The Little Father

Have you met someone in your life travels who, even years later, gives a lift to your heart when you remember them? Perhaps they were (or are) a part of your daily life, or maybe someone you encountered only once or twice. Something about them made a lasting impression, an impact on our lives, and from time to time we think of them with gratitude.

I first met Father Fred when I was in my early twenties. One of my favorite co-workers, Flossie, had a son who had just started high school at a Catholic school for boys. Tuna (his real name was Vincent, as I recall, although no one called him that) was a bright young man with a zest for life, but he had never enjoyed good health. Tuna had a passion for sports, and he begged Flossie to allow him to play football when he entered high school. With many misgivings, Flossie finally relented, and let him try out for the team, hoping he wouldn't make the cut.

Tuna did make the team, and he was on Cloud Nine. His dream had come true, and he eagerly exchanged his school uniform for his football jersey each afternoon for football practice. One afternoon, during a scrimmage, Tuna was tackled hard. He stood up, wandered a few feet, and collapsed on the field. He was rushed to the hospital, and later died.

My boss Cathy and I went to the hospital immediately after the accident to be with Flossie. Tuna was still alive, but the outlook was grim. Father Fred, Flossie's priest, joined us in the waiting room. He brought a sense of calmness and assurance to the chaotic little room. He was serene but not detached. Father Fred met privately with Flossie, and spent time with Tuna doing whatever priests do at times like these. He surprised me, though, by coming back to the waiting room to spend a little time with Cathy and me to be sure we were okay. Something about him assured me that, although Flossie would have to say goodbye to her son, God was there with all of us and everything was happening the way God intended. A few days later, Father Fred also made a point of coming up to Cathy and me following the funeral to comfort us and tell us that our presence was helpful to Flossie and her family.

Father Fred was a small, spare little man with a balding head and spectacles. He had a lively step, a bright smile, and warm sparkling eyes. As my Aunt Therza would have said, Father Fred was "cuter than a speckled pup under a mushroom on a rainy day." Not being Catholic, I doubted our paths would ever cross again, but I was wrong.

I transferred into a different job with the company I worked for, but by this time my former boss Cathy was a very close friend. Although I was still in the closet at work, when I met my partner Michael I knew it was time to tell Cathy that I was gay, so that she could meet this wonderful new person in my life. Cathy and Michael hit it off right away. A few months later, Cathy met the man who would become her husband, and Cathy and Dan started going to a different Catholic church close to their new home after they married. Re-enter Father Fred, who was the priest at their new church.

I would now see Father Fred socially when all of us gathered at Cathy and Dan's for dinners. Father Fred was a scream, and he could put the saltiest sailor to shame with the length and breadth of his profanity. He would hold us spellbound with his stories, until we dissolved into laughter. Fred had a gift for telling a story, and we enjoyed his quick wit. He was interested in the goings-on of each person in the room, however, and when Michael fell ill Father Fred always managed to find a quiet place for a few minutes of private conversation. His energy was amazing, and he seemed able to be everywhere at once.

I'll never forget a story he told at Cathy's table one evening. Father Fred had bought a small cottage in the country outside our city for a personal retreat, although he continued to live at the church parsonage. A winter storm caused him to worry about his cottage, so he drove out to the country to check on it. He promptly got his car stuck at the end of the driveway. Father Fred was pleased to discover that good old redneck boys live for days like this. They grab their girlfriends and hop in their 4X4 pick-up trucks. With the girlfriend planted right next to them on the seat, they roam the countryside looking for folks who need to be towed out of ditches and gullies. One of these helpful couples found Father Fred, and had him fixed up in no time. Fred was quite impressed. He was also amazed by the girlfriend who, despite her 1980's big hair and make-up, jumped out and pitched right in. Father Fred said "her jeans were so tight if she'd farted it would have blown her boots off."

Time passed and Michael's illness worsened. After he had been hospitalized for about a week he buttonholed one of his nurses for information. The nurse told him that he was reaching the end of his life. Michael was no dummy; he knew he had been moved to the hospice floor, but I think he just needed to hear it. Nonetheless, it did throw him into a tailspin. His mom and I would alternate spending nights with him; the hospital provided a fold-up cot. One night when it was my turn to stay with Michael, I walked his mother out to the parking deck because it was late and dark. When I returned to the door of Michael's room, I heard what seemed to be a conversation, but when I entered the room Michael was alone.

I asked Michael who he was talking to. Michael said he was talking to God. I asked Michael if he'd like me to leave the room and come back in a little while. Michael said "No, that's okay. I don't think God wants to talk to me."

Uh-oh.

When pressed, Michael said that God wouldn't want to talk to him because "God doesn't like gay people." Okay, now I knew I was in over my head and needed to call in reinforcements. I'm not a wise person, but I knew that this was no time for platitudes. The next morning, as soon as the hour was decent, I phoned Cathy and Dan. It was time to call in the Big Guns.

It was time for Father Fred.

Father Fred called me. I recounted the previous evening's conversation with Michael, and Father Fred said he would take care of it. That morning, Father Fred blew in. I left the room, and Fred and Michael spent time together. Father Fred found me in the waiting room, and told me he had to run because he had two weddings and a funeral that day. He said all should be well with Michael now.

He also told me what he told Michael, and I know now that he did this so that I could benefit from this message as well. He said:

"Michael, you know how you've suddenly had something get in your eye, and it drives you crazy? It seems huge, your eye tears up, you can't see. You can't think of anything else until you get it out. It feels like it must be as big as a boulder, and then when you get it out of your eye you can't believe it...it's such a tiny speck that you can barely see it. Michael, that's what you're doing. You are worried about something that isn't even as big as a speck in God's eye. Do not be afraid. God loves you and He is with you."

After that, Michael's smile returned. He was in pain, but his joy for life and his belief in God's perfect and infinite love was restored. And when God came for him a few days later, Michael met Him with a tranquil heart. God had prepared all of us for this by sending his powerful instrument, little Father Fred.