Yes," I said.

Both my father and mother walked me the four blocks to the school. They held tightly to my hands, one on either side of me. The kindergarten was in its own small area of the grammar school. I guess they didn't want the older kids to torture the younger kids so they kept us separated.

The teacher, the ancient Sister Thomas Mahoney, who was maybe 40, stood outside the school and greeted all the parents and the new kindergartners. She seemed pleasant enough, although she looked a little fierce in her black and white habit which the nuns used to wear in those days.

Some of the kids cried and clung to their mothers—it was almost all mothers there, very few fathers. Some of the kids looked shell-shocked. Others, such as me, were just curious as to what this new chapter in our lives would entail.

"Sister! Sister!" yelled the skinny mother, smoke coming out of her nostrils. Mom seemed really agitated now. Sister Thomas came over. "My daughter is very nervous," said the skinny mother.

"Oh, she needn't be," said the nun in a kindly fashion to the skinny smoking mother and to the bloated girl. "My daughter has a delicate stomach," insisted the upset mother, smoke oozing out of her nose. "She gets very upset very easily." She inhaled deeply on her unfiltered cigarette. "She gets stomach aches."

"We'll take good care of her," said Sister Thomas. "What's your name?" Sister Thomas asked the girl. The girl buried her head in her mother's dress and made some weird choking sounds, "aaahhhh, urggghhh, dolpop."

"Her name is Mary Louise Roncallo," said the skinny woman, throwing her cigarette onto the ground. "Do you think I could stay in the class with her for a few days to help her get over her shyness and fear?"

"No, that's not a good idea," said the nun. "We need to get them to be able to function without mommy."

Mary Louise's mother finally pried Mary Louise loose and gave her into the loving hands of Sister Thomas, who brought her over to some other girls who had already said goodbye to their mothers.

"This is Mary Louise," said Sister. "Can she stand with you here?"

The girls looked at the sister in awe and they nodded their heads. Then they looked at Mary Louise and grimaced.

"And who is this handsome young man?" asked Sister Thomas. People who met me always said how good looking I was.

My father nudged me. "I am Francis Scoblete," I said.

"Well, Francis, welcome to Our Lady of Angels. I am sure you are going to like it here."

"Yes," I said. Then my father and mother kissed me and walked away. I waved goodbye then turned my attention to the other kids.

In my five years, I had not had many friends to play with so I was interested in these other kids. Some looked like babies and some looked a lot older than I.

Then Sister rang a hand-held bell and we all walked into the school. The classroom had all sorts of books, crayons, paper, displays, a screen, decorations and religious paintings of Christ on the cross and the Virgin Mary floating up into the sky with little angels all around her.

"Boys and girls, we now separate; the girls go over here," she pointed to her right, "and the boys go over there," and she pointed to her left. "We have an even number of boys and an even number of girls so each of you get a partner and we will start with our morning prayer."

Some little boy took my hand, "Can I be your partner?" he asked. "Okay," I said. This little boy looked scared. He was the smallest kid in the class.

Mary Louise was left over because no girl wanted to be her partner and one other girl, a shy one, was also alone. "You two are going to be partners," said Sister happily.

The shy little girl walked to the nun and whispered, "She smells bad."

"She is one of God's children," said Sister Thomas.

"She smells bad," whispered the shy girl.

"You and she are partners," said Sister Thomas more firmly. The shy girl looked over at Mary Louise who seemed redder than before.

"Yes, sister," said the shy girl. I liked the shy girl; she seemed very pleasant and clean-looking in her Catholic school uniform which was a navy blue dress and a white blouse.

"Boys and girls," said Sister Thomas clapping her hands to quiet the few kids who were talking. "Welcome to Our Lady of Angel's kindergarten class. Many of you are scared because this is the first time you have been away from your parents. But this is the first day of the rest of your lives."

Many of the kids lost interest in what Sister was saying because five year-olds don't have much of an attention span and these distracted kids looked around the classroom. I looked at the painting of Jesus with the blood flowing from his head, hands, feet and sides. Strangely enough I had great powers of concentration, even at five.

"We are now going to say our morning prayers," said Sister Thomas. "Everyone stand up." We all stood up. "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost," she made the sign of the cross and we all tried to follow it. "Dear God and his son Jesus, please help our young people to be good Catholics and to pray for the conversion of Russia a land of atheists and killers."

Russia, what was that?

"Amen," she said.

We all looked at her.

"Say Amen," she said.

"Amen," we all said.

Then we had the first day. I don't really remember what we did because it was non-stop action—do this, do that, do this other thing—all designed to keep little kids interested, busy and, to some degree, learning. Some of the kids couldn't really concentrate on anything and there was always one or two or three of them wandering around looking confused. At two hours into the class, Sister Thomas clapped and called everyone to attention. "It is now cookies and milk time, boys and girls," she said.

