It seems pretty ridiculous now — my childhood p r e d i c a m e n t
But at t e n years old, nothing about it felt silly.
I believed a single cornflake had j e o p a r d i z e d my eternal soul.
The incident happened eons ago, but I remember it like yesterday.
I grew up Catholic in the 1950s and attended a small parochial school in St. Clair, Michigan. It was staffed by Dominican sisters in full habit — faces floating in black fabric. They seemed like extraterrestrial beings, awe inspiring but also scary
They had strict rules. Not guidelines. Not suggestions. R U L E S!!!
Not just about grammar or math or classroom conduct.
Rules that applied to eternity.
My twin sister and I were allowed to skip ahead and join the older students preparing for Confirmation at my school. We felt chosen. Spiritually advanced.
Each of us received a little green catechism book — 421 numbered questions with answers. Bonnie and I made flashcards and studied morning and night.
WHO made you? God made me.
WHY did God make you?
To know Him, love Him, and serve Him in this life and be happy with Him in the next.
We were only ten, but fluent in salvation.
We even won the Catechism Bee. Sixth graders fell. Fifth graders fell. The Red Sea parted, leaving two small fourth graders standing when the bell rang.
We were ready.
In 1958, WE HAD A RULE which required fasting from midnight before receiving Communion.
My dad would gather the hungry grumpy kids for 6:00 a.m. Mass. Then afterwards, drive straight to Dewey’s Bakery for doughnuts. Seven-Day Adventists kept the Sabbath on Saturday.
Even at ten, I appreciated ecumenical cooperation.
If you knowingly ate after midnight and received Communion anyway, that was a mortal sin.
And at ten, I understood mortal sin this way:
If Die before confessing it — and you went to hell.
On the morning of my Confirmation, I walked past the kitchen table. My three-year-old brother sat there with a bowl of Kellogg’s Cornflakes.Without thinking, I reached in, took one flake, and swallowed.
Then I froze.
Midnight meant midnight.
One flake was still food.
Cold realization dropped straight to my stomach the hunger feeling turned to nausea
This was my CONFIRMATION! — A once in a lifetime event. The archbishop was coming. The church would be full. We had practiced walking up the center aisle two by two, according to height. Bonnie and I would lead.
Joy flipped to dread in a single heartbeat.
In my state of panic, I had a decision to make.
Tell someone about the cornflake?
Or keep quiet?
THE humiliation was already creeping in MY FACE BURNING
While Hell remained abstract concept to my 10 year old self.
I quickly decided to keep quiet...my only witness was 3 years old.
So I received Communion knowing about the cornflake thus in my 10 year old mind committed a Mortal Sin. My heart was beating like a bird in my chest but WHEN I LOOKED AROUND, everything else seemed the same.
Then Confirmation began.
Edward Cardinal Mooney stood above me in full red regalia, enormous shepherd’s staff in hand — as if he had stepped out of stained glass. I wondered: could he see sin the way Superman sees through walls?
“Betty Jean Margaret…”
The Arch Bishop made the sign of the cross, three times on my forehead with scented holy oil.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”
Amen.
A gentle slap on the cheek.
“Peace be with you. Go forth with the strength of the Holy Spirit.”
Peace? Everything inside me felt like it was unraveling. Being Confirmed with an unconfessed Mortal Sin was also a Mortal Sin.
BY NOON, I HAD COMMITTED TWO MORTAL SINS.
HELL was still abstract — flames without detail, eternity without edges —but I knew one thing for certain: I preferred not to go.
I had options, a place left to go and not make matters worse C O N F E S S I O N
The very next morning, before school, I reentered the scene of my sins, the church held a holy stillness. There were two types of kids at Monday Morning Confession, the guilty and the Spiritually ambitious.
The confessional was a dark wooden closet — red velvet curtain, narrow kneeler, the faint smell of furniture polish and fear.
In a small, shaky voice:
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
I started with the easy things — disobedience, anger, fighting with siblings, small lies stealing from my grandmas candy drawer.
But when I reached the cornflake — silence.
Because there is a vast difference between knowing and saying.
If spoken aloud, it would become real.
Instead:
“For these and all my sins, I am truly sorry.”
According to 1958 theology, deliberate withholding counted. Was also a Mortal sin.
Cornflake. Communion. Confirmation. Confession.
I was in Moral quicksand.
I needed something tangible to hold onto.
So I wore a scapular.A scapular is two small pieces of brown wool worn under your clothes, connected by strings over your shoulders. Catholics believe it places you under the protection of the Blessed Mother — especially at the hour of death.
Because I clearly was not confessing the cornflake.
This was Not magic, SUPERSTION or forgiveness.
It gave me comfort. Protection. Hope on a string. It promised I wouldn't die without the SACRAMENT of the Sick, in 1958, Extreme Unction, which included, a Final Confession.
THEN THE 60'S HAPPENED!
Everything changed — including the Catholic Church. It felt as though I grew up in one church and WOKE UP in another without leaving the PEW.
The fasting rule shifted from midnight… to one hour.
Which raises the question:
IF the cornflake was a mortal sin in 1958, what did it become in 1963?
Did it expire?
If your entire theology can be undone by breakfast, you may need a sturdier theology.
Faith survives mistakes.
At ten years old, I thought heaven hinged on breakfast.
Now I know heaven might be the place
where ten-year-olds are forgiven
BEFORE they even ask.
A cornflake did not cost me my soul —
It fed me:
with compassion for people carry something small but it feels enormous and that laughter and and faith can live in the same body.
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