Baptisms’ a Bitch—Oh the Fish Tank

     When it’s the early 1960s and your parents are two different religions, one being Catholic. The priest is usually none too happy. Especially, if he wasn’t the one who married the mixed couple.

Then they had the audacity to bring him their second living child for a baptism. One would think the priest would’ve been happy to have a chance to increase his parish size. Perhaps having a chance to indoctrinate another paying soul into his realm. But no, he didn’t like my name. Yes, the priest kept denying that my first name represented Joseph.

He asked why they hadn’t named me Josephine. It was clear why. My dad’s family were of WASP origin, so we were told. Much later, nearly forty years later we would find out that Dad’s paternal side were originally Vikings who conquered the English Isle of Mann. Pagans—Oh dear God!

    Then the Godparents.—both were church goers, but again one was Catholic and my Dad’s sister who was married to a full-bred Norweigan, was a church going Lutheran. I could only imagine the hoops my parents must’ve done to get the priest to okay this too. Yet somehow the Christening occurred in near appropriate time to save my soul. Ah las, little Jody-Lynn’s soul was temporarily saved. Now if she died, all would be right with the world. So, was implied back then. Except for the fish tank.

Oh, Dad’s tropical fish tank. Evidently, I was a curious climber by age two. However, I was a late walker, as it was said I didn’t walk till I was nearly aged two. At some point after my second birthday, I was enthralled with my dad’s fish tank. I would tap on the glass and watch the fishes race to and fro. I do not know if I’d ever been scolded for doing so. It didn’t sound like it, based on how this story was explained to me at age ten.

So, one day I gather I’d had gotten a little bored as the fish weren’t moving fast enough. I inadvertently tampered with the temperature gauge. Needless to say, boiled ala’ fishes were not on any of our parent’s menus. Or rather the fish’s goose was cooked.---Jody-Lynn Reicher, from "Authentic, a Memoir"