I needed to finalise some legal papers and asked Father Fatty where I could get them done. I was told to wait for him on a busy street. I didn’t recognise his car which more closely resembled a racing car with big painted stripes running head to tail on the top than a car for a priest.
Leaving the solicitor’s office, he asked me,”Do you want to convert to Catholicism?” I felt a pressure coming from him for me to say yes. I was indebted to Father Fatty for his help in organising another house for me to live with other Vietnamese refugee girls. He had also given help to me on another two previous occasions. I thought that he wanted me to be like all the other girls in the house, so I agreed to convert. But wait there’s more!