...Who Needs Enemies

One of my teachers in middle school named Mr. Anderson told us a person's age had a big influence on our behavior.  To illustrate this point, he said that if he decided to sit with us in the cafeteria the things we would talk about would be very different from the topics we usually discussed during lunch with our friends.  I'm not sure how obsessed Mr. Anderson was with TV shows like The Transformers and Inspector Gadget but he was probably correct.

While having older friends and acquaintances can teach young people valuable lessons, it's important for them to be with their own kind too.  In high school, there weren't many of my fellow students to hang out with but the elderly seemed to be everywhere.  Gray-haired parishioners filled the pews during Mass and significant number of employees and customers at the small grocery store I worked for were old as well.  I got along with some of them but the topics of conversation they brought up were very different from the concerns that were foremost on my mind.  While I worried about fitting in and getting a date for the junior prom, they complained about every little ache and pain.  If I was feeling sad from being bullied, they would simply say, “Smile.  It can't be that bad.”  To the young person who can't seem to find where he belongs in the world, it can be that bad.  Then of course, I was constantly reminded how life was so much better back in their day.  

Soon these people invaded my thoughts.  I feared growing old and thought about death on a daily basis.  I imagined a world 100 years from now with a student looking at distant images of our generation on a page in a history book.  These thoughts weren't very natural for a teenager and it made my young life feel very tiresome.  I'm not saying young people should live their days with carefree abandon but there needs to be balance.  A teen's sense of his own mortality should make him appreciate life instead of dreading it.

Unfortunately, being surrounded by old people has continued to plague me all these years later.  I could be sitting by myself at the library and an elderly woman will plunk herself down right next to me.  At Mass, no person my age ever occupies the nearby pews.  The friendships and acquaintances I do have with the elderly tend to be very one-sided.  They get to discuss the movies, television shows and music they grew up with but God forbid I share anything from my generation.  In fact, there is a whole list of “safe” and “unsafe” topics swirling around in my mind. 

One septuagenarian friend named Richard has been growing increasingly grumpy despite a comfortable retirement and happy marriage.  No matter the subject, he always seems to find a way to bring people down.  In an e-mail on the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, he started off by saying what a wonderful achievement it was.  He then mentioned how the event briefly united the world.  His commentary quickly went south:  “I can't believe it's been a half century since that night.  I'm 78 now and I'm disappointed that after a few more moon landings, we just quit.  I expected by now that there would be a permanent base on the moon.  But no, just some footprints and abandoned equipment.  What a waste.”

Richard also sent a fascinating Youtube video of New York street scenes from 1911.  He wrote: “Every single person and horse in this film have long since passed away. They were here, like we are, and had their moment in the sun. Captured on film, they will live on, unknown, for as long as the film images last.  We now are having our moment in the sun, and 108 years from now we, like them, will be long gone.”  Hmm.  Do I need any more reminders of how short life is?

Over the years, I learned to put up with Richard's curmudgeonly commentary but recently, it got too personal.  As he was waiting in a mutual friend's pickup tuck, Richard saw me walking along in the distance and said to everyone that I would never get married.  I blew my chance at finding a wife in college and now I spent too much time being a mamma's boy.  He added that I dressed like someone out of the 1956 Sears catalog and needed to get with the times.  When I learned about his hurtful rant, I said nothing to him but decided to keep my distance from now on.  Over the years, I had sacrificed a lot to maintain a friendship with Richard.  Now he was throwing me under the bus for a good laugh.  If this didn't underscore the importance of having caring relationships with people your own age, nothing else did.

With Friends Like These...

My high school years were a little more than half over and even though I still longed for a girlfriend, there were no prospects in sight.  One close friend of mine was dating a girl who just happened to have a friend named Jen.  She wasn't seeing anyone at the time so they thought it might be a good idea to set me up with her.  Of course, I asked my friend the usual questions:  “What was she like?  Was she cute?”  In the days before smart phones and social media, photographs of people weren't always handy so I had to meet her in real life to find out.  In fact, I didn't even know what my friend's girlfriend looked like either.

