EDITORIAL Keeping the faith

According to recent articles in the New York Times and the Catholic Reporter, the Vatican has issued a statement announcing plans to make Catholic-affiliated colleges more Catholic. Although the plans would help to bring • each college and university together, there are several obvious problems with the idea.

Among their plans, the Vatican would like to ensure that every professor and teacher-regardless of the subject he or she teaches-at every Catholic college is a faithful and practicing Catholic. This, they say, will lead to a better allaround Catholic education.

However, this simply leads to an invasion into the private lives of these people. Why should the fact that they speak badly about their parents or the revelation that they sometimes take the Lord's name in vain have any effect on their ability to instruct a class? By selecting a professed Catholic teacher over a Jewish instructor, are we denying a position to a better teacher who could impart more knowledge on his or her students?

Another problem with the plan is the criteria for choosing a faithful, practicing Catholic. What should be the standard definition of a "good Catholic?" If a professor oversleeps and misses Mass one Sunday, is he or she no longer a good Catholic? Should that person therefore be fired from his or her job? What if a professor is divorced? Since the Church instructs that divorce is a sin, is that professor a bad Catholic?

The plan would also directly affect the lives of the students. College is largely regarded as a time to find oneself. Students who have attended 12 years of Catholic elementary and high school have already had all of the basic doctrines and teachings pounded into their heads. In college, they have the freedom and self-reliance to figure out for themselves whether or not those teachings are true and decide if they would like to pursue a Catholic lifestyle or another. Continuing to force the Church's values down a student's. throat will only lead to disgust and rebellion.

Karin Letcher

Visions of things like a frolicking Elmo and a cuddly Mr. Snuffleupagus are supposed to spring to mind when people recall their childhood visits to the amusement park Sesame Place.

But for me, the only image that remains from that fateful day I took the trip down to Langhorne is a dead person nestled under piles and piles of plastic colored balls.

When I was about seven years old, my family and I went to Sesame Place along with my older brother's Boy Scout troop.

The day started out pleasant enough. I played on the water slides, had my picture taken on Super Grover's lap and got pummeled repeatedly by my brother. Well, maybe that last thing wasn't so great.

Then, I ventured to that evil room of plastic balls.

Being an extremely curious child, as are all children, I always wanted to know what was at the bottom of all those balls. I started digging down towards the floor of the room, expecting to reach China or something absurd like that. Instead of arriving at a foreign country, though, I found a -

It was a young man and he was not moving. Scared and panicked, I rushed over to the zit-faced teenaged boy who was in charge of the amusement and told him what I had discovered. He looked at me with a smirk on his face, laughed and said, "Ob don't worry about it, that guy has been missing for a couple of weeks."

Don't worry? What the hell was this punk talking about? There was a dead boy buried under all those supposedly safe and friendly blue, red and yellow balls.

I ran out of the room and found my parents as quickly as I could.

Strangely enough, when I told them my harrowing story, they had the same reaction as the kid working the plastic ball room. They just laughed.

In hindsight, and after years of intensive therapy (just kidding), I have come to the realization that the prick teenager that was in charge of the ball amusement was joking with me.

My parents knew this, my brother knew it, everyone knew but me. The guy under all the balls was probably just a fellow worker messing around.

The point of this anecdote is children do not always understand when those of a greater age than them are kidding around.

Little kids have the tendency to believe absolutely anything they see or bear.

For instance, aside from the traumatic Sesame Place incident, there was the time when I was about nine years old when my mother teasingly (although I did not know it at the time) told me that if I listened to music as I was falling asleep my bead would explode. About ten years later when I finally did listen to music as I was going to sleep, my bead did not blow up and I realized my mom was just trying to get me to tum off my radio.

We are all guilty of telling children little jokes or lies, either to get them to do something we want or for pure amusement. As a swim instructor, I am a major participant in this activity.

My favorite lie to tell the kids during lessons is that there are alligators at the deep end of the pool and that they love to feed on the arms and legs of non-swimmers.

The message I am attempting to impart is that remarks that may seem innocent and harmless to us can have a major impact on a child's life.

Sure, finding what I thought was a dead body in the plastic balls at Sesame Place made for a good story to tell the other kids at the playground, but for a long while I honestly believed that I really bad come in contact with a dead person.

Just think twice the next time you joke around with a child. Most likely, they will think you are being serious.

KarinLetcheris a seniormajoringin English/communication.Sheis theA&E editorof Loquitur.Althoughtheword"balls. appearsrepeatedlythroughoutthecolumn, thereis nodoublemeaning.