MONDAY DIARY - HELLO MUDDA - HELLO FADDA

I’ve been to camp more as a priest than I have during my childhood. As a kid I never made it to Camp Christopher, a CYO camp run by the Diocese of Cleveland. My sisters who are significantly older than I (don’t tell them I told you so) did go there however in the early 60’s. My parish school closed shortly after that and so I did not attend (things like that happened back then too.) But I did see an 8mm film (you young’ns will have to ask your parents what that is) of my parents dropping them off at the camp gates hair all done up in a beehive or some near approximation thereof.

Then about eight years ago I was asked to come out to the camp to say Mass or hear confessions or some such thing. Never having been there I had to get directions. Once I was there I knew the place directly for it had not changed one iota since at least the 1960s! The major differences were the new cars and the children were wearing jeans and had sensible hair.

This past week I was back at camp again with my WWII U.S. Army Mass kit in tow to say Mass for our 6th graders who were on a nature retreat. The first order of business was to determine where to have it. The first stop was at the outdoor chapel (I knew I should have worn boots and black pants already ready for the wash machine!) but though the altar had a covering on it, the seats were wet – the kids were wet too – but MY seat was wet so we ixnayed that idea.

Mass was held in one of the assembly rooms. The altar was as big as a cargo ship but serviceable. The kids from four schools came and sat on the concrete floor in front of the altar. I must say it was a very well behave group of sixth graders.

Having a more relaxed atmosphere we were able to do some things that are prohibitive at a Sunday Mass. As I dressed I explained to the young folk what the different articles of vestments were for. It took a little encouragement but they sang and made the responses. It was a fine Mass in not so perfect conditions.

After there was the the obligatory bon fire at which the horrible jokes came out. “Doctor! Doctor! I’ve been having terrible dreams!” He said, “Tell me what you dreamt and I tell you what it meant.” “Last night I dreamed that I was Wigwam, and the night before that I dreamed I was a Teepee.” “I know what your problem is,” said the doctor, “You’re just two tents!”

Yuck yuck yuck

Cue the priest: Time to go home.