One Crazy Hour

I took J and T to mass this morning. 

We arrived just before the processional because while backing out of the driveway, I paid more attention to the CD player than to what was behind me and ended up scraping my rear fender against Hubster's front one.

I was so pissed with myself, mostly because it was completely avoidable.

So we get there just as the mass begins, and rather than enter through the center, we go in through a side door.  We sit in a rear pew next to an older man (mid- to late-70s, I would guess), one pew ahead of J's friend M.  I could sense that our pew-neighbor wasn't into kids because rather than slide in so the boys could sit directly in front of their friends, he acts as if they don't exist. 

Shortly after mass begins, the priest invites the children to exit the rear of the church for the children's liturgy downstairs.  Of course the boys immediately head to the center aisle.  As they go to cross in front of the man, he holds his hand up as if to stop them from moving past him.  What was that about?  And, of course, the boys are too quick for me to redirect them; I was barely able to remind them to say "Excuse me" when they were in the aisle.  It was rather obvious to me that this man was annoyed, so I muttered, "they're children."

The funniest part of the mass?  When it came to the part where we offer one another the sign of peace, the man refused to make eye contact with me.  He wouldn't even turn his head or body towards me.  I so wished he did; I really wanted to shake his hand after what had happened.

The service continues, and the children return later than usual.  I go into the vestibule to flag down the boys, lest they get too close to Mr. Crankypants.  Fortunately, this time, it works. 

Later, the priest invites the children to the altar to say the Our Father.  The boys make their way up using the side aisle.  Afterwards, J comes back down the side but T comes down the middle, meaning that he has to pass Mr. Crankypants for yet another time.  Would you believe that he, again, stands still and acts as if T doesn't even exist as T wriggles along the seat behind him?

Look, I understand that some people just don't like kids.  That's fine.  But when you're in, say, a public place where children are welcome (you know, like in church or someplace like that; not a bar), you just might want to be civil.

Just sayin'