"Summer Begins"

   

Summer begins  

shedding stress by    

lusting for Father Ralph  

I become Meggie   

slipping into heartbreak  

reliving my own devotion  

veiling my Catholic guilt under Italian lace 

missal clutched in small, white-gloved hand   

crystal Rosary, blessed by Pius XII,  

soothing my restless fingers  

his Irish brogue a supple song   

his blue eyes like laughter

he kneels before me, eye-to-eye   

proposes a date  

he’ll be my father—  

a surrogate breaking bread 

erasing my disappointment 

drying my tears with his finger tips  

tugging my hand to the crook of his arm 

his brilliance dazzles me

my heart worships him 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

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This is the perfect song to listen to while reading "Summer Begins" .

"First Communion"

Paula First Communion

            Religious rites and rituals take on different meanings for non-believers raised within a faith. When my mother, a Protestant, married my father, a Catholic, she signed papers that all of their children would be raised within the Catholic faith. As she knew very little about Catholicism, she signed the forms required without reservations.
          My parents lived at McGuire AFB when my sister took her first Communion. Her attire, almost nun-like with a long, simple dress and veil represented simplicity and purity. By the time of my first Communion, my parents had moved to Dover AFB in Delaware. I don’t know if different priests or churches have different policies, but my dress of frivolous frills with a stiff crinoline slip, white patent leather shoes, and short veil made with a headband of flowers didn’t look plain or pure. I can remember my mother worrying about the cost of an outfit that would only be worn once. I still see my sister’s deep brown eyes rimming when she saw the fancy dress and hear her murmured comment about how modest her dress had been just a few years before.
          Many years have passed since that religious passage. As an adult, I’ve moved to atheism. Although family members know my husband, son and I have stepped away from all religious beliefs, they sometimes forget exactly what that means. One sister-in-law took my son to mass with her kids after a Saturday night sleepover. He was probably about seven or eight, the age at which he should have already had his first Communion.
         My son came home from his first experience with mass all excited, chattering, “Mom, we got in a long line. Everyone did this with their hands.” He folded his hands as though in prayer. “Then this man up front, the one who did all of the talking before? He gave me this cracker! It tasted really good because we hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. I wanted another one, but he only gave people one. If I get to go to church again with my cousins, will I get more crackers?”
            When I called my sister-in-law to remind her that my son hadn’t been baptized nor had a first Communion, she belly laughed and exclaimed, “Well, he just skipped a step or two! I don’t think I’ll get into trouble, but I definitely won’t tell my priest!”
 

Liz First Communion 1963

          
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Love having music in the background when I write!

"Summer Begins"

  

Summer begins  

shedding stress by    

lusting for Father Ralph  

I become Meggie   

slipping into heartbreak  

reliving my own devotion  

veiling my Catholic guilt under Italian lace 

missal clutched in small, white-gloved hand   

crystal Rosary, blessed by Pius XII,  

soothing my restless fingers  

his Irish brogue a supple song   

his blue eyes like laughter

he kneels before me, eye-to-eye   

proposes a date  

he’ll be my father—  

a surrogate breaking bread 

erasing my disappointment 

drying my tears with his finger tips  

tugging my hand to the crook of his arm 

his brilliance dazzles me

my heart worships him 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman with repost 2023

 

“First Communion”

 

            

        Religious rites and rituals take on different meanings for non-believers raised within a faith. When my mother, a Protestant, married my father, a Catholic, she signed papers that all of their children would be raised within the Catholic faith. As she knew very little about Catholicism, she signed the forms required without reservations.                          My parents lived at McGuire AFB when my sister took her first Communion. Her attire, almost nun-like with a long, simple dress and veil represented simplicity and purity. By the time of my first Communion, my parents had moved to Dover AFB in Delaware. I don’t know if different priests or churches have different policies, but my dress of frivolous frills with a stiff crinoline slip, white patent leather shoes, and short veil made with a headband of flowers didn’t look plain or pure. I can remember my mother worrying about the cost of an outfit that would only be worn once. I still see my sister’s deep brown eyes rimming when she saw the fancy dress and hear her murmured comment about how modest her dress had been just a few years.

          Many years have passed since that religious passage. As an adult, I’ve moved to atheism. Although family members know my husband, son and I have stepped away from all religious beliefs, they sometimes forget exactly what that means. One sister-in-law took my son to mass with her kids after a Saturday night sleepover. He was probably about seven or eight, the age at which he should have already had his first Communion.
         My son came home from his first experience with mass all excited, chattering, “Mom, we got in a long line. Everyone did this with their hands.” He folded his hands as though in prayer. “Then this man up front, the one who did all of the talking before? He gave me this cracker! It tasted really good because we hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. I wanted another one, but he only gave people one. If I get to go to church again with my cousins, will I get more crackers?”
          When I called my sister-in-law to remind her that my son hadn’t been baptized nor had a first Communion, she belly laughed and exclaimed, “Well, he just skipped a step or two! I don’t think I’ll get into trouble, but I definitely won’t tell my priest!”
           
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

              

"Summer Begins"

 

Summer begins  

shedding stress by    

lusting for Father Ralph  

I become Meggie   

slipping into heartbreak  

reliving my own devotion  

veiling my Catholic guilt under Italian lace 

missal clutched in small, white-gloved hand   

crystal Rosary, blessed by Pius XII,  

soothing my restless fingers  

his Irish brogue a supple song   

his blue eyes like laughter

he kneels before me, eye-to-eye   

proposes a date  

he’ll be my father—  

a surrogate breaking bread 

erasing my disappointment 

drying my tears with his finger tips  

tugging my hand to the crook of his arm 

his brilliance dazzles me

my heart worships him 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman