Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land not too far away — about seven miles from the Archdiocesan Catholic Center — I made my first Communion at the Church of St. Pascal Baylon on the East Side of St. Paul.
I spent the whole year getting ready. Then came the day and I was so excited. I remember my mom, God rest her soul, ironing my white shirt and blue pants. I helped my dad, God rest his soul, polish my black shoes. He helped me put on my blue tie. It was a new kind of tie — one you didn’t have to tie — just clip.
Father Charles Lachowitzer
My two younger sisters were getting into their best spring dresses and white shoes and then we all piled into the car to go to church. I remember feeling very special that day. We arrived at the church and there I was with my little prayer book, rosary and crew cut, marching along with over a hundred other children. I felt so holy.
After Mass, we headed home, and I was in the back seat of our car with my two sisters. I was whining because it was too hot in the car and I had to keep my tie on. My mother kept saying we’d be home soon, but I kept whining. Finally, my mother got mad and said, “Fine!” She rolled the window all the way down.
Now this was a time when people were looking for time-saving conveniences. So my mother just went to the store and bought her hair. Just as soon as my mom rolled down the window, the wind rushed into the car and blew her wig right out the window and into a ditch.
My mother screamed, my sisters shrieked with laughter, my father groaned and pulled the car over to the side of the road and pointed at me. Being the oldest and being blamed for everything, I had to get out of the car, go down into the ditch and get my mom’s wig. The wig had landed in some muddy water. It looked like a dead rat. I picked it up and started to run back up out of the ditch when I slipped and fell. My blue pants, white shirt, blue clip-on tie and my mother’s wig all met the mud.
When I returned to the car there was quite a commotion. My mother was fussing over her mud-covered wig, and I was wiping mud on my sisters. Meanwhile, I think my dad broke the speed limit getting us home. We got out of the car and walked over to the neighbor’s backyard where we were having a neighborhood first Communion party. People wondered what took us so long and why every one of us, except my dad, was muddy.
And even though it was almost 60 years ago, I can still hear my mother’s voice as she tried to straighten her muddied wig, glaring right at me but announcing in a loud voice to everyone about the mud, her wig, and how my new home was going to be in a juvenile detention center called Totem Town. My mother then proclaimed, “This holy son of mine is a holy little terror!”
There is a lot of pressure on families these days. More so during this pandemic. Parents try to assume so much responsibility for handing on the faith to their children.
Yet I tell my first Communion story to remind us that the person and real presence of the risen Christ indeed is active throughout our lives. The story may even give some parents great hope! Yes, it is the responsibility of adults to form children in the faith and the responsibility of parents to bring their children to the sacramental life of the Church. We offer our gratitude to God for parents, Catholic school teachers and catechists.
Then it is the marvelous working of the Holy Spirit, the love of Jesus, the grace of God, the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the saints — and for me it took all of heaven— who transformed this holy little terror into a priest.
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