The Big Book

2020-11-18T13:25:00.001-05:00

As I was saying, although I didn't have to attend Sunday School, it was mandatory that I still go to Sunday Mass, actually to appease my dad. And at the time of Lent, I also had to go to the mysterious stages of the cross, something I actually became nauseated by because Father Burgess swung his incense burner right next to me as we moved down the aisle from one stained glass window to another. I'm not actually sure what made me sick, the images of a man stumbling with a cross on his shoulder, or the fragrance of the incense.

It wasn't clear to me who or why this person was suffering, and why we had to "suffer" with him. Maybe I would have found out had I continued Sunday School, but I don't think so.

The Mass on Sunday was useless because it was all in Latin, except for a few minutes of announcements from Father Burgess. Other than that, I had no understanding of God as seen through the Roman Catholic lens.

It began when my parents went out for the evening and left me with my older sister. I really didn't mind because Annie made me laugh, and she was "cool". She hung around with the cool guys from high school, and she smoked. It wasn't unusual to see her on the back of Kenny's Harley weaving the narrow roads along the shoreline of the water. (She never had to go to church, even on Easter.)

So that night, we were up in my room on the third floor, and Annie said, "Hey Ange, I'm going out for a few minutes. Stay right here in your room. Okay?" And with that, she left to the roar of Kenny's Harley. I knew she would be gone for at least a half hour. Probably longer.

It was easy to determine just about where they were by the sounds of the Harley, the gear shifted as it climbed S-curve, a narrowly twisted ribbon of dirt road that hugged the woods on one side and the water on the other. I waited until they were past the hill, down the other side, and faded onto the main road.

I had a plan.

Admittedly I felt a bit scared alone in that huge house. It was the first time alone at night. Our living room (on the second floor) was a place I spent most of my days practicing classical piano. I had nicknamed this cozy retreat the "piano room" and for the most part, I pretty much owned it until my father came home from work.

There were a few rules about the living room: no friends, (Annie broke that one a few times), don't fool around with the thermostat, and don't touch the BIG BOOK on the coffee table.

Annie had been gone for just about ten minutes. My steps were quick down the hall to the wooden stairs. I slung my legs over the banister and slid all the way down, jumping over the last two steps. I pulled the chain of the lamp and went over to the coffee table. It was actually what I had wanted to do for weeks, but I wondered if I should do it in the living room or in my room...

I ran upstairs with the Big Book under my arm, jumped onto my bed, looked out my window for a few minutes, and then began to read.

"Ange, hey Angelina." Annie was calling from the bottom of the stairs. "Why is the light on down here? Didn't I tell you to stay in your room?"

Whatever was she doing back so early? Well, actually, it was over an hour.

I looked down at the Big Book. Chapter 20. The Gospel of Saint John.

© Angelina Lenahan (Previously published 2017)

Excerpt from Perseverance, ch.1

At The Age Of...

2020-05-30T21:03:00.000-04:00

Often when I was a young child, adults would correct me for asking too many questions, or asking complicated questions, or just asking. It's my God-given nature to analyze things, and certainly when I was even too young to read, my mind was filled with curious things, mostly things of God.

Now what young child would rather sit on the bed contemplating "who made God?" than play hide-and-seek?

That's who I was, at the age of... four.

We lived in an Italian neighborhood, where most of the parents were immigrants and we were the children of immigrants. At that time, back in the late 40's, there were many immigrant families from Italy, Ireland, Greece, and Poland. The neighborhoods were separated by nationality, and they were separated by religion.

My parents settled in a little town south of Boston, in an Italian-Catholic neighborhood. It's not that they themselves were orthodox Roman Catholics, but they wanted to give their children an opportunity to be raised like the other children.

Because I was the youngest, my parents let me get away with more than my older sisters. They had to attend Catholic school, at least elementary. As for me, well, my parents didn't want me to attend Catholic school. They had their reasons, and I certainly had mine, which I made very clear to them.

That's who I was, at the age of ... nine.

Although my parents didn't make me attend Catholic school, I was, however, expected to attend Sunday School and Mass at the Catholic church, just a short walk from our neighborhood. There were many times the nuns' notes would somehow get lost on my walk home Sunday mornings. I would ask God, whoever He was in my mind at that time, to please forgive me, and I would even kneel on the ground, hands folded, one eye closed, as I hid the notes under a rock. Some of them I actually read; this one, for instance:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Galeazzi,

Your daughter has become very disruptive in Sunday School with questions that a child should not be concerned about. The other children are beginning to ask similar questions of their parents, and they are confused. If her inquisitive behavior continues, I have no choice but to report this matter to Father Burgess.

Sincerely,
Sister Mary Catherine

I had an enormous problem evolving as time went on. Roland, our mail man, after delivering the mail one morning, returned in the afternoon and rang the bell. Roland was a tall heavy-set man with graying sideburns, who always rang our bell (twice), because we lived on three floors (which I will explain another time). The mail was delivered to our second floor, the front door. He would step inside if Annie invited him. She and Roland were buddies and exchanged baseball cards.

This day was different. He asked to speak with my mother because he had a special letter.

Immediately these words tumbled out of my mouth, "Mr. Roland, uh, she's very sick today." Actually, she was cooking downstairs in the kitchen.

When he asked to speak with Annie, he became a bit suspicious when I told him she was in Italy.

“Really, is that so, because I coulda sworn I just saw her not more than half hour ago, ya know, with Kenny, on the back of his Harley. Angelina, you have to give this letter to your mother right away. It's from Church. And I need you to sign your name, right here. That's a good girl, just like a grown-up."

The next morning, we were headed to the market for groceries. As we walked down our street, she held onto my hand as though I wanted to run away. She was wearing her best dress, her nice shoes, and a hat. I had no idea why she made me wear my best dress, my nice shoes, and my hat. It was Saturday.

And that's when I felt her hand squeezing mine because I truly did want to run away. We passed the market. It became more clear to me as we approached the Square that she was heading for the church Rectory.

Before she stepped up to the threshold of the door, she bent down to me and straightened my hat. My mother always smiled at me when she was fixing my dress, or combing my hair, but not that day.

Father Burgess opened the wide wooden door, his wrinkled forehead framed by frowning brows, his plump cheeks blushed like they did at Communion.

"Come in, Mrs. Galeazzi. May I offer you some water, or perhaps some refreshing iced tea? Do have a seat."

We stood.

"My daughter has every right to ask questions; she is a very precocious young lady. Your nuns have an obligation to answer her questions. They refuse. Is this because they do not know the answers? She will not be coming back to your Sunday School."

We walked to the foyer, leaving Father Burgess stunned. When we reached the wooden door, she swiftly turned around and addressed him in a tone reserved for such occasions.

"One last thing. Until we find an appropriate place of worship, she will continue to attend church, until the age of..." My mother glanced down at me and smiled. "That's between her and the Lord."

PERSEVERANCE

The Big Book

At The Age Of...