Despite my poor academics, all was not lost at Assumption Catholic School, because God blessed me with a creative side. I discovered I had a plausible gift for art, writing and singing. I joined the Assumption Boys Choir and sang with them until I graduated from eighth grade and usually received an A or B in the subject of art or singing.
The Assumption Boys Choir was a wonderful experience. Sister Marius was an enthusiastic music teacher who brought out the best in all of us. Roger and I both sang in the choir. He was also an altar boy, but I couldn’t perform the duties because I was prone to nose bleeds when I bent over to pray.
I remember my early years as a soprano and growing into an alto even though I was convinced I should have been a tenor. It was not unusual for boys in my age group to feign difficulty singing as a soprano or alto. Only the younger boys were sopranos and some of us wanted to be considered the veterans of the choir, so we tried our best to convince Sister Marius that we should be tenors; men, as it were. I don’t recall if I ever made tenor, but by golly, I should have because I did my best to sound like a man.
Every Christmas, the Boys Choir would join the Adult Choir to sing at midnight Mass. This was a family event because Rog and I were in the Boys Choir and Mom was in the Adult Choir. It was the one time of the year Rog and I were allowed to stay up late. The church was decorated in bright red and green Christmas colors and adorned with lots and lots of candles. To the right or left of the altar was a nativity scene, surrounded by fresh cut evergreens whose fragrance filled the church. For Christmas, the choir traded their black cassocks for red, covered with a white surplice. When the organist began to play a religious Christmas hymn, we entered the church from the lobby. As we filed two abreast down the center aisle, we would sing a Christmas hymn. The Knights of Columbus stood at attention on either side of the isle wearing a feathered hat (chapeau), cape and sword. The Adult Choir remained in the balcony of the church, along with other musicians. The musicians consisted of the organist and a horn section of trumpeters. The smell of evergreens, incense and candles accented the atmosphere. The pageantry was beautiful, wonderful and so exciting, because it was after all, Christmas Eve.
After mass, we would walk out into the cold Minnesota night. Some nights it seemed as if I could see a zillion stars in the sky. The cold, crisp night air and absence of any clouds or smog made for an incredibly beautiful sight. I was a seriously devoted Catholic and was absolutely convinced that Jesus was somewhere very near. It was always so very cold and sometimes there would be a light snow falling to greet us. If one was fortunate enough to be the first to leave the church, they were greeted with serene silence. There was a brief suspension of time where one could reflect on the purpose of the evening; to digest the meaning of Christmas and the birth of Jesus. It was a miniscule capsule of time to feel your soul, but within minutes the rest of the congregation made its way outside and the peacefulness was crushed by the start of automobile engines and people wishing one another a Merry Christmas.
Those were simple times for this young boy, when my belief was absolute and without question. I talked to God quite often. I never recalled getting any answers, but I was convinced He heard everything I said. To this day, I have never experienced the serenity and peacefulness that I always felt when participating in midnight Mass at Christmas.
