As I sat there watching all the communicants march into church, all
I remember that I was the only child not in white, not even in off white. In fact I was wearing a three piece suit that was grey and blue. I guess my aunt knew the kind of child I was and couldn’t trust me with keeping the suit white. In which case any other colour would be safe bet.
So there I was, standing out in a sea of white, definitely not a sore thumb, but a handsome young man (as I would myself to believe), marching into church as the choir sang “Lead your children Jesus to the altar”. Being a child with a speech impediment (and yet do have it) I wasn’t given any part in the reading, or the eucharistic celebration, a bit stab of disappointment for any child who would love to read, who would love to participate. But then that’s life, you make do what you’re given with.
When it came time to receive communion I remember forgetting to join with my hands at my side as my mum looked on (dada wasn’t there). After mass it was time to click pics at the altar and the grotto with mum, godma, and not to forget my class teacher, who’s daughter was receiving communion with me, so yipee she wouldn’t be there in class (as I had bunked school that day) and I wouldn’t be missing much in terms of lessons.
In the evening we had a small party with my neighbours and close family friends. I remember my best friend Ryan joining me to cut my cake. I distinctly remember trying to cut that cake, struggling to do the deed, thanks to the hard icing. But all said and done, though I had a quiet party, I had a good and memorable time.
And as I reminisced on the past, the memories made, the present beckoned me. So I had to come back to the present and stop dreaming of the past and of time gone. The past is a beautiful memory that will remain with me forever, no one can take that away from me. But now it was time to come to the present and join the celebration of the children. I had this smile on face thanks to the memories I had.
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