A Post-Christmas Little Gift: A “Boy Wins” Kinda Christmas
For more than thirty years, Father Skipper wrote short stories as his Christmas Eve Mass-gift for family and friends. In 2020 and through the kindness of Michael Keister and his family, the collection was published as A Toy Truck For A Marine And Other Christmas Tales From A Simple Missionary Priest.
We pray this little gift – his Christmas 2015 tale - will bring a smile to your face.
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In opening, let me introduce two characters who give life to today’s Christmas Gift.
Nearly four decades ago, at the beginning of his hometown First Mass, a young priest introduced one of the concelebrants as “Old Weird Frank.” Moments later, a stately matron objected “How can you call that priest ‘Weird’?” But, how else can you describe a grown adult who talks to the statues in his Christmas Crib?
Tom Ross is one of my favorite Sigma Chis and heroes. A Cleveland cop, he spent years locking-up and putting-away child abusers. Earlier this year, this Marine by history and disposition and his wife learned that their son Andrew Jonathan is on the Autism Spectrum. At the time of the initial diagnosis, a fellow parent told Tom, “We may never win this war; we may never win many battles. But when we do, they will be enormous. So celebrate them.”
Puros Gringos (absolute Gringos) from Cleveland, Tom and Melanie found the perfect fixer-up for their would-be growing family. On the western fringes of Little Havana and a block away from the church and school they planned would be the second home for their future kids, it captured Melanie’s heart when she realized that – through the magic of perfectly placed windows, mirrors and picture frame glass and with a stealth that would make the collective mouths of the CIA drool - she could survey every square inch of home and yard with just a turn of the head.
Tom fixer-upper-ed, Melanie planned and decorated. Together they learned the differences among café con leche, un cortadito (a huge serving of Cuban coffee), and un cafecito (a small Cuban coffee); mariquitos (banana chips), tostones (fried banana patties) and platanos maduros (fried bananas).
And, despite their obvious gringohood, in their neighbors they found three generations of adopted abuelos, hermanos, and hijos (grandparents, brothers and sisters, and kids) they never knew were part of their Ancestry.com profiles.
Abuelo shared mangoes and limones; Abuela taught Melanie how to choose the perfect rice-maker; Mami and Papi became their Miami-versions of brother and sister, introducing them to Dolphins and Hurricanes football, and knowing the best mechanics, physicians, and pastelerias (pastry shops) – all either cousins or brothers-owned or owned by un buen amigo – a good friend.
Miguelito? He simply adopted them as another extension of his almost infinite circle of aunts and uncles – Tio Tom and Tia Mel – who, he assumed, like so many of his other tios and tias would one day gift him with another “hermanito” (little brother).
When that time did arrive, Mikey immediately assumed his role as Guardian Protector. In fact, he became so protective that he could spend hours just watching AJ sleep or crawl or begin to walk. He talked to him unceasingly – about his own home, about school, and swimming and sports, all his tios and tias, his adventures riding his bike and the places they would one day explore together. About being an altar server for el Padre Pancho el Estrano – Weird Father Frank.
And the truth is that Father Frank was strange - weird. So flaco (thin) he was once described as being able hide behind a pencil. Now almost completely bald, for decades almost half-a-century ago, he wore his sortta reddish, thinning hair in a ‘fro and sported a small gold cross in his ear before pierced ears on men was a fashion statement.
It was not so strange that he collected Christmas cribs from around the world; but it was weird that he talked to the figures in his manager scenes. And, when I say he “talked” to the figures, I mean he talked to the figures. Not just “Good morning, Mother Mary” or “Good night, Daddy Joseph.” But real conversations with all of the personalities – the shepherd boys and girls, the Wise Men and the Angels and the Holy Family. Depending on his mood and the issue at hand, sometimes, short snippets of conversation. Sometime in-depth explorations of theological issues from his and their points of view.
Father Frank had nacimientos – Christmas creches - in school showcases and church offices, and on display year-round on nearly a dozen shelves in the church sacristy. From Korea and Japan, Tanzania and Russia, and just about every country taught about in geography classes. In glass and ceramic, wood and straw and clay. He greeted and conversed with them all day, every day – by himself and when others were present.
And, just as Frank talked to the people of his crèches, Mikey talked to AJ. Visits were such a part of life in Mikeylandia that, three-plus years after he met the newborn, the visits and monologues didn’t change. It was as if Mikey lived to make AJ smile and laugh – jumping into AJ’s plastic pool with all his clothes on, making balloon animals and painting both their faces on football game days.
By age three, AJ knew Mikey’s schedules. He would watch him from the window as he trekked to school and wait for him at the door when he returned. At his own home or at Mikey’s, AJ would stare in silent wonder as Miquelito did homework and neither family ever quite knew for sure in which home the two Wise Boys would have dinner. So, there were always leftovers for the not-infrequent unexpected guests in their homes.
And, at Sunday Masses, AJ would sit facing the front door waiting for Mikey with the processional cross to lead lectors, candle bearers and Father Frank to the altar. His gaze never lost sight of his Cubanito brother.
In fact, as the entrance procession passed by, it was not unknown for AJ to slide from Tom’s or Mel’s guarding grip into the aisle and, with one hand, grab Mikey’s robe and boldly accompany him into the sanctuary. All with Father Frank’s obvious approval and to the congregation’s gentle smiles. But, through it all – at play, at home, in church, everywhere, AJ maintained the silence of the young autistic – never uttering a word.
