IN THE MIX:

Editor’s note: This is Alicia Lopez’s last column. Anyone interested in writing a column on Latino issues in the community please contact Managing Editor Brady Rhoades at brady.rhoades@latimes.com.

Actually, I’m not Roman Catholic.

I’ve had to say that many times in my life. When your name is Alicia Lopez and the other half of you is mostly Irish, people often assume your religion.

Christmastime tends to bring out that question more than usual, and it is also the time of year that taught me how similar life can be despite religion.

After growing up in the Protestant church, listening to Greg Laurie at Calvary Chapel Riverside, which changed its name to Harvest Ministries, I was pretty confident that Catholics were a different breed. The differences were of little concern to me, however, because I had no need to understand the Catholic Church — until I met my husband.

Both of us had fallen away from going to church but I found out early that the Catholic Church keeps a strong, deep hold on a person despite attendance at Mass.

I knew much of the religious aspect of his personality came from his family. Before I met them I knew they were very religious, especially his mother and two sisters.

This knowledge led to me sitting in my then-new boyfriend’s car too scared to get out. It was a chilly night before Thanksgiving, especially for Brawley. I couldn’t move out of fear of meeting his family — I was sure they wouldn’t accept me. I didn’t think I was the nice Catholic girl they had in mind for their son.

Finally I got out and walked toward the front door. When it opened, the smell of baking ham poured out and a smiling woman reached out to hug her son.

I got a hug, too, and then I was immediately hit with a wall of memories.

They’ve since redone the home, so I don’t mind saying the carpet, walls and couches were a bit worn. They had the same look and the home somehow had the same exact smell as my grandparent’s house growing up.

Later, we returned for Christmas and the décor did not disappoint. I felt like I could have been opening presents in Grandpa Lopez’ little house on Elder Street in Santa Ana.

OK, so, it’s a religious holiday, a Catholic home and it’s just like memories of Christmas in a Methodist home. This didn’t phase me at the time, but I later heard a story that made me appreciate that despite religious affiliation, Christmas felt like Christmas.

When my great-grandpa moved the family back to Suchil, Mexico, from Santa Ana they became the only Methodist family in town.

The Catholic priest there told the rest of the community to avoid the house because the devil lives there.

The priest would avoid the home himself by walking completely around town to reach the train station instead of the much more direct route that would take him in front of the Lopez home.

But when Christmas rolled around, my great-grandpa Genaro put it all out there. He put up a Christmas tree, gave out candy to all the kids and led Christmas carols — forms of celebration not even heard of in Suchil before him. From then on he was a town favorite and it was the first step in his path toward being the informal “mayor of Suchil.”

After that first Christmas with Joey’s family, I was certain that Catholic or not, I was going to fit in. I was right. The bonus is that now if someone wants to talk to me about being Catholic I have something to say.

 Goodbye note:

This is my last “In the Mix” column for the Daily Pilot. I have enjoyed getting to know my community better and will be forever grateful for many of the people I met.

I hope residents here continue to get to know each other. The more we know each other, the more likely we will be able to come up with realistic solutions to whatever ails us.

ALICIA LOPEZ teaches journalism at OCC and lives in Costa Mesa. She can be reached at lopezinthemix@gmail.com.