Stories Untold, Lost or Insubstantial

In my quest for new stories, I’ve heard a number that, ultimately, I wasn’t given permission to publish.  In one case, the woman was too anguished over long-ago events to want to go public.  (Nor am I sure that telling me her story helped her.  Some memories, no doubt, are better left uncovered.)  In another case, a blithe spirit recounted a lively tale of her younger days, and then, upon reflection, opted for discretion. 

Then there are the lost stories.  Recently, a friend who was raised Catholic but has not remained in the Church told me that she has no recollection of birth control being an issue for her parents or aunts or uncles, that the entire Catholic experience felt remote.  I think it important to collect and share what family stories we can because those narratives contribute to wisdom and truth.  The “Greatest Generation” has mostly departed this earth, leaving stories in the memories of their survivors, stories with “sell-by” dates.  I will continue to search these stories out.

Then there are the stories that aren’t.  Often when I talk with Catholic adults of child-bearing years I’m surprised at how unaware they are of the Church’s teaching on sexual morality.  Both cradle Catholics and converts, for instance, seem to feel free to choose among all types of birth control, the exception being the women writing for blogs that espouse NFP, not people I see in person.  The young adult Catholics I see in person are actively seeking spirituality, community and ethical living for themselves and their children.  Their religious journey appears to me remarkably free of what some might term “baggage.”

Another Comment Gratefully Received!

Thanks, Pat, for your comment and thanks for reading all of the posts.  Please consider contributing more of your own story.

It is interesting to see all sides of this topic from firsthand accounts. I read all of the posts and can find myself in many of them. I used birth control without guilt. I stopped using them when the side effects issues finally convinced me it was not healthy. I have five children and no regrets. Hugs, GraceinAZ (Pat)

A Comment Belatedly Posted

This comment was made several weeks ago in response to the  post "Two Old Stories."  (I'm still catching on about opening and posting comments.)

"Women of all religions, and poor women for the most part, were treated with disdain by religious leaders, doctors, etc....

"My mother, Jewish, was allowed to be in labor for days...when my father was asked: Who do you want us to save--the baby or your wife? My sister, Penelope, choked by the umbilical cord, was born dead. My mother survived to have 3 children. My father who asked in response to the doctors' question: Can't you save both? was forever mistrusted by my mother's sister as a result.

"My mother was in the same generation of women who wrote about their experiences above. Similar attitudes towards women condemning them to a less than heavenly life here on earth."

The Seventh Child

I’m not sure of the propriety of quoting other people’s published stories.  I was going to paraphrase the first few paragraphs of “From Maine to Thailand,” the memoir of Roger Parent that appears in the Number 87 volume of Echoes, but it’s written so well and so succinctly that I’m going to post it as is and hope that I’m not committing any sort of violation.

“My parents had six children and could not afford another child.  Maybe they didn’t want another child, but I don’t know that.  It was near the end of the Depression.  They had lost their savings, jobs were scarce, and birth control was an inexact science fraught with moral implications for my parents who were devout Catholics.  They tried to follow the birth control allowed by the Church: abstinence, nursing the last baby as long as possible, and having sexual intercourse only when they thought my mother was not fertile.  But nothing worked and I was born January 22, 1939, on a very cold day in Lille, a small village in northern Maine, a few hundred yards from the border with New Brunswick, Canada.

“After I was born, my parents, although not naturally superstitious, tried the birth control of an old French Acadian tale: if you named the seventh child after the grandfathers or grandmothers, this would be your last child.  I was the seventh child, and my parents, desperate not to have another, named me Jean Octave Roger.

“Unfortunately for my parents, and fortunately for my three younger sisters, this birth control didn’t work.  Years later, toward the end of her long life, my mother told me, ‘If I were young, I would not follow the Church’s ban on artificial [whatever that means] birth control.’”