Some of the kids cheered.

Sister brought out a giant platter of cookies and big containers of milk. She passed out cups to all of us and she went around the room giving out one cookie per student and pouring milk into our cups. "This is what God gives us children," said Sister Thomas over and over.

Mary Louise grabbed three of "God's cookies" off the tray as Sister turned her attention to some other kids who were hitting each other.

Mary Louise quickly gobbled down the three cookies and drained the milk in one giant gulp. Then she saw her shy partner delicately eating her cookie, after dunking it genteelly in her milk, and Mary Louise grabbed it away from her. Mary Louise gobbled that down too. The shy girl was pale and upset but didn't say anything. Mary Louise held her hand out and the shy girl gave Mary Louise her milk, which Mary Louise chugged.

After we enjoyed our repast, Mary Louise started making weird noises—gurgles, a couple of wet farts, and then a white line started at the top of her head and headed down her face—she was changing from a hairy red thing to a hairy white thing. When the white made its way to her chin, Mary Louise made some animal sounds and then projectile-vomited across the entire room: aaaaarrrrggggghhhhhhh! Glop! Glop! spraying most of the kids in class and landing full-splash on several in the back of the room. Projectile vomit is like a shooting star; the bulk of it heads across the heavens but it has a tail that falls to earth before the bulk of it lands. That tail was puke particles that hit most of us.

I was spared the hit and so was my little partner, but the other kids were screaming and one or two started to vomit on themselves and their partners. Shortly, the Our Lady of Angel's kindergarten class of Sister Thomas Mahoney was a puke-fest with most of the kids letting their cookies and milk explode all over the place.

Mary Louise had hurled her two "vomit comets" (as we ultimately titled them) across the heaven of the class room and she now looked around to find something to eat. She was eyeing the puke but Sister Thomas quickly led everyone to the bathroom where she and several other nuns cleaned the kids off. The only two without any puke particles on them were my little partner and I. Yes, God was good.

After school the mothers congregated outside waiting for their sons and daughters. When the kids came out the mothers hugged them and asked how their day was. The kids told about their exciting adventure of the day—no, not learning. You could now see the mothers looking over at Mary Louise as the first information the mothers received had to do with the vomit comet and its aftermath.

Mary Louise's mother talked to Sister Thomas who went to her even before Mary Louise did. Mary Louise was busy grubbing candy from another mother who had brought some for her son.

"More, more," demanded Mary Louise.

"I told you," said Mrs. Roncallo, "that Mary Louise has a delicate stomach and she must be treated very gently, do you understand?"

"Mrs. Roncallo," said Sister Thomas sternly, "she vomited on everyone in the class. Has she been taken to a doctor?"

"The doctor says she is a very special child. She is smart but sensitive."

And that continued all through kindergarten and elementary school. Mary Louise Roncallo on almost all important occasions reacted with vomit.

She had an unusual talent. Like a fine wine, she just got better with age.

CHAPTER 2

The Holy Communion Conundrum

Bless me father for I have sinned. I booked bets during First Holy Communion.

In second grade, I felt sorry for the poor Protestants who had no idea of what our Holy Communion was all about. Father McCain explained it perfectly. "Boys and girls, only the Catholic Church has the Truth with a capital 'T.' Our Holy Communion is a sacrament where the real Jesus Christ exists in the bread that you receive in the Holy Eucharist, which is another name for Holy Communion."

Since we were going to make our First Holy Communion next week, Father McCain had come to the second grade classes to make sure we knew what this sacred event was all about.

"Those poor Protestants think that the giving of the bread and wine is just a symbol, which means it isn't real. No, my young Catholic men and women, the transubstantiation which as you all know means that the bread and wine are really changed into the actual body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ is real. Jesus Christ is fully in each and every Host [bread wafer] that you consume. You are taking Christ into your body to cleanse you and to make you strong spiritual Catholics so if the atheist Communists conquer the world you will have the strength to never deny your religion even if they torture you to death by putting burning spits on your skin, poking out your eyes and cutting off your heads and doing even worse things. Remember that the Communists are the most murderous people on earth."

How could those Communists make their spit burning hot? How did they do such a thing? Did they spit in a pot and boil it and then throw it on your exposed skin? What animals those atheists were!

And those poor Protestants, too; they had no idea of the Truth with a capital "T."

"The Communists and the Protestants are all going to Hell," reminded Sister Elise Martin in her stern voice.

"Sister," said Father McCain, and then he broke with the Catholic tradition of that time by saying, "there are some very good Protestants who just don't know any better. God is all merciful and I think some will be saved."

"But all the Communists are going to Hell," scolded the sister. Disagree with that was her tone.

