Although I was baptized Catholic, my parents did not really practice the faith. I had no formal instructions until it was time for my First Communion. I was only six so I did not really understand much of what I was being taught. I went to a secular private school until in 5th grade I started attending a Catholic school. I was embarrassed by my lack of knowledge, but carried on somehow.
However, Holy Week was always observed in our house. A sense of respect and awe was instilled in me. I believe we ate fish that whole week. I am not positive about that, it could be that it was only on Good Friday, but since fish is not my favorite thing, it is possible that it just seemed that way. There was an overall reverence everywhere during that week. There were processions, a sense of sorrow and I always felt that the Passion happened all over again during that week.
No music was played on the radio. My siblings and I (no matter how tone-deaf) were forever making up songs, a tradition that continues with my daughters. I remember one Good Friday sitting around the table eating fish and someone came up with a song: “Pescado de la pescaderia que vendo yo, que vendo yo.” Roughly translated “Fish from the fish market that I am selling, I am selling.” We were all singing merrily when suddenly someone said: “Oh no! Today is Good Friday!” We immediately stopped singing feeling guilty for our transgression.
As an adult I have studied and acquired perhaps a more mature faith, but I long for that faith of a little child that felt such sorrow and compassion for Jesus Christ who loved us so much that willingly suffered for our salvation.