The plan was to meet Jen, my friend and his girlfriend at his house.  Was this a double date?  Did I need to dress up?  Were we going out somewhere?  He was pretty vague about what the night would entail.  To make a good impression and just to be on the safe side, I decided to wear a nice sweater.  When I arrived at my friend's house, everyone was hanging out in the cellar.  Among the heater and exposed pipes was a make-shift TV room where two girls waited for us.  One had brown hair and a somewhat athletic build and the other was blonde with glasses and very overweight.  I quietly asked my friend,  “Which one is mine?”  It was the overweight blonde, of course.

I was way overdressed because we were just going to watch a movie on his VCR.  Jen wore a loose-fitting wrinkled shirt with tight gray sweatpants that accentuated her huge thighs.  I had reservations about this but was still willing to give her a chance and see where the evening would go.  Everyone wanted to watch the 1990 cinematic gem, House Party starring Kid 'n Play.  This wouldn't be my first choice...third choice...or 100th choice but I decided to just go along with it to make everyone happy.  My friend pressed play on the VCR and I sat in awkward silence as they all laughed at tasteless jokes.  There were references to garden hoes, and a graphic scene of coitus interruptus among other things.  Did I say this wouldn't even be my 100th choice for the evening's entertainment?

There were a few times when I tried engaging Jen in conversation but she really didn't have much to say.  It was clear we were two very different people with not much in common.  I wondered why the heck my friend ever tried to set me up with her.  Shortly after the movie ended, I headed for home.  Did this awful experience count as my very first date?   It certainly didn't feel like it.  In my mind, we were just casually hanging out in a basement for a few hours.

The next day, my friend asked what I thought of Jen.  I let him know that I just wasn't interested in her.  Of course, he later reported this news to his girlfriend and she thought I was a jerk for rejecting her friend.  I really didn't care what she thought because I had to stay true to myself.  This girl gave me no indication that she had anything in common with me regarding my faith, hobbies, or personality and I wasn't going to be guilted into a relationship that was doomed to fail.

The whole incident reminds me of one stand up comic's routine about blind dates.  He said that after a certain age, it gets much harder to find eligible singles so his friends try to set him up with the only available women they can find.  To make these potential suitors sound more appealing, his friends say things like, “She has so much in common with you.  She breaths air.  You breath air.  What a coincidence.  It was meant to me.”  While an extreme exaggeration, it certainly has a ring of truth to it.

Over the summer, my friend and his girlfriend went to a water park with Jen and her new boyfriend.  He said Jen was all over her date and she made an embarrassing display of herself.  They were sexually active and just couldn't keep their hands off each other.  I thought to myself, “If I had low standards, that could have been me.”  Interestingly, he apologized for trying to set me up with Jen in the first place.  I didn't hold a grudge because he was influenced by the desire to make his girlfriend happy.  I just wish he had exercised a little more judgment in choosing a possible girlfriend for me because sometimes when people think they are helping, they're not helping at all.

Sympathy's Weak Foundation

A while ago, I attended the town hall meeting of a local politician.  The event was held in the auditorium of a far away community's high school auditorium and in one of the hallways was a sign that read: “See someone alone...reach out and help...start with hello.”  I wondered if this slogan was part of those feel-good anti-bullying campaigns meant to appeal to kids growing up in the digital age.  Having been bullied myself, I was somewhat skeptical of how effective the sign's message was.  Right then and there a wave of memories came flooding back.

While attending Bishop Fenwick High School, I hoped to find many like-minded Catholics but found myself becoming more and more of an outcast.  My freshman year was marked by shy awkwardness.  During my sophomore year, I tried to assert myself but was ridiculed for it.  When my junior year began, I sensed time was running out to find a place to fit in.

My social life left something to be desired and while many of my friends went to parties and did other fun things outside of school, I seemed to be left out of the loop.  A well-respected and somewhat popular student who professed to be a good Catholic took pity on me and pledged he would help me get more of a social life.  I welcomed this kind of assistance but at the same time, I had my doubts he would be there for me.  Since so much time had been lost during my previous two years of high school, I had to see it to believe it.  As the weeks and then months passed, not much of anything happened to help improve my situation.  I continued to spend night after night alone in my room pining for friends to hang out with and a girlfriend.

