Reflections of a Roman Catholic Father on his “Extraordinary” Son
Fathers are supposed to give their sons a lot of things: food, clothing, shelter, schooling, courage, good advice, good morals, and certainly the time and attention required for everything from piggyback rides to pitch and catch. These are both moral and societal obligations, and fulfilling them does not put any father above and beyond the call of duty. Simply, it is their duty. A big deal should not be made of it.
However, when the son gives to the father – when he sets the example – that is something of which a big deal should be made. After all, it is the express right of fathers to draw attention to their children, even to the point of said child’s perceived embarrassment. Only in this instance we are talking about my oldest son, who is no longer a child but very much a young man. He is in his senior year of high school, and that is enough to give any father pause, to bring him to the point of intense reflection on the many times that his son has made him proud. In fact, the father might even wonder what his proudest moment was.
I happened to discover that moment earlier this school year. It was at my son’s ring Mass. He received a ring from his school, and I received Holy Communion…from my son.
Yes, he attends a Roman Catholic boys high school. And yes, any student there over the age of sixteen who has received the Sacrament of Confirmation can opt to be trained as an extraordinary minister of Holy Communion. Naturally, when I learned that my son had elected to do this, I was enormously proud. Yet it did not really sink in until I was in line for Communion. That’s right, in line – before it was my turn. That was the moment I realized that what he was doing was in service to everyone in that line, not just to the man who happened to be his father. He wanted all of those people to have the greatest gift there is – the gift of the Eucharist. He wanted to be one of the ones who put it directly into their hands and mouths. And I observed that he went about it in the same way that the writer John Updike chose to live his life, without celebrity.
Of course, that’s the very nature of the Mass. It is a celebration in which the participants collaborate to obtrusively draw attention to the Sacrifice while doing so unobtrusively. So the anticlimactic nature of how my turn at Communion transpired was no surprise. Externally, there was nothing defining – no exchange of high fives or broad grins like after one of his basketball games. Internally, though, I felt the full range of emotions. I think you know the ones I mean.
The best way to sum it up? That was the best non-high five a father and son could have shared.
