Alter Boy (part one)

One day, Sister Genevieve came into my fifth grade classroom and asked if any boys were interested in becoming alter boys.  Some boy’s hands shot up right away.  But not mine, I was leery.  Sister Genevieve was one of the scariest nuns in the school and I tried to avoid her as much as possible.  Besides, I was not a joiner.  As long as I can remember, my father strongly advised me never to volunteer for anything.  He was not a joiner either.  I think his anti-volunteer philosophy came about as a direct result of his military service.  My father was a firm believer that the world would be a much better place without volunteers and without armies.  As a tribute to my dad, I did not raise my hand.

The next day a list of alter boy trainees was posted in the school hallway and my name was clearly on it.  I went to Sister Genevieve and told her she had made a mistake. I soon discovered that nuns, especially Sister Genevieve, did not make mistakes.  Then she played the God card and said; “no one is forced to serve our lord, only the lucky few are chosen”.  How is an eleven year old boy supposed to argue with that?  I was being shanghaied by a fast talking old nun and we both knew it.  I grudgingly accepted fate and became a new recruit in the Lords Army.  That evening I told my father what had happened.  He stopped laughing long enough to tell me; “never argue with a nun or a sergeant”.  Well, at least he found some joy in my predicament.

Of course Sister Genevieve was in charge of alter boy training.  We were all given a pamphlet with the mass scripted into parts.  Every day we were expected to memorize a new section of the pamphlet and every afternoon for about an hour after school, we rehearsed.  Thankfully the Catholic mass had been converted from Latin to English or I would still be practicing.  Sister Genevieve played the roll of the priest and we took turns as alter boys.  Sister Genevieve did not believe in failure and took every opportunity to remind us that neither did the Lord.  After several weeks, we as a group began to improve and soon we no longer needed the pamphlets.  Sister Genevieve eventually certified us all fit for duty.  

There was a schedule listing masses, priests and servers for the month taped to the wall of the church sacristy.  Of course, Sister Genevieve maintained the schedule and assigned alter boys to masses.  New alter boys were not assigned Sunday services until they completed several weeks of early morning weekday masses.  I guess the reasoning was; if we were going to screw up, do it in front of the half sleeping faithful.  The church held 6:00 AM and 7:15 AM services, Monday through Saturday.  My first assignment was a full week of 6:00 AM masses with the church pastor, who everyone knew as Papa D.

I admit I was afraid of Sister Genevieve, but I was terrified of Papa D.  He was horror movie scary; old, very old, tall, very thin, with wispy gray hair, sunken cheeks, long bony fingers and a creepy cold lifeless handshake.  He talked very soft and slowly.  I always suspected he talked that way so he could grab unsuspecting children when they came close enough to hear him.  I wasn’t the only one who felt that way either.  I saw plenty of little kids run away screaming when he tried to shake their hands after mass.  I was not looking forward to my first assignment.

My week of early morning masses came and I was at church, Monday morning at 5:30 AM, getting everything ready for mass.  Had this been a Sunday mass, there would have been two alter boys.  But since this was a weekday mass, there was only one alter boy, me.  Papa D came in at about 5:45 AM.  He said good morning and asked if this was my first mass.  I shook my head and tried to speak; finally I managed a barely audible; “yes father”.  Papa D assured me that everything would be just fine. 

The mass started at 6:00 AM sharp.  There were maybe 25 people in attendance, mostly old ladies.  Everything was going along as Papa D had predicted.  I hadn’t forgotten anything and I knew all my prayers.  The mass was more then half over.  I remember walking next to Papa D and somehow somebody (probably me) turned the wrong way and I crashed right into Papa D.  I was a big kid and he went stumbling backwards.  Luckily I was able to grab him before he went tumbling over.  I don’t think he weighed a hundred pounds, so it wasn’t hard to keep him from falling.  We both stood frozen for a few seconds.  I was waiting for something to happen; maybe a bolt of lightning would strike me dead, or the floor would open up and I would fall directly to Hell. Nothing happened. I was still alive.  Papa D took a deep breath, straightened out his vestments and continued with the mass as if nothing happened.

I continued with the mass too; but I knew I screwed up and somewhere, somehow, I was going to pay for it.  My eleven year old imagination went into overdrive.  Maybe a bolt of lightning was too good for me; maybe Papa D would kill me after mass, when there were no witnesses; maybe he would tell Sister Genevieve.  Oh God, not Sister Genevieve.  In any case, I knew my career as an alter boy was over.  It’s funny how bad you can feel when you loose something; even if it was something you never wanted it in the first place.