Last Sunday at church, I sat in my usual pew at the very early service. Behind me were the two old women who are always there. I often talk to one; her name is Doris and she was 92 when we first introduced ourselves. She asked me if I had anything special planned for the Memorial Day weekend and I said no, of course. She said she was celebrating her son's birthday on Monday - he would be 64. I thought that was pretty amazing but when she followed that up with, he could be much older, I didn't have children until I was married for nine years. Ooops! Her son could be older than me! It was shocking to think about.
There is a family that sits in front of me every week; a teenage girl and two teenage boys, their father and mother and the mother's mother. I don't know the people except by sight. I've no clue of their name. I would guess that Grandma is of East Asian descent, Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese; the father is European American, the mother seems to be a mix that includes a West Asian or Middle Eastern. All are very short. The mother is less than five foot, the grandma is even shorter; Dad is not too tall and the dark complected teenagers are on the short side.
They must come in two cars; this week the father and the sons arrived five minutes before the ladies. Some weeks the kids come at a different time than the adults. But, they are all there every week - sitting together.
This week the final song at mass, in deference to Memorial Day, was America the Beautiful. It always gets to me a little when they play patriotic tunes. When the song ended and everyone turned to exit, grandma was right in front of me - a lip quivering, her eyes red, a tissue blotting her tears. No doubt this immigrant had a special feeling about Memorial Day - maybe she lost her husband in war; maybe she was just thankful to be American. It definitely touched me. I leaned forward and whispered, "Me too."
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