WAIT!

"Wait... just wait 'till your father comes home… I hope you have kids just like you! Managgia, Gesu Cristo, managgia!"

Those were the words that my Italian Momma spoke as she clenched her teeth with a hand jammed tightly in between, as I scampered away as fast as I could. The fury or rage was one of the results of my bad behavior, some infraction either stealing a cookie or three, torturing a sister, or repeating what my dad had said in a fit of unhappiness, straining the Italian cursing for all it was worth.

More often than not, the wooden spoon was removed from the pasta pot to mom’s clenched fist that held a death grip on it, waving higher than Old Glory as it came down dangerously near my harden skull. As I ran for my life I would head for the closet that was deep and too dark for mom to see into as she waved a broom inside it or as I slid under my bed and she was unable to look under enough to tell if she was reaching me with the said broom. If I wanted to survive the afternoon until Dad came home, I would kick the broom and yell: “OW!” Kick and yell “OW!” again. This left Mom satisfied that she had gotten me.

Of course, my deceitfulness was not always my fault, sometimes chance offered me opportunities that I couldn’t say “No” to.

It was a Sunday morning and Mom was in the midst of her gravy preparation as she looked up at the kitchen clock and instructed me to go get some money from my dad. It was time to leave for church and the church had the habit of collecting money. Dad was an avid church ‘go-er’ about once a year or so and was still in bed. Passing through the railroad flat I finally arrive at the benevolent bedside of Dad. I had the law on my side so I was brave enough to wake Dad up AND, instruct him to give me some money, “Mommy said”. It was always wise to use those last two words to avoid a Sunday morning kick in the ass!

Dad rolls over and reaches for his pants laying on the chair next to the bed and from his pants pocket hands me two shiny nickels. Two nickels, or as I sometimes called it ‘ten-cents’, could buy a 6-year old a lot of pleasure, and realizing the fortune I possessed, I advanced back to the kitchen. As I did I noticed Mom’s sewing kit and an idea of beauty struck me! TWO NICKLES could get me a package of six small white donuts and a bottle of cola! The nickels could pass off as buttons, so-the buttons could pass off as nickels, especially in a place where Mom had her head raised to God, instead of attentively watching me. I decided to help myself to two shiny buttons and with the nickels, pocket them all.

Our Lady of Lourdes was situated on Aberdeen Street and Broadway, near the Broadway ‘el’ and only a few blocks away from our apartment on Hull Street. Lourdes was a beautiful place, marble columned supports, marble floors, and a marbled headed attendee that morning, me. Mom leads me to a pew towards the front, and as we take our place I can see the grotto situated behind the Main altar. There seem to be altars everywhere and statues to match. The magnificent altar ran almost the full length of the church. Thick red pads cover the steps where one knelt for communion and a dome-topped it all off like a big hat.

The Mass started and to amuse me, I imagined myself climbing the back wall in the grotto. My eyes would then shift to the long sanctuary lamp as I followed it up to the ceiling, then shifting toward the pulpit that had a canopy that seemed to float over it.

The ushers began their march down the aisle and with their long-handled wicker baskets passed on under my nose. I checked mom and she was deep prayer, so I nonchalantly reached into my pocket and find the first button, I slip it into the basket, and mom puts her dollar in. I look at mom for signs that maybe a wooden spoon will be in my future, but she shows a poker face.

The ushers are not satisfied so they come down one more time and I relieve myself of the remaining button. Once again mom deposits her dollar and doesn’t indicate anything extraordinary.

I GOT AWAY WITH IT! Two buttons deposited and two nickels lined up for donuts and a soda! Life is good!

As we walk home after Mass mom has a steady gait, straight and true, and kind of speedily for someone not noted for her speed. I try to bring up a conversation but she seems far away, almost inattentive. Was she still praying with leftover prayers from the Mass? I wondered.

Arriving at our front door after climbing two flights of stairs I smell trouble.

“Well Ma, I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if Anthony or Michael are out.”

As I turn I feel what seems to be the power of a pair of heavy-duty pliers on my shoulder and a sense of flying backward into the apartment!

“EMBARRASS ME IN CHURCH!” Pow! “SHOW DISRESPECT IN GOD’S HOUSE!” POW!, POW! AND POW!

Dad is sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and minding his own business as mom tosses me to his feet.

“TELL YOUR FATHER WHAT YOU DID!”

“I UH…”

“TELL HIM!”

“I think I put buttons in the collection instead of nickels.”

Dad spits out his coffee and mom is now yelling at him!

‘SURE, ENCOURAGE HIS BAD BEHAVIOR!”

Marching to the stove she takes her gravy-stained wooden spoon and menacingly looks at me. I take off towards the dining room. She begins her pursuit as I manage to get to the other side of the long table, mom following while waving her wooden spoon inches from my head. We go around for a few times and mom is tiring out, she sits at one end with the wooden spoon in full view and I sit at the other end waiting.

“You ready Mom?”

Up she goes and the chase is on once more as I finally flee into the long closet that has saved me so many times before.