11.05.2006

tucker

He came to church that morning like everyone else. His license plate read "2 FAST 4 U." It was attached with rubber bands to the chair he pulled up next to his fathers. They chatted as father and son should, exchanging smiles and affection. The backpack on the back of his chair read "Tucker."

Tucker's mother came into church late. An oxygen tube ran up through her nostrils. She removed the portable tank and tubes after taking a seat with her family. Tucker's younger sister soon joined the trio, sitting between her mom and dad. When the congregation stood to sing, Tucker stayed seated in his chair. He made the sign of cross with his unsteady left hand. He reached up and stretched, sitting up as tall as he could in his chair. Still, Tucker wasn't quite as tall as the young girl standing to his left with almond-shaped eyes. She was elementary age and wore a flowered shirt and pink sweater vest with her yellow corduroys. Her deep brown, almost black eyes stole glances at Tucker. Tucker's father noticed and shot a stare back at her. She looked down. Tucker's father fidgeted with his son's collar to make sure it was standing up straight when Tucker himself could not. The congregation sat back down. Tucker put his small hand on his father's leg. Meanwhile, the priests words echoed throughout the church, "We're all different."

This reminded me of the sign I saw on the way into mass. "No on Amendment 2," it read. But there wasn't a sign that said "Yes on Amendment 2." The priest was right, we are all different. Yet, only one opinion was represented in the lawn of the church. The priest said we are all different. Does he want us to all be different? Or does he just remind us that we are?

During the "Our Father" the church came together and held eachothers' hands to pray. A Latino man stepped across the aisle and smiled at Tucker, grasping his hand. Tucker lifted his hand and the Latino mans right on cue, "For the kingdom and the power and the glory ... " I saw compassion in the Latino man's eyes. Maybe he knew what it was like to be different and not understood. Minutes later the priest said "Peace be with you." While the church exchanged hugs, kisses and blessings, Tucker sat in his chair, head down. The Latino man felt a bond with him and placed his hand on Tucker's back. He leaned over the boy and shook hands with Tucker's family. Tucker received kisses from his family but no one else.

The congregation bowed their heads to pray. I didn't put my head down, neither did Tucker. I never liked putting my head down to pray. I felt silly closing my eyes. I wanted to hold my head up and look at creation. Why must we submit, bow our heads and stare at our worn shoes and the generic tile ground? This didn't make me feel close to this God spirit. Tucker stared up at the ceiling. Tucker stared at the children behind him. Tucker stared into his father's eyes and laughed, a lot. Tucker was more alive than anyone else I saw, mumbling their doctrinated prayers.

Again, the congregation stood, and Tucker shifted in his chair. After a few moments, his head dropped forward and his back curved. I'm not sure whether he or his muscles gave in this time. His father pushed his back straight in his chair and fixed his collar, once again. Tucker whispered something in his father's ear and gave him a wide grin. I could not help but notice how long and beautiful his eye lashes were.

At communion, Tucker wheeled himself up the aisle to receive the Body of Christ. His family stayed in their seats this time. I was two rows behind Tucker, but I made it back to my seat before him. He was still navigating his way through the bodies on the way to receive Christ's body. Tucker motioned parishioners past him as he situated himself. The almond-eyed girl stole some more glances. The Latino looked too, but he didn't sneak his glances like the young girl. He had held Tucker's hand and shook the hands of Tucker's parents. Maybe he thought this made it okay for him to stare.

At the end of mass, people left the church. Many looked at Tucker as they passed him. Smiles inevitably appeared on their faces. I don't think they were smiles of pity. I pray that they weren't. I sat behind Tucker, but I knew already that his smile was contagious. His smile wouldn't leave my mind. Some of the adults kept their heads down. Was it out of politeness or fear that they did not notice the boy in the aisle who was different?

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