The Between Years

was as serious as a heart attack (as they say). But I will confess that the experience transformed me, even if I didn't realize it at the time.

    Therefore, I made up a story. Bullshit to appease the bugger. Maybe I didn't need to. I mean, the whole point of going along with this was to please Randy, but I assured Father Landry that even though I didn't attend church that Randy and I both meant for our son to have a strong Christian upbringing. He nodded, smiled finally, and said, “Of course you do. I simply wanted to make sure we're on the same track.” Then he asked if we'd made any firm choices regarding godparents. I listed my sister Debbie, my uncle Dave and Randy's best friend Trevor, and waited for him to ask how much had passed since they'd last been to church. Or if they'd set foot in one outside of a wedding or a funeral. To my delight, he didn't ask.

    I assured him that our choices in godparents were very sound and that each of them would contribute to Kenny's Christian upbringing. Landry leaned back in his chair, poked his index finger into his mouth, and nodded. Had he caught me in a lie? Maybe. I doubt men like him caved in on their religious beliefs for anyone's sake. He provided us booklets on baptism plus the parish's pamphlet on the service, asked us to meditate on them seriously and get back to him with any questions.

    Then the three of us stood in a triangle and Landry took our hands. He bowed his head (I wasn't sure if I was supposed to bow mine) and said, “May the love of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds . . . .” I can't remember the rest, but Randy knew the words by heart. We parted and I gave nothing Landry said a second thought until the Sunday of Kenny's baptism.

    The service itself was held a few weeks later and the church was filled with wailing infants. I remember having thought the church's acoustics was charming for our wedding, but I changed my mind once I heard the myriad baby cries ricocheting off the ceiling. Some of the front-pew parishioners twitched their noses at me like the very presence of these children was an annoyance, and I tried not to take it personally, but what other way was there to take it?

    I'd wondered if they simply harbored the same attitude towards me as Father Landry had because I wasn't a church regular. Or maybe my atheism was more transparent than I'd realized. But in the end, I think it was the non-stop crying from beginning to end that irked them, not to mention an extended service for those who meant to fly out the front doors much faster.

    In spite of my own faith-or total lack thereof-I still felt proud to see Kenny hoisted above the baptismal font white the five of us surrounded him. Much to my displeasure, Trevor had blown through the door five minutes before the service began, in a pair of jeans and passable dress shirt. My sister and Uncle Dave were at least dressed for the occasion and willing to throw five bucks into the plate. Randy held Kenny's baptismal candle, and I swore a tear crept out of his eye. Landry sprinkled water over Kenny's head then made the sign of the cross. Kenny didn't kick or squirm the entire time, like he was completely at peace in the priest's arms.

    After, we joined a reception in the parish hall, with tables of homemade and store-bought baked goods and coffee, where little white-haired women embraced Randy and commented on what an adorable son he had. I was chopped liver apparently, but that doesn't bother me anymore. Now I reflect on that afternoon and realize how much my attitude has changed since. My heart was hardened to everything and anything to do with God, and now I couldn't believe I could have been so foolish. I'm not saying I've become born again, but I've seen the light in other ways. It was a tough road to follow, let me tell you.

    Most of our immediate family and some friends had gathered at the house by late afternoon, but Trevor had to run off to Toronto, surprise, surprise. We ate pizza and wings with cake and ice cream and everyone brought gifts. I'd grown used to receiving an endless parade of presents by this point, and figuring out what to do with them later. Tiny prayer books and children's Bibles were among the favorite items this time, but each time I peeled back the wrapping paper, I felt surprised, confused. I'm still unsure why.

    But some of the pieces had jelled together. After what happened to Kenny, I needed something to give me strength. I fell