Then one day I learned the student who pledged to help improve my social life completely forgot about me.  He and one of my friends had been hanging out and decided to go bowling.  Then they thought it would be a lot more fun to invite a bunch of people.  Soon friends were calling friends and an impromptu “tournament” was being formed.  So many students agreed to stop by the bowling alley, several lanes had to be reserved.  Everyone was having a great time when more than halfway through this tournament one of my friends realized they forgot to invite me.  When I found out about this, I was deeply hurt.  It could have been an honest mistake but being left out had me wondering if I was that invisible to people...even the ones who said they would go out of their way to help.  Had I been really popular, I don't think I would have been so far away from everyone's minds.

This incident highlighted the trouble with friendships that are based on sympathy rather than mutual respect.  Right off the bat, these relationships begin with unequal footing.  While reaching out to that sad, lonely kid can be helpful, it shouldn't be done if you aren't going to make their needs and concerns a priority.  From then on, I never took anything this fellow student said seriously.

When we help those who are less fortunate than us, do we see them as fellow human beings who might have been given a bad break or do we see them as something less than ourselves?  Doing the latter robs people of their dignity and could cause more harm than good.  When politicians court "the poor" to get votes, we hear all the speeches about fairness but notice how they never seem to get down and dirty with them to truly understand their plight.  Instead many of our elected officials talk down to the poor from their mansions and fancy dinner parties.  Every year, we see them clamor for photo opportunities at the local food pantry during Thanksgiving but if they really cared as much as they said they did, why wouldn't they invite a few of those homeless people to live with them?  Talk is cheap.

One day during school, our class was let out early so we could attend an event in the auditorium.  We were allowed to wait outside since it was such a warm and sunny day.  As my fellow students spontaneously gathered into their usual cliques, I stood by myself and leaned up against a wooden post.  An overly religious female classmate saw this and asked me, “Do you want to join us?”  I looked at her and just shook my head no.  I had enough sympathy for one day.  If I couldn't be desired for who I was, I'd rather be alone.

How Inviting Is Your Confessional?

The dreaded screen.

Around this time of year, older Catholics like my mother talk about fulfilling their Easter Duty.  By that they mean going to confession at least once a year (although just about every priest I've ever met would say we need to partake in the sacrament of reconciliation much more often).

The thought of going to confession for the first time created a lot of anxiety in me despite the fact that our CCD teachers and priests did a great job explaining how important the sacrament of reconciliation was.  Instead of using the church's confessional, Fr. Kiley had chosen a quiet room that was normally used as a staging area before Mass.  As my fellow CCD classmates went in one by one, I grew more nervous even though we were told our priests would not judge or keep score.  When I entered the room, Fr. Kiley was sitting with his back turned to me which I found odd because he had encouraged us to confess our sins face to face if we wanted to.  At such a young age, my transgressions must have seemed very benign to him.  When I left the confessional, my soul felt much lighter, but the experience was too nerve-wracking to make it a regular habit.

When my mother wanted us to fulfill our Easter Duty, we usually visited the Carmelite Chapel at the Northshore Shopping Center since it was open during the week.  The place had several traditional confessionals which consisted of two booths for parishioners with the priest in a middle booth.  He would slide back a screen on either side to talk to us.  A little red cross above the confessional door lit up whenever someone inside used the kneeler.  The thought of going brought a sense of dread and once inside the confessional, my anxiety only increased.  I could hear the muffled conversation of the priest and the parishioner on the other side as I waited for that dreaded screen to slide open.

