I was recently reminded of the time when, in my late teens, I was "searching". Truth, God, Faith, Something. Anything, really.

My Mom's brother immigrated to the states and married a Catholic American from Maryland and they settled there together raising their family. My cousins went to Church and Catholic school growing up. My brother and I went to the mall.

I attended college in D.C., about an hour drive from their home, where I started going on the weekends. I would join them at church. I even began going to First Communion classes with my younger cousins...

I was a little too big for both the table and chair where I uneasily sat amidst the young teens. It was my first class, so introductions needed to be made.

The priest or "Father" was a tall, slim, grey-haired, happy man who seemed to enjoy his place at the head of his class.

"Welcome to our newest student. What's your name?"
"S----"
"Oh. Interesting. What kind of name is that?"

Bear in mind that this is rural Maryland, where folks are usually either white or black and seemingly friendly, with names you've heard before.

"Mmmm, I'd rather not say." I replied. Why? I still don't know.

All of a sudden his demeanor changed a bit. He was obviously used to people answering his questions properly. So he turned to his class:

"Well, we only hate one people here right? Can someone tell me who?"

A number of hands raised in the air. "Yes, John?"

"The Jews."

"That's right! Can someone else tell me why?"

Hands raised again. "Yes, Paul?"

"Because they killed Jesus."

And satisfied that he had regained control of his class, he continued by turning to a passage about a cripple.

Much to my Aunt Mary's great disappointment, that was the last weekend I drove out to Maryland for a while. Decided to continue my search elsewhere...

Wow, I've missed this and you. Plus, I can't believe how much has changed and also stayed the same.

I got into my first real fight two weekends ago. It was at the first game I played in a new soccer league I was joining. The uniform was slick, the field was grass, the competition was slow but ruthless. End of the second half they were still down 1-to-zip. One of the women from their team started messing with my teammate. Women are the worst.

"You're hitting me while I'm standing still."
"This is soccer not ballet."

Next this woman was coming up from behind my teammate and power kicked her to the ground. Next thing I saw was red...

No decisions were made. No hesitation or thought process. Just pure, raw, emotional reaction. As I rushed at her down the field, not a care was on my downed teammate, just a maniacal need to yank the ponytail out of her attacker's pretty little head.

Never had the chance though, as her bench was nearby and upon me before I could get there. Thank goodness it was a co-ed league, cause the men seemed to know just what to do in such a situation, as they pulled people off eachother and me.

Then I saw the would-not-be ballerina being walked away and as I screamed and pointed in her face "that was all YOU!", I saw the red streaks across her lovely cheek where she had been deeply scratched. Guess I got there afterall.

I mailed my uniform back 3 days later. The League doesn't tolerate fighting. Who knew I didn't either?

I came home and told my husband what happened and he quietly replied, "hope you don't run into any of those people at church."