Mother And Sons Spend A Morning With Mary

By ANN W. DEGOLIAN, Special to the Bulletin

Published: November 6, 2003

Hail Mary, full of grace, grace my life with your gentleness and love. Help me be the kind of mother to my sons as you were to Jesus.

“I noticed you praying the rosary before Mass and I wondered if you’d like to participate in ‘A Day with Mary?’” Mrs. Hafley inquired in a soft voice with a touch of British accent.

“A Day with Mary” was not something with which I was familiar. I told her that since it was on a Saturday I would do what I could but that my children would be with me and that precluded me from full participation. She lit up at the idea of my sons leading the procession.

Oh boy, I thought, knowing my three preteen sons might not be quite so keen on the idea. I presented it to them such that I had no idea what leading the procession might entail, but that they were invited to participate. I was surprised that two of the three accepted happily and the third did not outright refuse. It was a go.

“A Day with Mary” arrived, however, and attitudes changed. Boys complained vehemently about having to get up early and dress nicely on a Saturday, and it was all my fault. At 11 and 10 years of age, my sons have reached a stage at which lots of things they say are sassy and smarty.

“Grace me with your grace!” I beg the prayers to Mary, “and help me handle this without incurring monster mommy.” Monster mommy is my pet name when I lose all patience. My patience was already thin because my Saturday morning routine of Mass and journaling over coffee was disrupted, and I craved that time for myself.

I sense that Mary has graced me. Lately when my sons are too terribly smarty, they get a bear hug and tickle attack instead of fussing and threats of punishment. After a good laugh they are much more agreeable and we can actually communicate. Well … as much as a parent and preteens can communicate!

I seriously wonder if Jesus was ever sassy to Mary, and if he ever treated her as though she didn’t have a clue about anything. I have a hard time imagining it.

Finally the boys were in their cassocks at the appointed place and time at the Cathedral. I left them in the charge of the Franciscan friars and took my seat in the parish hall. It wasn’t very crowded, and mostly women were in attendance. A statue of Mary was up front next to the altar.

We started with hymns and prayers to Mary. Rose petals were spread at the foot of the statue and a crown of roses placed on her head. Then the procession began. The statue of Mary was carried out on the shoulders of four men following behind a few of the friars and my sons, carrying the crucifix and candles. Charlotte Hafley carried a large banner behind them and a friar led the rest of us, walking two by two.

We recited the first joyful mystery as we walked out of the Cathedral and onto the sidewalk of Peachtree. As much as I wanted to concentrate on the prayers, I was thinking more of my sons. While I was proud they were participating, I couldn’t help but wonder how they were feeling about all this. I imagined that I was going to be held accountable for the spectacle of them leading a religious procession on Peachtree, wearing cassocks, in broad daylight!

As we progressed around the block and got further into the joyful mysteries I was able to let it all go. I simply prayed that Mary would find her way into their hearts and that the boys would take from this experience some of the beauty it offered.

By the time we were finished the joyful mysteries and back at the entrance to the Cathedral, I felt a sense of peace that was not there when I started. I got the idea of suggesting to the boys that they pray to Mary often, especially when they might be feeling torn regarding their mother versus their stepmother. I sense they feel that often, and who better than the Mother of us all to help them.

While I would have liked to stay for the Mass that followed the first set of mysteries as well as for the rest of the day, the boys had done what they agreed to do and it was time to go.

“That was really cool,” one said. “I liked it. I was praying the prayers the whole time.”

“No it wasn’t. It was total social suicide. I can’t believe I walked down Peachtree wearing a cassock,” another said.

“Did you say any of the prayers?” I asked him.

“I couldn’t hear anything and I was too tired,” he complained.

“And you?” I asked the third.

“Huh? Oh, it was okay. I didn’t really pay attention to the prayers.” He was happily running around.

I explained to the boys that it is, in fact, hard sometimes to publicly display one’s beliefs and it was perfectly normal if they were uncomfortable. I further explained that by so doing I believed they had given a lovely gift to Mary and God for giving up their Saturday morning and they were smiling down from heaven on them.

I hope so. My boys have been through a lot, and they keep smiling and laughing. They keep me smiling and laughing as well. They surely deserve special blessings.

Hail Mary, full of grace, thank you, and please keep helping me with these precious boys. Grace their lives with your gentleness and love.