My priests always made a great case for confession.  One pastor liked to say, “If you think you don't need to go to confession, you really need to go to confession.”  By that he meant sometimes we can become spiritually lazy without even knowing it.  Another priest compared sin to garbage that weighs us down and the confessional was the surest way to make our souls feel 100 pounds lighter.  We were told not to be embarrassed when we confessed our sins because priests have heard it all and they only cared that you were participating in the sacrament of reconciliation.  Despite all this, I've rarely gone to confession as an adult because I'm just too shy.  In fact, it's one of the only things about the Church that this normally devout Catholic has a problem with.  While it's no excuse for not going, I do ask God for forgiveness during my nightly prayers and sometimes during the day when I've really screwed up.  However, there have been occasions when I couldn't avoid the confessional.

A couple of times, my mother and I have completely forgotten a Holy Day of Obligation.  One time our pastor was really cool and heard my confession right on the spot just before Mass, although when my list of sins seemed too short for him, he asked, “Is that it?”  The remark was really off-putting and had me wondering if I needed a little more excitement in my life.

The other occasion actually marked my very first time attending regular confession hours at St. Mary Star of the Sea in Beverly after having been a parishioner there for over a decade.  This house of worship lacked confessionals so you had to go downstairs to the lower church and then enter the sacristy to meet with the priest.  The place was packed and when it was my turn, I tried to make a good confession.  I mentioned swearing and telling the occasional white lie, but I also included lust, anger, spiritual laziness and my lack of faith.  I was really trying to be sincere but when it came time for my pastor to absolve me of my sins, he said I had “lucked out”.  Since the crowd was so big, he needed to keep things moving along and would only give me a few prayers to say for penance.  I was very disappointed by his response because I was not looking for a short cut.  In fact, I wanted to discuss my sins in greater detail since they were manifestations of the conflicts in my life that I just didn't know how to resolve on my own.   The whole incident left me feeling cold and I've never been back to confession ever since.

This April, my mother wanted to fulfill her Easter Duty yet again so it was off to the Carmelite Chapel.  A group of friendly and well-meaning priests from India now run the place but as I sat next to my mother in the pew waiting for her to enter the confessional, I just couldn't muster enough strength to follow her lead.  What would I say that I didn't already talk to God about?  What would change after I confessed my sins?  Why couldn't I meet with a priest face to face in a comforting setting instead of this claustrophobic booth with only a disembodied voice to talk to?

During Lent, the Boston Archdiocese encourages all of us to go to confession and they even advertise extended hours in church bulletins with their The Light Is On For You campaign.  As I sat waiting for my mother to leave the confessional, part of me really wanted to participate so I could fully embrace my Catholic faith.  But the part of me that's too shy, too anxious, too hurt and too broken always keeps me from opening that door.

Dinner and a Show

After Mass, my mother and I usually go out to eat and for a while now, our restaurant of choice has been Friendly's.  While the once ubiquitous eatery has seen its fair share of ups and downs over the years, the location we like to visit has decent food and pretty good service.  The restaurant chain is popular with penny-pinching parents and their sometimes noisy children so it will never be mistaken for The Ritz.

On a recent visit, we were seated by the window and ordered our meals as usual.  Eventually, an overweight woman and a sloppily dressed couple with their toddler walked by and headed toward the front door.  The couple and toddler were seated a few tables down from us but the overweight woman was nowhere to be seen.  The guy plunked himself down in the booth so that he was lying entirely across it.  I got a bad vibe from him and he seemed very weaselly.  Within minutes, the two got into a disagreement so she picked up the toddler and headed for the door.  He yelled, “If you leave now, we're through!”  After stewing in the booth for a moment, he angrily headed outside after her.

From our window seat we could the couple arguing as she walked dangerously close to the edge of a busy highway just to get away from him.  At one point, I thought he was going to push her into traffic.  We altered our waitress and she said the police had already been called.  Within minutes, one cruiser after another arrived on the scene and the couple was escorted back to the restaurant's parking lot to talk it out.  I assumed they would be taken away so we could dine in peace once again.

The overweight woman who had accompanied the couple to Friendly's reappeared and sat at the table right across from us.  The mother entered the restaurant and put her toddler on a chair after the waitress's offer for a child seat was refused.  Within a few seconds, the little girl slid off the chair and landed on her bum.  She cried for a while as the mother tried to comfort her.  The waitress took it upon herself to bring over a child seat and the toddler was finally secured. 

