Revelations at the Communion Rail

As an artist, not a writer, I ask that you please bear with me as I tell you this story from my far flung past. And if you think that's the big reveal in this story... Guess again.

I was twelve, almost thirteen, that fateful day in 1982. Yes, the year of E.T., the Eye of the Tiger song, and the War in the Falklands. It was a sunny Sunday in June, when my Dad, Sal, my older brother, Alden, and I, all attended mid-morning mass at St. John Sebastian's Catholic Church in Toms River, New Jersey.

Now before you get the idea we aren't typical Catholics, be it known we all had our Catholic, named after a Saint names, and our middle names, after everything from old relatives to the doctors who delivered us, that we actually used. So it was officially: James Salvador Manion, John Alden Manion, and me, Matthew Garrity Manion.

My Mom, Francis Jean (Sal always called her Jeanie), had stayed home with my younger sisters, who had been up vomiting all night from a bad batch of lemon chicken from the sketchy Chinese restaurant Sal insisted we try. Why? Because you got two entrees, rice and lo mein for $2.99 (remember, 1982 prices), to go only. I guess because they didn't want you there to heave in their bathrooms.

Anyway, since Francis had been holding Amy and Brittany's (real first names: Mary and Joan) hair back all night as they rode the porcelain bus, they got a pass for having to come with us that morning.

The sermon had been like a double dose of Valium, and Alden had to elbow me in the ribs more than once when I started to nod off. The elbows went both ways as Sal had actually started in on the deep, guttural snore that Francis always complained about. She adapted by using earplugs, after Brittany started sleeping through the night. She had been told that rolling Sal over would do the trick, but since Sal dressed out at six foot, four inches and two-hundred eighty five pounds, it was like trying to flip a killer whale, so Francis saved herself a hernia and bought the earplugs.

Father Pagucci had finally come to the end of his long sermon about the sins of the flesh, the kind of sinning I had been wanting to do since I turned eleven, and finally learned how to do (at least solo with the aid of tons of hand lotion) about six months earlier. It was time to bend the knees, hit the rail, eat the wafer and (my favorite part, since back then they used real Mogen David) take a shot of wine.

Father Pagucci, with the Host, and Altar Boy Patrick, with the alcoholic blood of Christ, were proceeding slowly down the line, but they really hit a snag at ninety-three year old Mrs. Conception Gonzalez, or Cha-Cha to her friends, which there weren't many of any more. Also since last year's second broken hip, her cha-chaing days were over.

“What the hell is taking so long?” Sal muttered, but we, and the people around us, could hear him easily.

“Oh, it's just old Mrs. Gonzalez choking on the wafer again.” Alden said as he craned his neck to look down the line.

“Aw, that rotten Mexican! First she blocks half the aisle with her stupid walker, now this?!” Sal retorted loudly. I mean he was still whispering, but the outburst caused Mrs. Morales and Mrs. Trevino to cross themselves and move further down the rail away from us.

“Great, Dad!” I offered, still whispering of course. “The Mexicans serve the food at the Meet and Greet later. The word's gonna get around and we're gonna get screwed on the portion size.”

“Is that all you ever think about? Food? Sal whisper bellowed.

I didn't like to stand up to Sal because he was a bit free with his hands, especially when one was connecting to the back of my head, but I managed to blurt out: “No!” in response.

“Oh, that's for sure, and he's got the hairy palms to prove it.” Alden said, snickering.

At that, Mr. and Mrs. O'Doyle, the septuagenarian couple on the other side of us, that went to DAILY Mass, got up and moved further down the communion rail from us. We now had two huge gaps on our left and our right. The three of us looked like the island of Guam. But that's when the fun really started as Sal and Alden began a little sotto voce back and forth that took an interesting turn.

“Oh, God, they're still whacking her on the back!” Sal said, as he looked down the line at Mrs. Gonzalez.

“And they really shouldn't. Cha-Cha's got osteoporosis.” Alden said, sympathetically.

“Hey, that reminds me, Alden, don't forget to light a candle for Jenny's Mom on our way out. She's got that plumbing thing that she's going to the doctor about on Monday, right?” Sal said.

“Well, she had a pap smear that came out a little weird.”

At that, the large family with the small children to our left gap and the young couple to our right gap, nudged further away from us.

“Don't say pap smear while we're kneeling here!” Sal was loud at first, then brought it down.

“Sorry. Look, I'll light the candle, but Jenny and me... We sorta... Broke up, Dad.”

“Why? Jenny seemed like a fine, young lady.”

“And better yet, I heard she let everybody get to second base.” I chipped in.

“Shut-up, Jergens!” Alden snapped back.

“So, what happened with Jenny?” Sal said. “Did you meet somebody cuter? Smarter?”

Alden hesitated. I saw a bead of sweat trickle down his right side burn (the side I was on). Something was up.

“Cuter? Smarter? To me, yeah.”

Alden's voice was tight, like when he had to tell Mom he flunked a test or got detention. Something was Major League up.

“So who is she?” Sal prodded. “I haven't seen any new girls around the house. Just that study partner of yours, Joey what's his name.”

“Uh... Yeah, Dad... About him...”

Something was so up it was in the stratosphere!

