By: Karen White-Walker

Do I dare? Oh, why the heck not. Everybody has at least one, but nobody likes to admit it because they might, God forbid, be a reflection on them. But you’d have to be mighty insecure not to survive a smudge on one’s family’s fabric. I’m referring to the black sheep in the family who, incidentally, have the biggest hearts and sometimes the biggest mouths, too.

Uncle Giuseppe, fully grown, was a mere five feet one, 120 pounds, but had a voice that could rival a megaphone. Just ask the survivors who may have attended the Passion play back in the early 1920’s. There’ probably nobody left, but the family’s offspring still talk about it. At the time, seven-year-old Giuseppe (they called him Biggie) with an angel’s face was playing our Lord in the play. Sister Mary Martha pulled rank because she wanted her student ‘nailed’ to the cross. That’s what the Passion play, you know, re-enacting the Stations of the Cross. Little ‘Biggie’ shouldered the heavy wooden cross and the entire family was captivated by the sudden transformation in the little tyke’s demeanor. Surely this couldn’t be their smart-alect, street-wise, dirty mouth little guy?

“Mama, that’s our-a son,” whispered a teary-eyed Papa.

“Shut-up-a your face,” warned Mama. “Hey Papa, you tink we should kiss-a-his First Communion ring when he come-a home tonight?”

The play’s climatic moment was approaching but unfortunately, not fast enough. Our ‘Lord’ lay on the cross while Herod’s men drilled ‘nails’ into his hands and feet. They hoisted the cross upright and the audience gasped at the scene’s authenticity. People felt the little boy’s, I mean, our ‘Lord’s pain and there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Some people had to use their sleeves to wipe their eyes and even their noses, and suddenly the sacred scene definitely lost something. The re-enactment had been going on for hours---much too long to test a hyper, restless, little imp. ‘Biggie’ began twitching and squirming, and that should have tipped off Sister Mary Martha had she been on the ball. A kid’s kidney can only dangle so long, you know. Suddenly his angelic expression turned distorted, mean, hateful, and ugly.

“Hey you guys,” he shouted out to the audience. “If one of you damn dummies don’t get me down from here, there’ll be hell to pay!”

There was Mama snorting smelling salts, and the whole family never fully recovered from the humiliation. Had Giuseppe not been the product of such a highly respected family, this seven-year-old would have been run out of town. If the Vatican had gotten whiff of the Passion play gone awry, excommunication proceedings surely would have been started. Sister Mary Martha said a million years in purgatory would never absolve him from his sin of blasphemy. Maybe deep down Mama felt the same way because years later when ‘Biggie’ sought his parent’s approval and blessing for the woman he wanted to marry, Mama led the naïve girl to the kitchen window. “Rosalina, you say you love-a my-a son?”

“Very much, Mama, very much,” the timid thing answered.

“My-a dear, look outta the window and tell-a me what you-a see.”

“The canal?” she stammered.

“Good, you see-a the canal. Do your-a self a bigga favor, Rosalina. Go down-a to the canal, tie-a bigga cement block around-a your-a neck and jump-a in! Believe-a me, you be-a better off.”

And THIS is the blessing the poor girl received from the family. She still married my Uncle Giuseppe, but out of respect for the sacrament of marriage, we’ll leave it at that---for now anyway. In later years this midget of a man turned out to be a giant in the family, but first I must tell you, if you thought he offended our Lord, (unintentionally, of course) wait till you hear what he did to God’s mother!
It’s very comforting that God doesn’t hold a grudge, so why do we? (continued)
To read more of Karen’s previously articles, please visit homegrownharvard.blogspot.com