The allspice and clove infused aroma of ham baking in the oven woke us kids up with smiles on our faces this chilly Easter morning. Though not very religious in the church-going sense, this was one of the given days of the year (Christmas Eve being the other) that our parents brought us kids to Mass, and before we could dig into the traditional Polish-style ham, kielbasa and boiled egg feast this afternoon, we had to get dressed in our Sunday best and go to church.
Once we were ready to go, my father snapped a Polaroid picture of the three of us. I wore a plaid polyester red and white suit with a big red clip-on crushed velvet bow tie, Cindy wore a pale blue dress with white lace trimming (and a sour puss on her face since she hated wearing dresses) and Russell's little suit was also plaid, his in dark blue and white with a dark blue clip-on bow tie. After Mass we drove to a sanctuary in nearby Cumberland to pose with a large statue of the Virgin Mary for more pictures. My father even brought his new Super8mm movie camera.
This was the third occasion in the past 6 months that we all had to wear these outfits.
Just before the Christmas season of the previous year, my father's younger sister, my aunt and godmother Leona, who we all called "Neuna" (not "Ma Tante Neuna", that was reserved for my father's aunt Leona), had lost her many months long battle with cancer. She was 30 years old and had just given birth to her only child Monique a year before.
As her godchild, I was selected, despite my young age, to be one of the six pall bearers for her casket at the funeral.
Neuna loved all us kids but I being her godson got the majority of her attention. I especially remembered on day a couple years before when she and I went to an amusement park which was, to my recollection, a long drive away from home. As we neared the park, there appeared a large sand-colored lighthouse looming on the horizon and she pointed it out. "There it is!", she said, herself getting excited as she saw my grinning anticipation build.
The park was wonderful and had all the usual amusement park rides and facilities, but one that stuck out in my memory best was a moon rocket ride simulator. I remember breaking out in a cold sweat thinking that perhaps this wasn't just a simulator, but that we would actually be blasted into the deadly dark vacuum of space. (I'm not sure if this fantasy/reality confusion took place before or after the other incident of around the same time when I was with her sister, my aunt Ruth.)
I thought back to that golden memory day now as I stood here on this cold and blustery Easter morning, holding the concrete-molded hand of the blessed Madonna and waving to the clickity-clackety movie camera, trying half-heartedly to paste a smile on my face.
The next occasion to wear this suit was only a couple of months ago. I vividly remember it was an unusually warm and sunny day for February in Rhode Island. My family made mention of the weather often throughout that day.
I sat in the seat across from my mother's aunt Connie in the back of one of the long black limousines reserved for immediate family members. She stared blankly out the window as our motorcade procession slowly wound it's way through the streets of Woonsocket towards Precious Blood Cemetery. As we passed a playground she saw children and families laughing and playing in the much-appreciated warmth. "To them this is just an ordinary day.", Ma Tante Connie very matter-of-factly remarked to no one in particular. Then she again started to cry and said solemnly, "Maybe they're right when some people say that Hell is right here on Earth. Our lives are lived in Hell."
It was her sister Rita whose body was being carried in the hearse in front of us. My mother's mother, my grandmother, had also fallen victim to the scourge of cancer after a long and painful fight.
The sky started to darken and the chilly wind began to pick up now as we wrapped up our holiday photo-shoot cum ad hoc religious homage before it started to rain. Easter dinner would be waiting for us at home.
Before we left though, my mother and father, in an unusual display of piety and for reasons we kids were too young to understand, quietly embraced each other. They knelt down, closed their eyes and softly, almost inaudibly recited a Hail Mary. Once done, they gazed teary-eyed upwards to the gracefully smiling face of the statue for a moment in peaceful silence.
Once we were ready to go, my father snapped a Polaroid picture of the three of us. I wore a plaid polyester red and white suit with a big red clip-on crushed velvet bow tie, Cindy wore a pale blue dress with white lace trimming (and a sour puss on her face since she hated wearing dresses) and Russell's little suit was also plaid, his in dark blue and white with a dark blue clip-on bow tie. After Mass we drove to a sanctuary in nearby Cumberland to pose with a large statue of the Virgin Mary for more pictures. My father even brought his new Super8mm movie camera.
This was the third occasion in the past 6 months that we all had to wear these outfits.
Just before the Christmas season of the previous year, my father's younger sister, my aunt and godmother Leona, who we all called "Neuna" (not "Ma Tante Neuna", that was reserved for my father's aunt Leona), had lost her many months long battle with cancer. She was 30 years old and had just given birth to her only child Monique a year before.
As her godchild, I was selected, despite my young age, to be one of the six pall bearers for her casket at the funeral.
Neuna loved all us kids but I being her godson got the majority of her attention. I especially remembered on day a couple years before when she and I went to an amusement park which was, to my recollection, a long drive away from home. As we neared the park, there appeared a large sand-colored lighthouse looming on the horizon and she pointed it out. "There it is!", she said, herself getting excited as she saw my grinning anticipation build.
The park was wonderful and had all the usual amusement park rides and facilities, but one that stuck out in my memory best was a moon rocket ride simulator. I remember breaking out in a cold sweat thinking that perhaps this wasn't just a simulator, but that we would actually be blasted into the deadly dark vacuum of space. (I'm not sure if this fantasy/reality confusion took place before or after the other incident of around the same time when I was with her sister, my aunt Ruth.)
I thought back to that golden memory day now as I stood here on this cold and blustery Easter morning, holding the concrete-molded hand of the blessed Madonna and waving to the clickity-clackety movie camera, trying half-heartedly to paste a smile on my face.
The next occasion to wear this suit was only a couple of months ago. I vividly remember it was an unusually warm and sunny day for February in Rhode Island. My family made mention of the weather often throughout that day.
I sat in the seat across from my mother's aunt Connie in the back of one of the long black limousines reserved for immediate family members. She stared blankly out the window as our motorcade procession slowly wound it's way through the streets of Woonsocket towards Precious Blood Cemetery. As we passed a playground she saw children and families laughing and playing in the much-appreciated warmth. "To them this is just an ordinary day.", Ma Tante Connie very matter-of-factly remarked to no one in particular. Then she again started to cry and said solemnly, "Maybe they're right when some people say that Hell is right here on Earth. Our lives are lived in Hell."
It was her sister Rita whose body was being carried in the hearse in front of us. My mother's mother, my grandmother, had also fallen victim to the scourge of cancer after a long and painful fight.
The sky started to darken and the chilly wind began to pick up now as we wrapped up our holiday photo-shoot cum ad hoc religious homage before it started to rain. Easter dinner would be waiting for us at home.
Before we left though, my mother and father, in an unusual display of piety and for reasons we kids were too young to understand, quietly embraced each other. They knelt down, closed their eyes and softly, almost inaudibly recited a Hail Mary. Once done, they gazed teary-eyed upwards to the gracefully smiling face of the statue for a moment in peaceful silence.