I’ve had a lot of strange nick-names in my time, some of them endearing, some of them just plain funny. Most of them are pretty normal, “Mar Bear”, “Mar” some of them are entire sentences, “Mary Mary Quite Contrary…” and so far one stands out as my favorite: “Bloody Mary.” “Bloody Mary” was given to me by a softball coach, derived from the fact that every time I slid (I slid a lot during a game) I would re-open the wounds that never seemed to heal on my knees, which would call for band-aids. It became sort of a scare tactic when I was on third heading home, “Get the band-aids ready girls, Bloody Mary’s coming in.” It still brings me joy to think of it.
Well, recently, I went on a trip with Fr. Nathan, a few of the Eaglets and Br. Gabriel Maria to a Youth 2000 in Owensboro, Kentucky, where I picked up yet another remarkable nick-name: “Scarface Pometto.”
Need I say more? Oh, I suppose you’d like to know how I acquired such a strange nick-name. I mean, to look at me, it’d be the last thing you’d expect to go along with my Scottish red-hair and feisty Italian ways.
It all began as part of what could be called the “normal routine” of retreat mode. Since this trip came up in the last minute due to a date mix-up at the priory (they occasionally happen) the Eaglets were the guests of Ann Brawly, who runs Youth 2000 in the US. If any of you have met Ann (I’m not sure if that’s how she spells her name) you are aware of how loved you feel when you’re in her presence and how effortlessly it comes to her. Ann is a woman who knows how to get things done. She does it with a smile and in a way that even the most cross and arrogant of people are pleased to do anything she asks. She’s exactly the kind of woman I pray that the Lord gives me the grace to become.
As Anne Brawly’s guests, we stayed at the Hampton Inn. The Hampton Inn is my Dad’s favorite place to stay while we’re on vacation because they serve hot breakfast in the morning and it changes every day. The first morning of our stay, there were these amazing egg and sausage patties. Add a little hot sauce and you might as well be in heaven. While Becca and I were finishing our breakfast, a family with three little boys came in to eat. The husband was sporting a Youth 2000 name tag, so we of course introduced ourselves. We came to find out that Matt was leading the music for the weekend.
My retreat routine was broken and the box I’d slid into shattered when Br. Gabriel Maria beckoned me into the hall during the first talk of the morning. Praise the Lord, because it was getting stuffy inside that box. I followed the impish monk to the cafeteria, where he produced two McDonald’s sandwiches from his pocket and offered me my favorite one. Now I know I just told you that about the breakfast I’d eaten at the Hampton Inn, but when a monk pulls McDonald’s out of his habit pocket, you don’t just say, “No thank you.”
In any case, I spent the rest of the day wandering in and out of the talks, and helping where necessary. I helped lead a small group with some lovely nuns from Cincinnati and had several good conversations with Becca outside in the gorgeous Kentucky weather.
During one of these chats right before lunch, the Gill family, whom we met at the Hampton Inn, came parading into the yard toward a picnic table. I watched them chatter and eat their Chick-Fil-A, all the while missing my nephews so much that it was hard to look away. Noticing my distress, Br. Gabriel Maria suggested I play with them. So after they were done eating, they meandered toward us with their mom. Having heard the names of the two older boys, Sebastian and Maximilian we asked about the one-year-old. Angela Gill told us that they’d all been named after martyrs and so I guessed Ignatius, which was correct. I then shamelessly asked if I could run around with her boys.
It started as a version of peek-a-boo. Maximilian was the first to giggle, which sparked Sebastian’s curiosity and too soon the games were afoot. Running recklessly around trees and through the grass, they chased me. Shortly after the games began, Maximilian, the three-year-old, was pretending to be a cat or maybe a lion and in his excitement at getting so close to catching me, accidently scratched me on the cheek. Being so young and having baby-claws, I chose to ignore the wound and continued playing. We played all sorts of games, they stole my sweat shirt and threw it into the empty fountain, we threw dirt clods at the ground, swung on a bench-swing, picked up sticks and played guns, and then ended with spinning in circles recklessly until we were too dizzy to stand. During that time, Angela had taken the opportunity to go to Confession, so I was glad to have been able to help out as well as fulfill my desire to run and play with the boys.
I finally came in for lunch tired and thirsty and discovered my group had welcomed Br. Maximilian of the CFRs into our lunch table. Aside from being a joy to encounter and interact with, Br. Maximilian is also good at coming up with nicknames. With the scratch fresh on my face, bleeding a little and swelling it was quickly a point of conversation. The idea began as calling me “Czestochowa” in honor of Our Lady of Czestochowa in Poland seeing as the scratch was advantageously on my cheek. The spirit of New York came out soon enough and the final decision was on “Scarface Pometto.”
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