I loved every second of Catholic church. I loved the sickly sweet rotting-pomegranate smells of the incense. I loved the overwrought altar, the birdbath of holy water, the votive candles; I loved that there was a poor box, the stations of the cross rendered in stained glass on the windows.
“Grades were important in our house. I was reading by two. My mom would sit there and read with me, read with me, read with me. It was wonderful.”