She'll keep us company in hell

My little sister is in the throes of planning her youngest daughter’s baptism and is enjoying all the complications that come with planning an event that demands the presence of all concerned family members. She is trying to find a weekend in the summer when everyone in and out of state can be there because heaven forbid anyone miss the head dipping and sheet cake that are the main attractions of the event. I’m certainly not belittling anyone’s desire to participate (let me be clear: I’m all for the faithful having their special day), but I do pity K.C. because everyone else has an idea about when and how and where, and she doesn’t know what to do or who to prioritize. Her husband’s grandfather, for example, is up her ass to get it done SOON, before eternal damnation fall upon sweet Nora, and he doesn’t seem to understand that summer is a busy time for everyone. On top of it all, her in-laws, who have agreed to host the after party (strange to think of the after party to a baptism when usually those words signify to me partying until 4 a.m. and needing to puke in order to go to sleep—ah, nostalgia), are in the middle of a divorce. They’re going to stay in the house together until after the party, but, hey, that’s not a lot of pressure.

What gets lost in all this, I think, is the meaning of the ceremony, which doesn’t need all this witnessing in order to mean something. But I guess this is true with just about any important moment or ceremony—it is easy to lose sight of what the day is about because you have to balance family, tension, all sorts of expectations, other people’s needs, food allergies, what have you. What wins: the perfect ceremony for you at the expense of other people’s wishes and feelings, or a ceremony of compromises to keep everyone happy? I’m watching my friend Karen go through this as she plans her wedding, too, which has become a big, formal and (though she will never admit it) very traditional event when she had initially thought of it as small, informal and very personalized.

But none of this is why my little family of three is going to hell. Here it is: we have no intention of baptizing Clementine unless she wants us to, and even then we will have to look long and hard at who can take responsibility for such a huge spiritual undertaking because it certainly won’t be us (Nate can count on one hand the number of times he has set foot in a church, and I am agnostic at best). Lots of the old biddies with whom I work think this is incredibly unfair of me, this lack of regard for darling C’s eternal salvation. My office mate, for example, always asks me if maybe I shouldn’t go ahead with it “just in case.” In case of what, I’m not sure—in case there really is a God? In case something happens before C finds her way to Jesus? In case the world ends? The way I see it is that if there is a God and she cares about baptism even a little, my chances of going to hell are way higher if I get up in front of a church and promise (meaning LIE) to raise Clementine with some sort of Christian doctrine than if I wait until she is able to make decisions for herself. I’m not going to get all high and mighty here, but I think that is a much more honest approach than people who get their kids baptized and then never take them to church. I intend to take C to church when she’s old enough to understand it…and to a synagogue, some temples, a mosque. I want her to know the stories and tenets of these religions so she can choose the role one or many of them will play in her life. I see that as a much bigger responsibility than baptizing Clementine and never thinking about it again.

And while my feelings on this front a resolute, I still like the idea of a party, a ceremony that marks Clementine’s coming into our world. Yes, there is a birthday on the horizon (distant but there nonetheless), but I’m thinking of something more along the lines of a once-in-a-lifetime faux baptism to welcome her to our universe. I have some ideas about how something like this will go: friends, family, fairy godparents, a gathering, a cake and some symbolic offerings for Clementine’s future, but there are still lots of details to work out. I thought of having it on a solstice (can I be more of a heathen?), but as more and more time passes I think it may have to wait until her birthday.

The only thing I need now is a good retort to all the people I work with who are wondering what the hell is wrong with that tattooed mama who won’t baptize her baby. They think I’m doing this to be different, to be outrageous, and they can’t be convinced otherwise. I’ve started talking about how lonely we’ll be in eternity if Clementine gets to go to heaven, but most people’s senses of humor on that topic just aren’t that reliable. I fear I offend them way more than they let on. Maybe I need to consult Dear Abby—she’s always so sharp with the it’s-none-of-your-business comments.