Blame It On My Youth

Pastor John

Taylor and I arrived back home after a quiet dinner. We spoke little of the box and its contents. She understood a few unpleasant memories were resurfacing. The life I had suppressed for the past few decades was now flashing before me in 3-D Technicolor.

The box still lay open as I entered the dining area. Taylor offered to help me put everything away.

“I’ll take care of it. It’s my responsibility, Taylor.”

She kissed me goodnight and headed to her room. I looked at the fragments of my life strewn about, and then gathered up Lolita’s album, the photos, and the adoption papers. One thing remained on the table though, but I did not have the strength to deal with that. Not just yet.

I put back everything and attempted to lift the box. It slipped out of my hands and dropped back onto the chair. “This weighs a ton. I can’t believe I got this up the stairs.” I reopened the box. “What the hell else did she put in here? Rocks?”

I plunged my hand inside and rummaged through to the bottom. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” My fingers clasped around something hard and smooth. I yanked it out. “A cobblestone? But why?” Then I remembered and burst out laughing. “Poor Pastor John.”

Few people knew of my mother’s spiritual side. In her later years, it was all about the psychic church at the Steinway building across the street from Carnegie Hall, but in my younger years the Protestant religion played an important part of her life. She attended weekly services and even taught Sunday school when we lived in Brooklyn. Imagine using the religious articles in Time magazine to teach her teenage students, instead of the Bible…Mommy was progressive, all right.

When Pastor John first arrived in our little community, Mommy was the first to greet him and his wife. Before long, she knew several of his intimate details: one in particular.

“Pastor John and his wife can’t have children,” she said to me. “So, I need to find out how to get a baby for them. The adoption process in this country is archaic and takes years.”

Of course, I was stunned by this revelation. But if anyone could do it, Mommy could.

“But how?” I asked.

“I need to think it through…and they’ll have that baby, yet” she said.

Mommy asked everyone she knew about how to obtain a baby overseas. For weeks she came up empty.

On a typical busy Saturday afternoon, the door jingled and in popped a matted, blonde regular who had been out of town for a month.

“Kay…I’m back and in desperate need of an overhaul. I forgot to make an appointment; I hope you can fit me in.”

“You’re not kidding, Lauren. It looks like you haven’t had your hair done since your last appointment.”

She sighed. “Who had time? That crazy boyfriend of mine, Tony, had me running from morning till night. The tour was a small fortune, and he wanted his money’s worth.”

“Go back to Lucinda. I’ll squeeze you in between my two perms.”

As Mommy worked on Lauren’s hair, she filled her in on her latest obsession. “I’ve asked everyone. So now I’m asking you.”

Lauren grinned. “Sweetie, I can’t believe you didn’t think of my brother, William. He’s pretty high up in the US Embassy.”

“So—?”

“So…there are millions of starving children overseas who need a home. I bet he could set something up for you. Just don’t say anything to the pastor until I talk to him.”

“Of course! How stupid of me. I won’t say a word. Besides—I want to surprise them.”

As I listened to this whole conversation, once again I was amazed how many connections my mother had world-wide. Leave it to her to find a friend who just happens to work in a US Embassy overseas.

The following week, Lauren rushed into the shop. “I finally got hold of him. What you need to do now is send him all the information about the Pastor and his wife. He needs everything including their Social Security numbers.” She handed my mother a long list.

“Their Social Security numbers will be tricky. But I have a thought. I know the accountant who does the church’s books. I’ll explain to him what I’m up to, and I should have no problem attaining that information.”

“I just love how resourceful you are, Kay. I really do.”

“If you only knew how much they want a child, you’d do everything in your power, too. He’s a very special man and his wife is such a kind person. Any child would be lucky to have them for parents.”

“I quite agree. I’m so glad I could help.”

“Okay Lauren, have a seat. This ‘do’ is on the house.”

Lauren beamed.

Less than a year later, William flew into NYC from overseas. Vincenzo drove us to JFK airport to meet him. Mommy and I rushed into the TWA lobby and searched until we finally found William. He was standing and holding the baby next to the arrival gate. He smiled as we approached.

“Kay! It’s so good to see you. Well, after all your are plotting, here he is.”

Mommy’s face glowed. Her joy sprang forth like rays of sunlight. William handed her the precious little baby boy.

