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Brooklyn, Container Diaries, Father Devlin, Holy Name, Priests, Prospect Park, Religion, Schoolyard
Last night while out to dinner with my wife and Taylor, our 23 year-old daughter, Taylor asked, “Dad, what’s an altar boy?”
My wife looked at her and said, “Your dad wasn’t one.”
LOL.
She was right.
Sipping on a hot cup of coffee this morning I was thinking back to my days attending Holy Name of Jesus from 1970 to 1978 and the possibilities of becoming an altar boy.
In the second grade I made my holy communion. It was an awful day. We had been practicing every day leading up to that historical Saturday morning in May. I recall getting out of class and walking to the church to go over our duties, tasks and responsibilities.
My partner was Joanne Mackey (RIP) a pretty girl from Windsor Place who I would have a crush on all through grammar school. I’m pretty sure her twin brother Michael (RIP) was an altar boy. My mother was a no-show that morning. That’s right. When I woke up she wasn’t there. My older brother dressed me.
Ma, you did the best you could with what you had.
It has to be mentioned the Gooch was a no-show too. (Gooch was my father)
After communion I had to attend Mass every Sunday. Wasn’t a big fan of waking up early on Sunday morning. I wanted to sleep in. Altar boys don’t sleep in. They are early risers. Serving Mass at the Saturday night 5:30 service would have been suitable for me.
When the collection basket came around I never had any money to contribute, my family was poor. Ma gave me some change for the basket one day but I kept it and bought candy from Rae and Otto’s. When the basket was passed in front of my face I had thoughts of snatching a bill or two. By the way, where did all that cash go? Who got the dough? Why not distribute the funds to the families in the parish who were in need? Like the Finamore Family was often late with the school tuition.
At the start of mass until the very end (“Mass is ended, go in Peace…”) the altar boys mastered the little things, something I wasn’t very good at. They were the priests’ assistants. They always had the same look on their faces; No one smiled. They were so serious. Intense. I was the opposite. Always messing around. Laughing and lacking in self-discipline, filled with much anxiety. I lacked the poise to carry the Chalice. Knowing me, I would have dropped it or spilled the wine. When I think of those last three words, I think of the 1970’s smash hit by War.
The communion wafer was tasteless but there were Sunday mornings I didn’t eat breakfast so I took advantage of the nutritious treat. I once thought of going up for seconds, I was that hungry.
Hey Father Shine, can I take a sip of the wine to wash down the wafer?
The altar boys were disciplined. They possessed the traits necessary to be where they were. Good grades I’m sure factored in the decision making. That was not me.
What was the process to be one of the chosen few?
Good family? Introvert? Well behaved? Three strikes and I’m out…
I had a few friends who were chosen to help the priests during mass, but for some reason I was never asked. Actually, I know the reason, I wasn’t a good fit.
Word on the street was altar boys made decent cash for weddings. I liked the thought of that. But I still didn’t apply. Imagine me walking up to the rectory asking to be an altar boy? The door would have been shut in my face. By the way, I never heard any announcement in school about signing up.
“IF JULIO AND RAFAEL ARE IN THE BUILDING PLEASE REPORT TO THE OFFICE,” is what we often heard.
My interactions with the priests at Holy Name were mostly negative. If I got caught playing ball late at night in the boys schoolyard, I was called down to the office and given a lecture. I recall being hit with the paddle a few times on my skinny ass. Just for being in the yard, doing what I loved, playing basketball.
In my late teens Father Devlin arrived from St. Mary’s Mother of Jesus. He was good people. Always on my side, always looking to help me. He ran a great Sunday morning football league in Prospect Park.
Looking back, I’m glad I wasn’t an altar boy. At times I was jealous of them, thinking about it, the gig wasn’t for me. I was more into sports, hanging out with my friends and getting into trouble.
Hope all is well.
-Red
E-Mail: SteveFinamore@yahoo.com