(55 Weeks)
When I walked in to the gym looking not unlike it did over 38 years ago, life as it was came back in an instant… my parents…my friendships…innocence and ignorance…before college and work…before marriage and parenthood…before cancer and suicide…a much simpler time when I was still essentially in the care of others, including my little Roman Catholic parish in my hometown of Franklin Lakes.
That’s what I wrote in my journal on January 18, 2020. On a trip back to New Jersey just before the start of the pandemic, I connected with some old friends for Saturday evening mass at Most Blessed Sacrament and dinner following at a local restaurant.
Most Blessed Sacrament, known in those parts simply as M.B.S. was an enormous piece my childhood. It’s where we attended mass every Sunday and it was my school for nine years. It was where I created lifelong friendships still going strong today. It was the playground where we learned negotiation skills at recess. It was the baseball diamond, basketball court and soccer field where I became an athlete after Title IX.
It was summer carnivals where I conquered my fear of being spun upside down, and Christmas fairs where I won my first pet (a goldfish for successfully getting a Ping-Pong ball in a little glass bowl). It was the scene of plant sales and baked sales and girl scouts and my first experiences as a fundraiser. It was volunteer projects, youth group, and a lot of laughs. It was the center of my religion, but more so my social life really. Even after college and living on my own, I continued to go back to give back, to help with youth group and the religious education program.
Not long after I moved to Chicago, the church burned to the ground. The cause was arson. I wrote about that in Lessons Learned in a Humble Gymnasium in December, 2019.
After the fire, mass was back in the school gym where it had been almost my entire childhood. And when I arrived there on that snowy January evening in 2020, it was a journey back in time. Everything looked eerily as it did in fall of 1981 before the dedication and opening of the new church. When I was 16 years old. It was as if the curtains had been closed and nothing behind them disturbed all this time.
Memories of times so far away that I now longed for: sitting around Mrs. Stanson’s piano in my kindergarten classroom learning to sing songs; calling my parents from the payphone in the hallway when I was a “big kid” to see if I could go home with a friend afterschool; Sports illustrated being banned from the library after some teacher or administrator saw the swimsuit issue (while I also have vivid memories of looking at the Time magazine highlighting the Jonestown Massacre in that same library).
While a vision of Catholic School for many involves strict nuns, religious education and uniforms, M.B.S. might have been some of that, but mostly what lingers in me is the tight-knit group of kids and the caring teachers and reputable clergy who allowed us to be kids.
Forced outside for recess during the winter, we pulled ski suits over our uniforms and used carboard boxes as sleds on the small hill on the side of the school building. One winter when the field flooded and subsequently froze over, they scheduled a big skating party one afternoon and cancelled classes.
Mrs. Tee, our 8th grade social studies teacher brought a TV into class on October 2, 1978, so we could watch the Yankees-Red Sox American League East tie-breaker game. There was always time for fun.
The memories were overwhelming; the gratitude for the space that place filled in my life – immeasurable. Complimenting my parents’ unconditional love and support, there was M.B.S.
Did you really think this wasn’t going to include a fundraiser? It’s me. Of course it is! Over the course of these 60 weeks, I am hoping to raise $6000 for the children of Mercy Home for Boys & Girls (that’s just $100 a week!). To learn more about Mercy Home and my why, please visit my fundraising page. Thank you.