The couple sat down at the table and got a talking to by one of the police officers.  They agreed to behave themselves and decided to stay.  Just our luck.  The disturbance had caused things to slow down in the kitchen and we waited a long time for our food.  Every now and then the couple appeared to quietly exchange insults.  The toddler kept throwing her straw on the floor so the mother would have to get up and retrieve it.  Was she being playful or was this a way for her to cope with the stress of having argumentative parents?

The group eventually got their food and started to eat.  The weaselly guy looked like a drug addict and at one point, he almost nodded off.  When a toddler from another table decided to walk around the restaurant with her dad, the girl in the high chair turned around and softly said, “Hi.”  Such a sweet moment of innocence made me wonder what kind of a life this kid would have growing up.  Would she be able to rise above such lousy circumstances or is she destined to follow in her parents footsteps?  I got angry and felt like telling this guy to man up for the sake of his daughter.  The economy was still booming and there were plenty of jobs out there for this guy to support his family.

As they finished eating, the staff started to pack up their leftovers.  Suddenly, the overweight woman demanded the meal be free since they had been put through such an ordeal with the police.  She also tried blaming the restaurant for the toddler falling on the floor even though she was the one who had refused the high chair in the first place.  The waitress stood her ground and said if they didn't pay what they owed, she would bring the police back.  After a bit of grumbling, they grudgingly paid the bill.  Before these people headed out the door, they accused the waitress and manager of swearing at them.  It never happened.

As the restaurant returned to normal, the whole incident left me feeling cold.  Jesus said to help the poor but it's clear some people don't want help.  Instead of working hard to better themselves, they try to scam the system.  How do we as Christians respond to that?  I certainly don't have the answer.

A Moment Of Carelessness

It doesn't happen often but sometimes a priest will give a sermon that's so memorable, it stays with you despite the passage of time. My last entry on this blog had me thinking about one in particular.

Every now and then, a visiting priest would say Mass at St. Mary Star of the Sea in Beverly.  This unfamiliar face might simply be helping our pastor out or he could be pitching a cause that the parishioners will be asked to support during the second collection. I can't remember why this particular priest was in our church nor do I remember much about him other than the fact he was old. While at the lectern, he talked about how we should always give our best effort in life no matter how small or insignificant the task at hand appeared to be. We were all connected to each other and our actions had the power to touch people's lives in ways that were not readily apparent. Whenever we were careless or lazy, it could have serious unforeseen consequences.

Then he told us the story of a teen-aged boy during the 1950s who was swimming with his friends at a local pond. Like many young people do, they decided to climb high rocks and dive into the water. When it was this boy's turn to jump, he disappeared beneath the water and never resurfaced. His worried friends contacted the authorities and they dredged the pond only to find his lifeless body. An autopsy revealed the boy had been impaled by a bayonet from the 1800s that was sticking straight up from the bottom of the pond. At one time, there had been a railroad bridge over this body of water and it was speculated that the bayonet may have come from a long-forgotten troop train. Did a careless soldier accidentally drop his bayonet into the pond or did he throw it away on purpose? The visiting priest then explained that we should always strive to do our best even in the smallest of tasks because it could affect someone's life in a very profound way.

Sometimes priests like to embellish the facts during their sermons and I haven't been able to determine if the story about this ill-fated boy is actually true or not. Over the years, I've heard least two different priests give the same inaccurate sermon on the construction of San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge. They said that after a few workers fell to their deaths, a large net was set up underneath the bridge to prevent any more fatalities. The priests went on to liken the net to our sense of faith which can “catch us” in our time of need. Well, the history lesson they gave isn't quite right. From the very beginning of the Golden Gate Bridge's construction, planners had set up nets to catch workers. While it saved many lives, it did not prevent the deaths of 10 men when the heavy platform they were on fell and broke through the net.

