My Come-to-Jesus Moment

Though thoroughly agnostic and born of an Episcopalian mother from the working town of Paisley, Scotland, I identify myself as a Jew. Always have, always will. I don't keep Kosher. I don't study the Torah. And I couldn't begin to tell you the difference between the Tanakh and the Talmud. Nevertheless, as my friend puts it, I have this undeniably strong sense of Jewishness.

Which makes it all the more ironic that my wife and I are attempting to send our daughters to Saint Monica's Catholic High School. Oh yes, you read that right.

Plaid skirts. Ornery nuns. And crucifixes on any wall that can support a nail.

Why? You may ask.

The numbers tell the story. I can no longer afford to send my girls to private school where the tuition is simply prohibitive. And we tried one year at a public high school, where after four months, some of the teachers still don't know my daughter's name. And Catholic school offers a happy-but-guilt ridden middle ground.

Not to mention that Saint Monica's is an affordable college prep campus and that 99 percent of all graduates go on to a four-year college.

Ninety-nine percent! Fewer Catholics get into heaven.

At the open house several weeks ago, my wife and I sat in a large auditorium to listen to the Monsignor and get a feel for the school. At one point in the presentation, I needed to use the bathroom. I was led to a restroom in the back, where I spotted the silvery vending machine pictured above.

Odd, I thought. As I left the bathroom I asked the Vice Principal why there was a condom machine in the men's room? I may be new to Catholicism but my understanding was that condom use was not permitted, even in these more enlightened times.

The Vice Principal summoned the Monsignor, who took me by the shoulder and literally said, "How can I be of assistance, brother?" He led me to the machine in question, chuckled and whispered, "This is a unisex bathroom, brother. This machine does not dispense condoms. It dispenses feminine napkins."

I felt relieved. And I liked being called brother.

And with that, we exited the bathroom, his arm wrapped around me, laughing, not the way two middle-aged men should be exiting any bathroom.

This Catholic School thing could work out swimmingly. My daughters will get a great education. And the whole experience will provide me with years worth of comedic mileage.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to read up on "plenary indulgences."