“Oh William,” Mommy exclaimed. “He’s so perfect. I don’t know how to thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“The pleasure was all mine, Kay. This little lad deserves a good home. I’m so happy that he found one at last.”

“No question about that. We should go—if we don’t hit any traffic, we’ll make it before the service ends.”

We all sprinted to the car. Vincenzo maneuvered through the traffic with ease, and we arrived at the church in record time. Mommy cuddled the baby as she walked in smiling brilliantly. Pastor John stopped the service.

“Kay, is everything all right?”

She didn’t answer and just walked up to the Pastor, handing him his son. The Church broke out in applause. Tears flooded many of the church member’s eyes. Pastor John turned arctic white and nearly fainted. His wife, Janet, rushed to his side and kept him from falling. As soon as he composed himself, he and Janet walked their new son through the church aisles, introducing him to the congregation.

Baby boy, John Jr., was home at last.

Life has many ironies, and the Lord does work in mysterious ways.

Eleven months later, another miracle happened; the pastor’s wife, Janet, gave birth to a baby boy…

As we all know, life revolves in circles. Not long after John Junior’s second birthday, Pastor John had the pleasure of marrying Lauren to Sven.

My mother’s kindness forged a strong friendship between Pastor John and herself, a bond that lasted decades. But not surprisingly, the Pastor was not prepared for what was in store for him. Little did he know he would play an unusual part in Mommy’s newest obsession…

Spring was in the air, and Vincenzo arranged for all of us to travel to Puerto Rico to meet his family. The vivid blue sky had not one cloud as we flew into San Juan Airport. Huge murals of coconut palms decorated the walls. The mural’s aqua seas rippled against sandy white beaches in a beautiful mosaic. We rushed through the lobby to catch our connecting flight to Vincenzo’s family who lived in Ponce, far from Old San Juan. We arrived at the small, run-down terminal which consisted of only two local airlines. There was no one at the check in desk. Mommy spotted the plane on the runway. “Let’s just go directly out to the plane.”

As we exited the terminal, the engine roared on the dual propeller plane. It slowly moved down the runway.

“We can’t miss it! Kimmie, stop that plane!”

I sprinted down the runway, waving my arms and screaming, “Stop! Stop!” As it slowed, I caught up to it. It came to a complete halt. I ran to the front and made hand gestures to the pilot for him to turn back. He looked at me with kind eyes and gave me the A-okay sign with his hand. He swung the plane around and headed back to the terminal. I had performed a miracle, my first and last.

To my shock and despair, the “adventure” didn’t end here. After several hours of what sounded like “jibberish” to my ears, we left Vincenzo’s family and headed back to the local airport. As we entered the terminal, I glanced over to the check-in counter. The red CaribeAir letters were pulled off the wall, the phone lines were cut, and the desk monitor was missing. The airline had gone out of business just moments before our return. We were now stranded in Ponce airport.

“See, Kimmie…Puerto Rico can certainly use Vincenzo and I as pilots. What do we do now?”

With sheer luck, the other airline host from the other counter called us over to him. He honored out tickets and we were able to return to San Juan. I do not remember much of the return flight, but once we checked into the Caribe Hilton, I swore I would never fly on a local airline again.

Puerto Rico had an immense influence on my mother. She became a woman obsessed. We returned often, practically once a month.

After our third return to the New York, Mommy decided to turn our modest Middle Village home into a Caribbean Oasis. First on the agenda, the master bedroom. “I’ll need new wallpaper. Something fitting for Vincenzo and myself.”

Once the paper arrived, she contacted Joan, a wallpaper hanger/handy woman, who was recommended by a friend of one of her hair clients. Joan showed up and went to the basement to bring up countless rolls of paper and several heavy boxes. As she unraveled the first roll, she raised a furry eyebrow.

“Are you sure this is the right paper? There’s no pattern.”

“No…it’s the right one.” Mommy beamed.

Joan shook her head and pasted up the first piece of bright blue paper.

“Perfect, Joan.”

“If you say so, Kay.”

“Kimmie…it’s time for you to get going. Those items won’t deliver themselves.”

“Okay. I’m off.”

I raced downstairs to gather up and deliver the merchandise. We offered free delivery on Sunday since Saturday was always our busiest day at the shop.

It took several hours for me to complete my deliveries, having to restock my cart several times. Just as I put the cart back into the cellar, Mommy exclaimed, “It’s finished! Come up and see this masterpiece!”