Even if our visiting priest's sermon wasn't completely accurate, it certainly did make an impression and I usually think of it when moments of carelessness pop up. A few years ago in Boston, a trolley operator thought nothing of texting someone on his phone until he crashed into another train and caused life-long injuries for some of his passengers. In Taiwan, a multistory building collapsed during an earthquake and it was later revealed the developer cut corners by placing empty paint cans into the concrete foundation which weakened the structure. Over 100 innocent people died for someone else's financial gain.

                                                                               Photo: BBC

Not every moment of carelessness will have such devastating consequences but that doesn't mean we are off the hook when it comes to doing the right thing. A joyful smile and a concerned ear to the random stranger (who might be having a bad day) could make a big difference in their lives. What impression would a scowl and a cold shoulder have instead? Throwing a small piece of trash on the ground might seem harmless enough but how many of us have lost precious time scraping gum from our shoes? Not doing a thorough job of cleaning our furnace certainly caused a fair share of headaches for my mother and me.

We are all God's creations and one thing I love about Christianity is that it reinforces the notion that our actions no matter how big or small touch other people's lives. What kind of impact do we want to make?

God's Perfect Timing

One autumn “tradition” in New England is having your house's furnace serviced before frigid temperatures set in.  My family has been using the same fuel oil company for about four generations now and our most recent appointment to have the furnace cleaned and inspected seemed as routine as all the others.  Unfortunately, it was anything but.  Two weeks after we turned the heat on, the furnace suddenly died around 8 o'clock at night.  The circuit breaker wasn't tripped so we placed a desperate call into our oil company.  They told us an emergency visit would be much more expensive than a service call during regular business hours so we opted to wait until the next day to have someone look at the furnace.  It was cold out but thankfully, it wasn't freezing.

When the repairman arrived, he took all of five minutes to find the cause of the problem.  The nozzle that sprays a fine mist of fuel oil to be ignited was clogged by sludge.  In our over 40 years in the house, we never encountered this problem before.  He also said the nozzle was bent so my mother and I wondered if the problem was somehow connected to the cleaning job that was done two weeks ago.

As we made plans to host my brother and his family for Thanksgiving dinner, the furnace was not too far from the back of my mind.  Then just two hours before company showed up, the heater died again.  This time, it was much colder outside so putting off a repair was out of the question.  The already expensive emergency service call would be even more so since it was a major holiday.  I was a little mad at God for His “perfect” timing.  When my brother and his family arrived, the house was cold and his children had to keep their jackets on.

The subcontracted repairman was busy with so many service calls, it took him quite a long time to get to us.  When he checked the furnace, the filters were clogged with sludge.  He also noticed the electrodes which sparked a fire had been worn down so I had them replaced too.  Heat was eventually restored and we could finally enjoy Thanksgiving dinner in a warm house.

My mother and I were not happy with our fuel oil provider so a few days later, we demanded the owner drop by the house to give us some answers if he wanted to keep us as customers.  When my mother questioned the owner about the quality of his company's cleaning job, he rolled his eyes.  I then asked why the burned out electrodes on the furnace were missed.  He apologized and offered to reimburse us.  There was never a good explanation why so much sludge had clogged our furnace's filters and when we wondered why the nozzle had been bent, the guy placed blame on his fellow employees saying how difficult it was to find good help these days.  We watched him test the fuel oil and there were no sediments this time around.  The owner was cocky and dressed like a slob.  It was a far cry from how things used to be.

For such a long time, this oil company was extremely professional.  It's employees were all part of the same family and everyone wore spiffy uniforms.  They worked hard to earn the trust and (dare I say) friendship of their customers by blending competence with friendliness.  Their invoices featured the logo of a girl peacefully sleeping in her bed with the slogan: Safe, Dependable Oil Heat.  When the previous owner's son took over, some of those little things that made this company a pleasure to deal with started to fall by the wayside.  Maybe the company's new logo should be a picture of my niece shivering with her winter jacket on.

Often when life throws us a curve ball, our knee-jerk reaction is to blame God.  I was guilty of that when our furnace stopped working on Thanksgiving.  What we should do is look to see if our difficulties were caused by someone failing to give it their all.  Cutting corners may bring a person an immediate short-term gain but it usually comes at the expense of someone else's long-term peace of mind.