God and Porcelain

I was an odd child. My mother never let me dress myself, for fear it wouldn’t match. Somehow, everyone at Sunday mass or the family mall trip would’ve scouted me out, exposed my strange nature to the public, had I worn my garment mixtures beyond our walls.  

This was a small family with one child, nurtured by fertility drugs and a Catholic desire to spread the Gospel.  

An atheistic tinge was born early in my heart. Once it spread to my lips, it was beaten down as violently as my previous outfit attempts.  

So my mother would dress me. And I’d scornfully display the colorful, itchy tights and cashmere dresses and matching hats or bows, all with my clean blonde bob hair-sprayed into place.  

Sometimes I wondered if she wished she could freeze me, hands folded in prayer and all, and hang me on the end of a rosary to wait for blessing and invocation.  

Parishioners with hands cupped, I am as pure and pristine as a matching silk pajama set; I am a piece of blue-eyed porcelain in the local antique shop, next to the old Precious Moments figurines and wall decor crucifixes, past my time and selling out to a higher, all-purchasing power.


Jane Patterson is a first-year student studying Journalism with a minor in Digital Media. This piece is based on her life experience in religion and growing up.


WBAP-TV (Television station : Fort Worth, Texas). The Portal to Texas History. https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc1632901/