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what’s first on the hit parade?”
    Mike’s brow knitted. “Well … we start to gather the documents. You know, it’s not as easy as it sounded when Bob told me about it. He didn’t bring anything with him the first time he went to the seminary … things got pretty involved.”
    “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! What documents?”
    “You don’t know? Didn’t you talk to Bob?”
    “A little. But he didn’t mention any documents. It never even came up. Of course,” he said, after a moment’s reflection, “mostly I was just asking him questions.” He shook his head. “Nope; it just didn’t come up.
    “So”—he looked at Mike intently—“what’s it all about?”
    “According to Bob, in addition to a pencil, and a transcript of your grammar school grades, they want three documents. Three certificates, really: your baptismal and confirmation records and your parents’ marriage certificate.”
    “I haven’t got any of these.” Down deep, Manny felt the beginning of panic.
    “I don’t have them either.”
    “Then what—”
    “You’ve got to go get them.”
    “Where?”
    “The parish where you were baptized and confirmed. And the parish where your parents were married. You just go there and ask for them. Bob said they have to have the parish seal on them. But Bob said the priest or his secretary would probably know that.”
    Manny could see his dream vocation crashing before it got in the air. “I think maybe I got a problem.”
    “What?”
    The two sat on the cement stair in the blessed shade.
    “My dad. He’s not a Catholic. Will he be able to get a marriage certificate?”
    “Were your folks married in a Catholic church?”
    “Yeah. My mom told me all about the wedding a long time ago. Actually, they were married at a side altar. Because my dad wasn’t a Catholic.
    “So what’s that got to do with getting the damn certificate?”
    Mike thought about that briefly. “I don’t think it has anything to do with it. Remember in our Religion class when we were studying the seven sacraments? If one party is Catholic and the other isn’t, they call that a mixed marriage.”
    “Yeah.” Manny brightened. “ A mixed religion marriage.”
    “Well, if your folks got married in a Catholic church like you said, then it’s a valid marriage.”
    “Even if they did it at a side altar?”
    “Why not?”
    “Yeah, why not?” Manny hesitated. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? I mean, don’t they have to get something?”
    “Get something? What something?”
    “Something about … uh … permission … no? Permission to get married even though both of them weren’t Catholic?”
    Mike’s eyes widened. “You mean a dispensation?”
    “That’s it: a dispensation.”
    Mike’s memory faltered. “From what?”
    “I don’t know. I just remember the word.”
    “Wait a minute,” Mike said thoughtfully. “It’s simple. They can’t get married ’cause one of them is not a Catholic. It’s prohibited. So,” he said triumphantly, “they get a dispensation from the prohibition. Then they can get married in a Catholic church … even though it’s at a side altar.”
    “Man,” Manny exclaimed, “you got some memory!”
    Mike smiled. “Not for everything. I figure we ought to know all we can about the Catholic Church … after all, it’s gonna be our entire life.”
    Manny was uneasy about the Church being his “entire life.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to make that total a commitment. “Is that all there is to it?” He sensed there was more than merely getting a paper that said his parents were dispensed so they could get married in the Catholic Church.
    Mike thought. The Brother who taught their Religion class was pretty thorough about Church stuff, especially about the sacraments. Brothers were more demanding than nuns. At least it seemed so; they hit harder. “Seems to me there’s something people have to do before they get their dispensation.” He looked up