I lie in bed Sunday morning as the light of day begins to peek through the cracks in our blinds. The dog is stirring in the playroom, she must have noticed the light too. But the kids are silent. Still asleep.
Perhaps Five hears my thought, the one that says, "Oh good, they're sleeping in. I'd love to sleep in." I hear the loud "thud" of him jumping off his junior loft bed. The sound of him scooping his five stuffed animals -- Footsie the Green Monkey, George the Bear, Alexander the Black Lab, and Miss Elizabeth the Mosquito Eater. And his blanket. His feet hustle across the floor, his bedroom door quickly opens -- and then slams shut. Damn, now Q. will be up within minutes, I think to myself. "Sorry," he whispers as he walks into our still mostly dark room. He clearly is telepathic.
Five climbs on our bed, crawls in between us and gets himself -- and his stuffed animal army -- situated. Thankfully, he's cuddled up and it appears he'll fall back asleep. Or at least stay content to be a snuggle bunny.
"Mommy, I don't want to go to church this morning," he whispers.
And so it begins.
Growing up Catholic and attending a Catholic school typically means that unless you are puking or contagious, you will be attending church every Sunday for the majority of your elementary school life.
It's usually not by choice.
In junior high, we would walk into class Monday morning and immediately receive a quiz about Sunday's homily or gospel...a test that weeded out who didn't attend Mass. Only after a while we would snag a missalette, which mapped out every Mass for the year. Or we would all scurry together before class and exchange information on the homily, ensuring that we would all pass our quiz....even if we didn't attend Mass the day before. There were a few times I missed Mass, or totally spaced out, and I'd swap homily details with some friends. But you had to be careful; if someone in class was pissed at you, you'd get a bad homily and fail the test...a fool-proof payback.
I think I asked my Dad every single Sunday if we could skip Mass, most likely because we would attend the 8 a.m. sermon. I wanted to stay in my Strawberry Shortcake jammies watching Sid & Marty Kroft Superstars on TV-20, not get dressed up and sit in a pew at the back an overheated church. I never could get out of it. So there I was, sleepy headed and bored out of my mind.
I have to hand it to my Dad though. He knew that the early mass was the quickest sermon of the morning, only 25 minutes long with an abbreviated gospel and homily...and no choir. You were in and out. Mom never joined us; it was Dad's job to cover Mass. I knew he really didn't want to go either. Before we'd leave the house, he'd tuck the sports section of the San Francisco Chronicle into his back pocket. One morning he was reading the Sporting Green (because it used to be printed on green paper), completely immersed in an article about the Giants. We were shoulder to shoulder because I wanted to read it too. Suddenly one of the mass volunteers tapped him on the shoulder from behind and we both jumped. He simply wanted Dad to help pick up the collection. But we were busted, and it marked the end of the Sporting Green joining us for any "Our Fathers." Dad made up for it by packing Red Vines in his coat pocket, handing one to me during a seated moment.
By the time I was in ninth grade at yet another Catholic school, my disdain for Sunday Mass was so fierce that when I found out I would never get asked -- or graded -- about going to church, I cheered. I only attended Mass for school functions. Over it.
Five is just at the beginning. I don't want the battle to start this early. For now, we'll stay in bed and listen to the birds. There will be no 8 a.m. mass for us. When the right time, we'll make it a regular event. We'll go to the later mass so he can see his friends -- and eat donuts after -- and learn that it's not about a dreaded routine. He loves the songs he's learning in school, the practice runs before the Kindergarten starts going to school masses in November. I'm hoping that will make him excited about church.
If not, I guess there's always Red Vines.
