Behind Enemy Lines

“Stay away from Catholic boys,” my father told me. I was about thirteen, sitting in the kitchen while he was making pancakes. We were Presbyterian, but the words struck me as some sort of family code. He said it was not too early to think about these things, and that I would be unhappy if I married a Catholic. “More than likely, you’ll have to convert,” he said, “or at least sign over your children, and they’ll come home from Catholic school spouting all that gibberish...

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