December 03, 2010
There are two, large, imposing signs made of sheets of plywood and posted at the rear entrance of St. Gregory the Great Catholic Church. The one on the left has illustrations of appropriate church attire for men and women. The one on the right depicts a man and a woman in unacceptable attire. Proper dress, attitude and behavior are very important in the Catholic Church.
Father Gerry’s dog showed up again today. It's the fourth time since I started coming to church with Emelie. He's an unkempt and soiled, wiry-haired mess of a mongrel, of questionable parentage and beliefs. He was late for mass. Came waltzing right in, in the middle of his master’s sermon, from the door behind and to the right of the altar. With his head held high; wagging his tail like nobody’s business, he pranced right up to the statue of Mary, at the very front of the church and in full view of the entire congregation. He paused and looked up at the statue, in what could have been a moment of religious contemplation. It wasn't. Mary was standing on a makeshift dais: a cloth-covered table. Pooch was next to one of its legs. When he moved in closer and sniffed the leg, I became very interested in the subject of nature versus nurture; sin versus virtue. (Is that Catholic redundancy?)
My eyes were riveted to his foot, closest to the table. That foot started to rise. My muscles tensed just a little and I felt a sense of impending adventure, like the moment I remember just prior to peeing in the swimming pool (as a child), despite all the admonitions to the contrary.
He must have thought better of it. His foot settled back to the marble floor and he trotted away, down the steps and into the congregation, heading right for a pew about halfway back. He went to sleep on the floor, his head hidden from view under the seat of the pew, beside a prayerful congregant who made a point of demonstrating his pious and dutiful nature by paying no apparent notice to the dog.
In fact, not one person in the church showed any sign of having noticed the presence of a dog. I elbowed my wife. “Did you see the dog?” I asked, my voice coming out a bit louder than I intended.
I don’t know how my mom does it, or how women do it, for that matter. Communicate with each other, I mean. I’ve listened to every conversation that my mom and wife have had on the telephone or via computer. (They’ve never met in person.) Not one time has my mother ever said, “… and if he acts up in church, give him one of those sidelong glances that indicate disapproval with a threat of consequences.”
With my head down and my tail between my legs I sat back quietly, envious of that 4-legged, free-roaming, Johnny-come-late, sleeping church-goer.
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