When I got confirmed, my sponsor gave me a beautiful golden cross. I suppose that was his duty as my sponsor; I think he knew at the time that my soul was out of his hands. In fact, I picked him because he seemed to be the kind of Catholic that, if I had to stay Catholic, I aspired to be: an Anglican. Okay, that’s unfair. But he always had the air of a Brit who was at church because his wife wanted him to be there and because, sometimes, we went drinking afterward (I really miss that community…). He didn’t take God too seriously and he didn’t let God take him too seriously, either. His only real duty as far as I was concerned was to be a role model, which he already was, so his acceptance of the position was simply confirmation (bwahaha) of the responsibility.

My best friend at the time also gave me a cross. It was also gold, but since she knew that I didn’t really like gold, it was partly white gold. She also knew just what I thought of the whole confirmation process and agreed with me, so I don’t know if it was a joke, a snide remark, or something she thought she should do to keep up appearances for both of us.

I’ve gotten rid of most of the trappings of Catholicism. I’m slowly getting to the point where I can look at them without being filled with rage. I got my bible back from my parent’s house the last time I was there (the cheap paperback, I gave the nice hardcover one to a sister who would put it to good use). After all, I’ve got a Koran. I even picked up a book called Why Do Catholics Do That? which I may read one of these days. Once I get done with the creepy blood book. Serendipity’s words echo in my head, “[Catholics] don’t celebrate [their] faith; [they] mourn it.”

But I digress. Aside from the bible and Why, I have these two crosses, a cross of my grandfather’s, and a rosary I cannibalized into a mala because I love the way untreated olive wood feels. I also have a plaque of a saint who shares my name, but that doesn’t really count because (a) most saints from the 3rd century are made up or local goddesses subverted and (b) she’s depicted as a shepherd outside Jerusalem, neither of which have any bearing on her legend. (b) can be considered supporting the assertion in (a).

I don’t keep these crosses with my jewelry because I don’t wear them. Not just because it’d be difficult to explain why I was, but because I really don’t like the way gold looks. I’m sure this is just a phase, like my apostasy, not wanting kids, and polical party affiliation. So they’ve traveled with me from place to place in an unassuming plastic box that one of them came in. Currently, they reside on my desk, where I come across them occasionally and wonder what in the world I should do with them.

I’ve decided that I’ll give the larger of the two to my neice/goddaughter for her confirmation. Maybe it will sit in a plastic box on her desk for years as she struggles with her own loss of faith, not sure to whom she can turn. It can be her albatross. That would be a fittingly Catholic way to pass it on. Or maybe she’ll wear it proudly, with no doubt in her heart and no guilt. I wish her luck and happiness, whichever path she ends up on.

The other I’ll keep. Maybe I’ll buy a white gold chain for it and wear it every once in a while. It still reminds me of my friend and so has special significance. But I won’t wear it around my family. It’ll give them undeserved hope and open wounds and conversations better left alone.