“So who is she?”

Yeah, who is...She?” I added, already sensing the bomb Alden was about to drop. I mean he played with dolls till he was eight, and had tea parties with Mom till he was ten.

“She's a he! Dad, I'm Gay.”

“GAY!”

It was at that very moment Pagucci and Patrick snuck up on us as they jumped the gap on our left side and was right smack in front of my poor, shocked, bewildered Dad. Father Pagucci, his eyes peeled open so wide I thought he was about to have a stroke, simply offered Sal the wafer.

Sal, ever the pragmatist, simply cupped his hands and said: “Body of Christ.”

Then Patrick, with shaky hands, offered Sal the Community Cup.

Sal took it. Said: “Blood of Christ” Then drank from it.

Pagucci offered Alden two wafers as if to tell him he REALLY needed the Host today. Alden dutifully took them both, crossed himself, and crunched.

Patrick, forgetting to wipe off the Community Cup with the Community Rag, offered it to Alden, with his arms stretched out so far I thought he was Reed Richards.

Then Pagucci got to me. I took the wafer and surreptitiously dropped it down behind me as I wanted to get to that wine. I snatched the cup out of Patrick's shaky, sweaty mitts and gulped down so much of what was left in the Community Cup, Patrick had to turn to Joseph, the Altar Boy behind him with the Community Pitcher, to get a refill.

We left the communion rail silently. We drove halfway home silently. I thought that I might beat the odds and not have to hear any more about it, but no such luck.

“How can you be Gay, Alden?!” Sal burst out. “You were Bi-District Wrestling Champ!”

Both Alden and I groaned in unison, then Alden offered: “Dad... Wrestling? Other muscular guys... Sweating and grabbing?”

“Oh, it makes sense now.” Sal said, stunned at the realization.

“What does?

“Why I could never get you interested in baseball.”

A few blocks of dead silence later...

“But, Alden, how am I gonna tell your Mother about this?”

“Mom already knows, Dad. I told her like two years ago, when I was sure. I kept dating girls cuz your blood pressure was a little high back then, and now that you're on that new pill and it seems more normal... Well, I figured it was time to come out.”

“Out? Out where? The backyard?! Whaddya mean, OUT!?!”

That's when I chimed in: “He means he's gonna tell everybody he's a HOMO!” I admit, looking back at it, not the most delicate way of phrasing it, but my first thoughts, like any tween, almost teen, was about myself. I figured I was never going to live through the eighth grade! Toms River was loaded with Jersey Boys whose favorite game at recess was Smear Da Queer. It wouldn't be much of a stretch for those knuckle-draggers to extend it to Smear Da Queer's Little Brother.

“Tell everybody? Oh, NO, you're NOT!”

“But, Dad...”

“No, Alden, in my day homosexuality stayed where it belonged. In the CLOSET!”

“Been there. Done that. Dad, how can I be myself around people, if they don't know what's in my heart?”

“Heart? Heart?! Alden, you're almost a man. You're about to enter polite Catholic Society. When you do that you give up what's in your heart!”

Alden and I gave out a deeper and longer groan.

“That didn't come out right, son.”

“No kidding? Look, Dad, Joey wants to come out too. Be open about our relationship.”

“Wait a minute! Study buddy, Joey is...?”

“Butt buddy, Joey!”

“Shut-up, Garrity!” Alden seethed, not pleased with my input.

“Oh, my God!” Sal said, as he absently crossed himself. “And you two were alone in your bedroom so much.”

“It's not like that. Joey and me... We haven't gone that far yet.”

Sal looked insanely relieved, then I stuck my foot in it again.

“Still, my own brother lip-locking with Joey Rabinowitz.”

“He's a Jew?!” Dad yelled, almost swerving into a mailbox as he said it.

“I thought you'd be a little more upset that he's a guy?!”

“Don't tell me what to be upset about! How are you gonna raise the kids?! Why am I asking that?”

Sal stopped the car. He pulled over in front of the park Alden and I had both played in when we were younger. There was the jungle gym, the swing set, the teeter-totter and the big shade tree to rest under when we were spent.

“Alden... I'm sorry. But when you have a son... You want him to be safe. To have a life easier than the way you had it. You don't want him... Hurt or hated... For being too honest with the world.”

It was about as profound as my Dad, Sal, ever got. And even from the back seat I could see the tears welling in his eyes, the kind of big cow tears a good Jersey Man would never let flow, but they were there. Alden could see them too.

“I know you're worried, but I've got to do this. Unless you're gonna tell me that you're one of those people who would hate me or hurt me because of who I am?”

Sal looked at Alden. Put his huge hand on my brother's shoulder, and gave it a couple of gentle pats. Then he started the car, and said simply...

“I got your back, kid.”

I couldn't believe as the years went by it took Sal longer to get over the Jew thing than the Gay thing, but eventually he got over both. He proudly walked Alden down the aisle to marry Joey some thirty-one years later when it finally became legal in New Jersey.

To me he was the brother that defended me when I wanted to go to college to study art instead of what my parents called: something useful. To my kids, Alden and Joey were always their fave, fab, uncles that they'd always go to for advice and fashion tips.

And it all started in that brave moment of revelation at that communion rail in 1982.