I was okay until the singing started. Now I'm not so sure.
I have not wanted to admit this, but I am struggling a little with the fact that my daughter has been attending a catholic school. It is referred to as a semi-private colegio, which (as the name implies) is also semi-public. It used to be a private school, but somehow they did this thing a few years back where they absorbed all these private schools into the public school system but retained the religious aspects. Hence, it has a "chapel" on the grounds - a name which calls to mind a little churchy outbuilding, doesn't it? - and I thought this was endearing until I saw the monstrous ampitheatre with its full circumference packed with stained glass images of biblical tableaus.
But in a fit of self-righteousness I decided that my liberal attitude extends also to the religious peoples of the world: that they have as much right as anyone to believe in whatever they choose to believe, even if it includes saints and miracles and resurrection and rosaries and the original sin. Besides, I live in a catholic country, and someone needs to educate my child about all "that stuff", and it sure as heck is not going to be me.
Then the singing began. It started like this:
Su madre se llama María, (His mother is called María)
su padre se llama José, (His father is called José)
Y el pequeño bebe es Jesus... (And the little baby is Jesus...)
Ya llegó Navidade... (Christmas has arrived...)
(repeat with more verses about Magis and etceteras)
This, in itself, didn't bother me much. I even rationalized that she is learning the "real" story of xmas and not just the Santafied version. A history lesson, of sorts. But then, the next song came:
El día, la noche (The day, the night...)
Las estrellas, y el sol (The stars, and the sun...)
Todo, todo, todo ha regalado por Dios (Everything, everything, everything is given by God)
Everything is given by God?! Everything and everything? This was starting to rub me the wrong way, but it was still vaguely justifiable; until she came home with this one:
Hola Dios, estoy aqui. (Hello God, I am here.)
Gracias a ti para dar-me la vida... (Thank you for giving me life.)
I looked at her singing her little song and wanted to say, No, Isabel... God didn't give you life... I gave you life... there were eggs and sperm involved and a good deal of gestating... and then a hospital and breastmilk and diapers and keeping you warm and safe... and life - your life - requires quite a bit of care and responsibility so you need to know how to swim and how to look both ways before you cross the street and to always use your seatbelt and about a thousand other things that have nothing whatsoever to do with sacraments and holy communions, so how about reciting those ABC's so you can read the warning labels printed on the bottles of household cleaners one of these days, hmm?
But, no, I couldn't bring myself to say it because I don't want to be *that* kind of mother, or *that* kind of citizen; not to mention all those practical reasons that involve three-year-olds and teachers and sex education and religious beliefs held for over two thousand years. Instead, I clapped my hands and smiled broadly and said, "Muy bien, mi hija, tú es una buena cantadora."
She has only been attending el colegio for 2-1/2 months. What will become of her after a few years of this?
And let's not mention to anyone that she has never been baptized. I have at least 4 more years until I have to think about a first communion; I'll figure something out by then.
Something.
AHHH-HHH, mi amiga, su hija es muy dulce!
Amo la senorita Isabel muy mucho. Solo por un poco tiempo estan asi inocente.
Muchas Gracis para decirmelo este relato precioso, es mi Navidad regalo.
Le saluda atentamente,
Freya
Posted by: Freya | 04 December 2007 at 21:26