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...