As Vincenzo, Debi, and I trekked up the stairs and entered the room, the image transported us far away from Queens…we all stared at the image of a cloudless azure blue sky, and a white sandy beach with an eight-foot palm tree swaying in the non-existent breeze. Several huge, fuzzy coconuts hung within the fronds and one lay at the base of the tree. In the corner sat a grass covered tiki hut. To make matters worse, the adjacent wall was covered in mirrored tiles that reflected the whole mural.

“Isn’t it divine? Now I can fall asleep and wake up in Puerto Rico every day.”

We all remained speechless. Vincenzo was the only one besides Mommy who seemed pleased by the result.

Not long after phase one of Mommy’s current obsession, the Long Island Expressway went under reconstruction. Workers unearthed thousands of cobblestones, piling them to the side. For days we passed by the construction during our many errands around the city.

“Such a waste. What will they do with all those stones?” She glanced at me and grinned. “Wouldn’t they just look wonderful as a patio? Imagine.”

“I guess.”

She had that look in her eyes. Stage two was coming next…

One Sunday afternoon after service, my mother approached Pastor John.

“I thoroughly enjoyed the sermon today, Pastor,” she said.

“Thank you, Kay. It’s always difficult to find the right passage every week.”

“Indeed. I would imagine so. John?”

“Yes.”

“I was wondering if you had a bit of free time after dinner. Vincenzo and I would appreciate your help.”

“Of course, Kay. Always happy to be of service when I’m needed.” He smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh—um. Vincenzo needs help moving cobblestones to our house. We want to redo the patio and walkway.”

“I guess a bit of physical labor is good for the soul.” He smiled. “Where do we pick them up?”

“As you must know, the LIE is under reconstruction. There are tons of stones everywhere. The city will appreciate us taking a pile away for them.”

“You did get permission, didn’t you?”

“Would I do anything against the law, Pastor? As you know, I come to church every week.”

His face flushed. “So sorry, Kay. Of course, you wouldn’t.”

“Great. So, we’ll see you around eight o’clock tonight.”

“Why so late?”

“Well, we don’t want to be in the way of the construction men while they’re working.”

“They work on Sunday, too?”

“Oh, yes. You know the city.”

He nodded and agreed.

Pastor John showed up on time. He and Vincenzo left while Mommy and I cleared out a section of the yard to pile up the stones.

It took a few hours before their return. Vincenzo backed up the truck into the driveway. He and the pastor began the unloading and Mommy directed them to where the stones were to be placed. It was late, so Mommy and I helped.

Just before midnight the last stone was hauled into the back yard. Mommy invited the pastor in for a quick cup of herbal tea. “Thank you so much, John. We really appreciate your help.”

He glanced at my mother, not looking into her eyes. “Um, Kay…I couldn’t help but notice the construction site was roped off and it had several no trespassing signs. I was rather uncomfortable.” He ignored her stare. “Are you sure you got permission?”

She burst out laughing. “John, you are too funny. Do you honestly think the city would ever give anything away for free?”

He stood. “What? Kay, you told me you had permission. You lied to me?”

Mommy’s face flushed pink. “I’m sorry, John. It was only a little white lie. The city will never miss them. I just wanted to add a bit of charm to my house. You know how much I love Puerto Rico. Cobblestone streets are everywhere there, and I thought…”

“You thought it wouldn’t be stealing if you involved me in this caper.” He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it very slowly. “I am extremely disappointed in you, Kay. You need to reflect on this action. I want you to pray for the Lord’s forgiveness—and I shall do the same.” He excused himself and headed out the back door.

Mommy sat at the kitchen table deep in thought. She did not say a word as I left for my room. I was not sure how upset she was that night, but my mother never mentioned it again.

The following weekend she hired some of her “friends” to create the new patio and driveway. I expected potted palm trees to be next on the list and a week later, ten palm trees were planted down the drive.

They lasted six months. What was she thinking?

Pastor John kept a reserved air around my mother for quite some time afterward; he, too, never mentioned the incident. But as time progressed, Mommy managed to wheedle her way back into his good graces. I wasn’t surprised, though; my mother had that certain something. No one was immune to it, not even the pastor.

Mommy enlisted Pastor John years later, in one last caper, on the day my brother was born. He finally paid back the great kindness once given to him. Something only, he could do. Something my brother has no knowledge of to this day. Something that might change his life.