To forestall a theological argument in front of impressionable minds, Father McCain said, "Oh, yes, all the Communists are going to Hell."

"And most Protestants," added sister forcefully. Father McCain gave her a look out of the side of his face but he didn't say anything. This nun always wanted the last word and she always got it.

"Father?" asked Joel, one of the two Jewish kids—yes, some Jewish kids were in our school. "If this bread is the body and blood of Jesus when you bite into it does it bleed?"

"No," said Father McCain. "The miracle is that the bread stays bread but is transformed on a real and spiritual level into the body and blood of Christ."

"If you examine the bread then it is still bread?" asked Joel.

"Yes and that is where faith comes in," said the priest.

"The true faith Joel, the true faith, not like some others" added Sister Elise Martin.

With these big questions of Jesus Christ in the bread and wine; with Hell dangling over the heads of most people on earth (and on Catholics who sinned), with atheists who could put burning spit on you, many of the girls had religious questions.

"Father," asked the love of my young life, Mary Sissallo, "if we are eating the real body and blood of Jesus Christ does that mean there will only be two people in the Blessed Trinity instead of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost since Jesus is being eaten piece by piece?"

"God's ways are not man's ways," stated the sister.

Mary Sissallo looked confused.

"Sister," said Father McCain, "let me answer the questions, please, as that is my job as a priest."

Sister Elise Martin's face turned tight and she nodded slightly. Most of the boys were delighted that Father McCain had slapped her down. This nun favored the girls. She always told the class that the girls had the fast route to heaven because the mother of Christ was a woman and even though Christ was a man, he was also God which meant that other men were inferior because they were not God. This made sense to her but I had no idea what she was talking about—except I understood that girls had a better chance of going to heaven and boys were in trouble.

"Mary Sissallo," said Father McCain who knew all of our names, "that was a very good question. You used logic to try to understand something that seems impossible—that Jesus could be consumed by man and still exist in other forms at the same time. But that is the power of God, to do the impossible. God created the Universe but He is not subject to the laws of the Universe as we are. He can do all things that He wishes to do even if they seem impossible or illogical to us."

That was as good an explanation as any I had heard even though I had no idea of what it meant. Most of religion made no sense and that is why you needed faith.

"If the Host represents Jesus," said Catherine Elizabeth O'Connor.

"No! No!" jumped in Sister Elise.

Father McCain held up his hand indicating that sister should be quiet.

"Jesus is there fully in the flesh. The Host does not represent Him; it is Him."

"I am sorry," said Catherine, adjusting her thick glasses. "Here is my question, Father. What if the Host falls to the floor?

"Since the Host is the sacred body of the Most High, Jesus Christ, the priest is the only one who can pick it up off the floor. No one else can touch the Host, only a consecrated Catholic priest."

Now you would think that at this stage in our development the boys too would be in awe of the sacrament we were about to receive, and in some ways I guess we were. It was, after all, an absolutely amazing thing to be eating Jesus Christ Himself. But we had other concerns; much more immediate practical concerns that were far easier to understand and took up more of our mental time.

Oh yes, there was a BIG other thing in our minds, Big with a capital "B," which overshadowed everything Father McCain was telling us.

I was nominated by head-nodding acclimation to ask the BIG question.

"Father, if someone pukes ..." All eyes immediately turned to Mary Louise Roncallo, who had puked enough times since kindergarten to make us fully aware that First Holy Communion could be an amazing stage for a spectacular performance by the vomit-comet queen.

"That is disgusting, Francis," yelled sister aiming her deadly eyes at me.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Confessions of a Wayward Catholic by FRANK SCOBLETE. Copyright © 2013 Frank Scoblete. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

1. Mary Louise Roncallo, 1,
2. The Holy Communion Conundrum, 7,
3. Father Has A Condition!, 16,
4. I Lost Some Seeds, 21,
5. My Religious Vocation, 27,
6. Justin Goes to Heaven, 33,
7. Halloween, 38,
8. Animal Magnetism, 46,
9. Kissing, 48,
10. My Sister Sue, 52,
11. Do Pets Have Souls?, 60,
12. The Real Dream Team, 69,
13. Dr. Karshitz, 73,
14. Serving and Waiting, 78,
15. The Man with Cape and Hat, 95,
16. Happy Home, 109,
17. Boys Will Be Boys, 123,
18. My Mass, 136,
19. Books, 144,
20. Koala, 149,
21. Steven Spielberg, 152,
22. The Wedding of the Century Or Evangelical Christians versus the Kosher Caterer!, 159,
23. How to Fix the Catholic Church, 166,
24. Does God Exist? Part One, 180,
25. The Zombie Apocalypse, 187,
26. Does God Exist? Part Two, 190,
27. The Humor of God, 195,
28. What Did Jesus Believe?, 201,