It was once rumored that Father Frank was so old that St. Peter himself presided at his ordination. At an age way-past retirement, the former missioner to Japan accepted the one-priest parish’s plea for a helping padre to handle English language services. His Spanglish was essentially limited to ordering coffee in cafeterias and “Buenos Dias” and “Hola,” but to the viejos (old folks) and ninos (kids), to the adolescents and the novios (engaged), in fact throughout Western Little Havana, he was known as el cura Felix Navidad – the priest who wished everyone Merry Christmas all the time all year long - and el cura estrano – the weird priest - who talked to the shepherds and Jesus and Joseph and Mary of Christmas cribs everywhere.
One day, after overhearing others speaking about the weird priest who talks to statues, Mikey decided to solve the mystery of WHY? and ask just that: “Padre, why do you say ‘Good morning, Mother Mary’ and ‘Good morning, Father Joseph’ and talk to the statues all the time? Why do you always tell people ‘Merry Christmas’ even in the summer?”
“Wow!” the priest responded. “I guess because they teach me the lessons of love and life and I don’t want to forget them.
“Mother Mary teaches us about the love of God as accepting, as hoping, as promising and nurturing. Papi Joseph reminds me that God is protecting and gentle, strong and patient and, somehow, always here for us and with us.
“I talk to the people of the Christmas cribs because whether things are going well or are really difficult, at one time or another they’ve all been through what I am going through. The shepherds knew fear and loneliness, poverty and struggles, hope and promise, pain and mercy and comfort; they had dreams for their children and thoughts of the future. The Wise Men learned long ago that all their riches could not satisfy the longings of their hearts or bring them true happiness. They wandered far from home and comfort and all that they knew searching for the gifts – not that they brought – but that only God can give.
“The angels remind me that as a missioner, as a person of faith, as child of God, in my life and with my words I must declare ‘Glory to God in the Highest and Peace to his People on Earth.’
“‘I love you’ and ‘mother’ and ‘father’ are the most sacred words we can say because they tell us something about God. And, I say ‘Merry Christmas’ because one of the names we have for God is ‘The Word’ and when I use these words and I talk to my friends the statues, I am reminded of God and that He is everywhere.”
So it happened that as Christmas Eve approached, Abuelo and Abuela, Mami and Papi, all the tios and tias,- “the whole fam-damnily,” as Papi would say imitating American slang - issued not an invitation but a directive to Tom and Melanie, daughter Caroline and AJ: they would be part of Noche Buena al estilo Cubano – Christmas Eve Miami Cuban style.
Of course, the invitation also came with a warning: Cuban-American Christmas Eves are all-day affairs - beginning eight to twelve hours before dinner when the men prepare the Caja China – the Cuban-style barbeque grill for roasting a whole pig – and only end with the family caravan to evening Mass. Santa will come only after Mass and when kids are tucked snuggly away.
And so, on Christmas Eve, Tom and Mel joined la familia for dinner and the trek to church. Mikey took his leave long before the extended family and staked out prize seating. He was vested in his long white choir robe and Christmas-holiday-red cincture and with processional cross in hand when the fam-damnily arrived. But rather than join Tom and Mel and Caroline as they walked up the aisle, AJ grabbed Miquelio’s robe and refused to let go. The child who did not speak did not speak. But, the look on his face said it all: “I’m with Mikey. I’m with Mikey. I’m with Mikey.”
Tom’s Marine training kicked into play. He knew instinctively that a three-year old determined to stay glued to his adopted uncle was a force no Jarhead could counter. “Besides,” he thought, “with Mikey and a whole church looking out for him, how much trouble can he get into?”
For his part, Father Frank temporarily ceded leadership to a ten-year-old altar boy and his trusted sidekick and, from the church door, began to intone The Christmas Proclamation. Having declared, “The Nativity of Our Lord according to the Flesh,” Father Frank began a monologue dialogue with the statue of the Christ Child in his arms. “Yes! I think so. A good idea. Yes! Christmas is for children. Sure!”
And, because he lived the Missioner’s Spirit that says rules and norms, including rules and norms about celebrating Mass, are really only guidelines, even – or especially – at Christmas Eve Mass, Frank bent low to Mikey’s never-speaking sidekick and whispered, “AJ, could you, please, carry my little friend here for me. I’m kindda old and he’s a little heavy.”
Now, it is said of the Proclaiming Angels that “the Glory of the Lord shone round about them” and a Fourth Century theologian has taught us “The Glory of God is the human person fully alive.” In that moment, as he cradled his Sacred Charge toward the altar manager, the Glory of the Lord shined bright from AJ’s face and he was fully alive – the Glory of God.
As the procession moved toward the altar, at the family pew, Mikey the Cross-Bearer and the Christ-bearing AJ, who had never spoken, paused. Paused while Mikey smiled a Miguelito smile. Paused and AJ spoke. “Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Daddy!”
And Father Frank understood “the Word has been made Flesh and dwells amongst us” and God’s greatest gifts are the world’s smallest – a smile, a word, a name; the gentleness of kindness, mercy and compassion; the strength of a constant and non-judging companion; the goodness of One who knows us – sometimes better than we know ourselves – and loves us simply because we are.
To quote my friend and hero Tom Ross, “In the on-going and brutal struggle of Autism vs. Boy, today BOY WINS!”
Merry Christmas.
In September 2019, after moving to the Major Seminary Building at the Maryknoll Fathers headquarters, Frank sent an update: “I now converse with my crucifixes and crosses… I decorated the walls of my new room (cell?) with paintings, icons, prints and enough crosses that I created what I call my ‘cross section’ which is at least 10 feet of wall space occupied with the dying Jesus. This cross-section is right above the head of my bed so I can converse and dream and love Him at His crucifixion. I talk with alive people now and then also.”