This is odd to say, since it's coming from somebody who has opened up his life on this daily blog for the past eight years. But I really hate to have any attention directed at me. I've been lucky in my life. Or maybe unlucky since I haven't had a wedding day. Or a baptism of a child. Indeed, in both those cases, the attention wouldn't be on me. Nobody remembers what the groom was wearing on his wedding day. And a cute baby being christened. Well, the parents don't get the spotlight on that occasion either.
I once was given a surprise birthday party, Hated it. I barely exist during surprise office gatherings on that same birthday. Okay, listen to the song. Blow out the candles. Have a piece of cake. Back to work.
I'm not sure why I am the way I am. But, in reality, there was really only one day in my life where everybody was looking at me. I was thirteen and already suitably embarrassed.
It was my confirmation day.
Back when, it was a big deal when Protestants got confirmed. And the whole process before hand was ramped up in importance. To get confirmed, you had to endure two years of Saturdays at the church with the other confirmees. Two-hour sessions of Bible study. My personal experience was made palatable by the fact that I had a super crush on one of the other classmates. I've written several times about her. Still, this confirmation process at St. Peter's Lutheran Church in the Bronx was no walk in the park.
As the big day of the actual ceremony approached, I started to fill up with trepidation. Mostly at the thought of the actual receiving of the bread and the wine. Or the cardboard wafer and the red stuff in the common chalice. I wasn't that sure I wanted any part of this.
Most of my buddies in my all Italian neighborhood had already gone this route with their first Holy Communions. I heard one horror story after another.
"It tastes like paper."
"It made me puke."
"I got sick because I got the germs from the girl next to me."
"The kid next to me choked and died."
Gulp.
I went to a higher source of information. My mother.
"Oh, it's nothing. It melts right in your mouth."
Really? You mean like a handful of M and Ms?
"Just take it and the wine is just a quick sip."
I asked my mom about her experience with the whole thing.
"Well..."
I was obviously getting first-hand information from somebody who had never undergone the process in the first place. Thanks.
Beyond thinking about choking on an altar endlessly, the news about that day's celebration started to trickle down to me.
"Such-and-such is coming."
"Such-and-such wants to bring what's her name."
"Who should we get to cater?"
Cater? WTF. Or whatever abbreviation applied when I was 13.
When I got more information, I realized this was going to be a huge family event. And then some. Just how many people are coming to this shindig?
"Not counting the four of us (me, Mom, Dad, Grandma), about 85."
85???????!!!!!!
Moreover, this would be held in our own basement and backyard. A complete traffic jam and bottle neck on South 15th Avenue in Mount Vernon, New York.
Now if only I would choke on the wafer and die...
Making matters even worse? I realized that the Mets were playing a doubleheader at home that afternoon. I never missed watching one of those on television. I would on this day.
Well, I didn't gag on the wafer. I didn't get germs from drinking wine from a common chalice. I had carefully positioned myself on the altar to be next to that girl I liked. If I was going to get diseased, it might as well be compliments of her.
And then, the party. A complete blur. Cars were parked all over the driveway with relatives I knew and a lot of people I didn't.
"Hey, there, you've gotten big."
Who are you?
"I haven't seen you since you were in a crib."
So where the hell you been?
"Do you feel any different today?"
Incredibly annoyed and embarrassed, if that's the answer you're looking for.
I wanted to crawl behind a rock and die. Or hide up in my bedroom with the Met doubleheader lulling me to sweet sleep. Mom, can I go up and watch...?
"Absolutely not."
So, as the uncomfortable afternoon dragged into night, I did start to realize a part of this whole confirmation business that I hadn't counted on. As unknown people came up to greet me, they all handed me envelopes. What the heck are these, Dad?
"Cards with money inside. Don't lose them."
Oh, so, I'm being paid to be humiliated today?
Hmmm.
The cash helped. But, to this day, I don't ever relish being the center of attention.
Unless, of course, there's some money involved.
Dinner last night: Spicy noodles with chicken and shrimp at Wokcano.
No comments:
Post a Comment