Being raised as a Roman Catholic in New York was not easy. However, there were specific guidelines back in the forties and fifties. In those innocent days, everything in, around, and with the Roman Catholic Church was either black or white. There was no gray.

As a Catholic, you attended Mass every Sunday and every Holy Day of Obligation. As a really faithful youngster, you went to Confession every week, even if you had to make up couple of sins now and then - you know, "I lied to my mother three times" or "I disobeyed my father ten times" or maybe "I cheated on my math test." I was certain if I didn't go to confession and I died, I would go straight to hell in most cases - or at the least I would toast away in purgatory for a while.

Hey, we didn't have drugs back in the dark ages - at least not where I grew up. For the most part, we did what we were told, when we were told, by our parents (two of them), our teachers, our priests, and others in authority. When I grew up, police officers were still our friends. We admired and looked up to them. The worst thing an officer chastised me for was "parking" at a local lover's lane with a boy. We were parallel parked when we should have been diagonally parked. This was a really serious infraction and I am glad my parents never found out. If they did, what the heck, I eventually married him anyway.

The Mass was always said in Latin. No problem for me - I took Latin in high school. The Mass was calming, quiet, respectful, and definitely non-musical. We had to wear hats and gloves. If we didn't have a hat, we would place a tissue on our head secured with a bobby pin. (Only those of you over 50 will remember bobby pins.)

There was a hush of silence throughout the church. One whispered only when necessary. During services you were in the house of the Lord and quiet prevailed. Today, the Catholic Church has music - lots and lots of music and I'm not talking about Gregorian Chants. I mean guitars, foot stomping, praise the Lord type music. Women no longer wear hats or gloves. Even, shorts and T-shirts are accepted attire here in Florida. The only thing I haven't seen is parishioners or priests roller blading down the aisle. I did see a sign once at church - "No bathing suits, please." Someone once told me, "God does not care what you wear, just as long as you go to church." I'm not entirely convinced about that one.

Attending church can be an enlightening experience and perhaps more of us should take advantage of the many houses of worships that surround our city. There are churches that are magnificent buildings with spires, bell towers, carillons, icons, and lots of gold and silver. But for me, church is where the heart is. My brother-in-law, a retired Episcopal Priest, celebrates Mass in his home every day.

Some time ago, I experienced a church service unlike any before I had attended. In fact, this service was held in a place unlike any in which I had ever been. You couldn't even say it was a store front. It was on a side street behind a shopping center. There were lots of alleluias', 'amens' and "Praise Gods!" A boom box with a tape recorder provided music along with congregants keeping the beat with tambourines. There was special service with the "laying on of hands" and readings from the scriptures. While this type of religious observance may not be for me -I believe I found a truly Christian group in every sense of the word. Love, kindness, hope, friendship, and the "Good Word" permeated throughout the service along with some strong coffee and some really tasty donuts.

Pompano offers an amazing variety of worship services and as I have often said, "Whatever floats your ark" - can provide inspiration, solace or balance, if you prefer a more biblical metaphor.

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